It did not take her long to realize that she was driving this encounter. With her knees resting on the bench on either side of Quentin’s hips, she had the power to raise herself and retreat, and to slam back down on top of him to give herself a little extra jolt of pleasure. Each stroke was magnificent. It felt incredible to be in control like this. She had never experienced anything like it. She held tight to his broad shoulders and discovered new ways to move her body in order to wring the most pleasure out of each and every bit of friction between them.
Quentin was rigid beneath her. His shoulders were rock hard. His belly was taut beneath the fine fabric of his dress shirt. She tried to imagine what it would be like to make love to this man while naked and was nearly overcome by the thought of how exquisite he must look. He was young, virile, and so very handsome. It was almost inconceivable that this was happening to her right now.
She felt the first tremors of her next orgasm beginning to build at the base of her spine. Her legs tingled. The dampness of perspiration on the back of her neck was a warm counterpoint to the cool air brushing so silkily across her skin. She moved her palms from Quentin’s shoulders to his face. She cupped his cheeks and traced the blade of his nose with her finger. He was so strong and so sure. She had never experienced anything like it before.
Her nipples peaked painfully behind the fabric of her dress and her bra. She longed to feel his hands on her breasts. She wanted his lips to tease and tickle each nipple before he took the buds into his mouth and sucked them as hard as he dared. Flinging her head back, she looked up at the blanket of stars in the sky overhead. She ground her pussy against his cock and felt her wetness soak his shaft. She could not imagine what his cock must look like, and yet she felt each and every detail with scrumptious results. She was making love to a stranger and yet felt more comfortable than she’d ever been before in her life.
Arching her back, Francesca altered the angle of her hips. Suddenly, she felt the root of his thick cock brush the spread hood of her clit. The result was an electrical shock that resonated all the way to her toes. She moaned. The sound was raw and animalistic on the night air. The feel of him was incredible. She wanted more. She wanted it all. And most of all, she wanted to feel the warmth of his ejaculate inside her body.
He put his hands on her hips and held her tight. His fingers dug into her flesh. She realized that he was close. The lines of strain bracketing his mouth and eyes told her everything she needed to know. His lips parted, and a primal sound emerged. It raised the hair on the back of her neck and made her feel as though she were queen of the world. Then he strained up against her. Each time she moved down into him, he pushed back with a shocking strength that beggared her ability to match it. The result was incredible. The warmth, the wetness, both left her feeling powerful and wanton. She trembled, and suddenly, her orgasm was there.
Francesca cried out as she came hard. Her body bore down upon his. Her pussy clenched tight around his cock. Her movements became short and jerky as she found one point of contact and ground hard against it just for the pleasurable friction it brought. She had never been so turned on and so satisfied all at the same time.
Finally, she collapsed against his chest. She nestled her cheek against his shoulder and inhaled deeply of his spicy masculine scent. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight as their heartbeats started to slow and the real world began to rush back in. She tried to sit up. She didn’t want to get her makeup all over his shirt. In fact, she could not imagine how mussed and most definitely not put together she looked right now.
“Not just yet,” he murmured. “I want just a few more minutes before we go back to the real world.”
“It does feel that way, doesn’t it?” She gazed around at the darkened golf course that expanded away on all sides. “It’s so hard to believe that just a few hundred yards away there are probably a bunch of people wondering where I’ve gone.”
“If they’ve noticed at all,” he murmured. There was a hint of humor in his tone. “What I’ve noticed over the years is that people rarely seem to notice anything that does not directly affect them.”
Francesca gave a little moan of distress. “So, that means Ava and Nash have most certainly noticed.”
“Perhaps,” he allowed. “Although, in case you hadn’t noticed, those two have a ready habit of disappearing into their own little world too.”
“I had noticed,” Francesca said with a giggle. “Ava swears there’s nothing going on, but I think she’s kidding herself.”
“Or perhaps they’re just not ready to admit it yet.” He stroked her back very gently.
She wished she wasn’t wearing a dress. In fact, she wished they were at home in bed alone and naked. “Then, I suppose we shouldn’t poke at them,” Francesca mused. “I’m not one to demand someone face up to something they aren’t ready to admit just yet.”
“Is that how you feel?” he asked.
Francesca had always known that Quentin possessed a wealth of insight into her and her odd ways. He saw her more clearly than anyone else in her life. It was both a blessing and a curse.
“Sometimes it would be easier just to let everything think that I’m crazy,” she whispered. “Then I could just ignore their pity and scorn.”
He tightened his embrace. “Don’t ever say that. You’ve managed to come through some situations that would have left other people devastated and useless. Never minimize that, Francesca. Never.”
She could not help but wonder if he somehow had firsthand experience with what he was saying. It was certainly worth thinking about.
Chapter Eight
Quentin fought a smile as they walked back through the opening in the tent’s perimeter and rejoined the party. The gathering was still in full swing. Quentin spotted Ava and Nash immediately. Ava was in deep conversation with an elderly woman that Quentin knew from photographs of Boston’s social elite. Mrs. Peabody was a member of Boston’s first circle. Her family had been one of the city’s richest residents since Colonial days.
“Good,” Francesca whispered beside him. “Nobody seems to have noticed that we disappeared.”
He almost agreed with her, until he spotted Analise and Ralston. The warning in Analise’s eyes was plain. Moments later, Quentin spotted Stedman Hyde-Pierson moving toward them at speed. He was actually shoving his way through the other party guests. His rudeness earned him both their attention and their scathing remarks, but Quentin had a bad feeling that it was their attention that he wanted.
“Brace yourself,” Quentin murmured to Francesca. “Incoming social bomb.”
“Shit.”
Her little slip with the curse word was almost endearing. She was so damn proper most of the time that it was sort of refreshing to see her be gritty and real. Quentin tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and wondered how this crowd of tight-assed society freaks would react if he hauled off and decked Stedman with no further warning or provocation.
Quentin knew that wasn’t a viable course of action at the moment, but he definitely kept it in the back of his mind as a Plan B alternative. “Just remember that he has no authority over you,” he reminded Francesca.
“No authority,” she repeated. “Got it.”
“Where have you been?” Stedman stopped right in front of Francesca and Quentin. He pointed at them with a dramatic flourish of his hand. “What kind of woman debases herself in a public place with a man like this?”
Beside him, Quentin could feel Francesca trembling. The loud voice, the tone, the words, the embarrassment, they were all triggering deep emotional responses within Francesca. The worst part was that Stedman knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to undo everything that Francesca had managed to accomplish for herself that evening.
Quentin pivoted just a little. It was enough to put himself between Stedman’s vitriol and Francesca. “Excuse me, but that is no way to talk to a lady. Your rudeness and lewd insinuations are too aggressive by half. What right do you hav
e to question this woman? She isn’t even directly a member of your family anymore.”
Stedman looked taken aback that Quentin would see fit to intervene. “Step away, you lowlife. I cannot believe that my sister-in-law saw fit to bring the help.”
“I suppose the only acceptable way to go to a party is to go alone like you do,” Quentin could not resist saying. “Is that what you’re getting at? You believe that you are more virtuous because you couldn’t even pay a date?”
“How dare you?” Stedman actually took a swing at Quentin.
The sudden blow came as a surprise. Quentin gently pushed Francesca out of the line of fire and then batted away Stedman’s blow as though it were a child’s strike. “Come on now. I was a career marine. You’ll have to do better than that,” Quentin taunted. “Except, as I recall, Stedman Hyde-Pierson, you prefer to operate from the shadows.”
“You insolent dog!” Stedman growled. He waved his hand in the air. The man had managed to gain the attention of most of the room by now. It was obvious that he was enjoying it. “Security! Remove this man!”
From the corner of his eye, Quentin could see a few of the security men staring at each other as though they weren’t entirely certain what to do. Nash and Ava appeared at the edge of the crowd that had just started to gather in the center of the tent. It was truly becoming something like a circus.
“Father,” Ralston said in a reasonable tone of voice. “This is hardly the place to discuss family business.”
“You mind your own business,” Stedman snarled. “This woman is my sister-in-law. She is the wife of my dead brother and my responsibility. She is so weak-minded that even this dolt can take advantage of her!”
Ah, so that was his game. For some reason, this knowledge made Quentin relax. There was nothing particularly violent at play here. It was just one man’s attempt to discredit someone so that he could steal what was rightfully hers. How pathetic.
“Stop.”
Quentin glanced down in surprise when he heard Francesca’s emphatic order. He started to speak but then deliberately closed his mouth. This was her choice. It was her life, her sanity, her reputation, and her opportunity to prove to everyone that she was a perfectly capable and independent woman.
“You are a despicable rat, Stedman.” With each word, Francesca’s voice got stronger. “For years now, you have tried to take what first belonged to your brother, and now you want what belongs to me.”
“That isn’t true!” Stedman’s lofty announcement was followed by a look around at their audience as though he were waiting for them to validate his claim. “Why would I do such a thing? What could possibly be in it for me?”
It was nearly impossible for Quentin to keep a straight face when he could see Analise rolling her eyes with irritation from behind Stedman. If the man had any inkling of how Analise truly felt about him, he would have thrown her out of his household and started to suspect that his son was playing him for a fool.
Fortunately for Analise and Ralston, Stedman’s narcissism blinded him to the notion that anyone would not believe he was a pillar of societal propriety and righteousness. Quentin bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from responding. This was for Francesca to handle. If she needed help, then she would let him know and he would put Stedman decisively where he belonged. The nearest dumpster would do for starters.
FRANCESCA WAS SHAKING, but she could not tell if it was from fear or anger. Everything inside her mind was all jumbled together. She wanted so badly to retreat. The confrontation was horrible. She could feel the stares of everyone around her, and yet she could not decide if they were condemning her or supporting her. She was not in a strong enough frame of mind to even begin to judge that for herself. Right now, everything felt hostile.
She took a shaky breath. “Stedman, your machinations were responsible for your brother’s suicide. Lyle was terrified of you. You threatened him over and over that if he didn’t hand over his shares of the company, that you would ruin him and take everyone down with you.”
“That’s a damned lie!” Stedman snarled. He loomed over her like an angry bear. “Why would you tell such lies in front of our friends and family?”
“I should ask you the same question,” Francesca fired back. “Although, perhaps, I shouldn’t be so hard on you. After all, Lyle killed himself so that your efforts to run the company into the ground with your illegal activities would be over.”
There was a collective gasp of horror around the assembled guests. Francesca could hear them whispering and openly speculating. She heard the word letter bandied about as though they all truly believed that Lyle’s suicide letter contained all of the answers. She was embarrassed, but she was angrier than she was cowed. It was time to set the record straight. Or at least try to.
“This week, when you’re evaluated by a truly gifted mental health professional, I’m sure we will have an answer for your ridiculous behavior and bogus accusations!” Stedman announced. He turned a slow circle. “The courts are afraid that her mind is gone. It’s true! I am the only one capable of caring for my poor, deluded sister-in-law during this time of unrest.” Stedman waved emphatically at Quentin. “Look at the company she is keeping! Surely that alone is proof of her mental incompetence.”
Francesca made a sound of disgust. “You are a despicable pig. And let me tell you something, Stedman Hyde-Pierson. You and your piggy kind will fly before I will allow you to become my keeper!”
With those final words, Francesca knew that she was done. There was nothing to be gained by extending this argument. It was only giving Stedman the audience he wanted and a venue in which he could push his agenda. By walking away, she was truly pissing him off the most.
“Let’s go,” Francesca whispered to Quentin. “I’ve had enough.”
Francesca turned her back to Stedman, but instead of escorting her out, Quentin took her directly to Ava and Mrs. Peabody. Francesca was frustrated with his failure to obey her wishes. He was supposed to work for her, right? She wanted to leave before she lost it in front of all these people!
Ava was motioning to Francesca and Quentin, urging them to move quickly. Finally, Francesca found herself standing in front of the older Mrs. Peabody. Francesca didn’t know what to say. It was embarrassing enough to have been the center of a scene at the party even if it was Stedman’s fault.
“My dear, it was so good to see you,” Mrs. Peabody gushed. “Is it true what Stedman is saying? Is he really trying to have you declared mentally incapacitated and in need of a keeper?”
“Yes.” Francesca gritted her teeth as she tried desperately to hold it together. She kept looking toward the exit. Escape was her only thought.
“You know, my children got tired of waiting for their inheritance several years ago and tried that with me,” Mrs. Peabody said irritably. “You need to call Fabian Holloway.”
“Excuse me, who?” Francesca shifted her primary focus to Mrs. Peabody. What person would ever think the old dragon had lost her marbles?
“Fabian Holloway,” Mrs. Peabody repeated. “He was the attorney I consulted with and eventually hired to work my case against my children’s interference. He’s quite good.”
“Is that right?” Francesca realized that she had not yet considered fighting Stedman on the legal front. She had been too busy trying to avoid him altogether. Perhaps she was going at this all wrong.
“Call him first thing in the morning,” Mrs. Peabody said with a pat to Francesca’s arm. Then she gestured to Quentin. “And keep that handsome young man with you at all times. Do you understand me? You never know what that devious little mongrel Stedman will do. I don’t trust him. I never have.” Mrs. Peabody glanced at Ava. “I told Ava’s mother all those years ago that it was a bad idea to allow her daughter to marry such a self-centered prig of a young man. Poor Lily Harte didn’t listen, and lo and behold, you saw how that turned out for Ava.”
Francesca turned to look at Ava. She offered her friend a warm smile. “Actua
lly, I think Ava has done quite well for herself in spite of everything.”
Ava reached out and impulsively hugged Francesca. “And I think you’ve done the same.”
Chapter Nine
Francesca should have been furious with Quentin. He had deliberately disobeyed her wishes. Of course, she really couldn’t fault him for stopping by to talk with Ava and Mrs. Peabody on the way out of the party. It had been a good decision that seemed to have provided a certain amount of benefit to her personally. Still, she was more than a little miffed. The guy was supposed to work for her, right?
She had taken off her dress in favor of a simple sheer nightgown and wrap in baby pink. Sitting in front of her dressing table mirror, Francesca angrily brushed her hair and made an attempt to cool off her temper. She stared at her reflection and wondered what was really bothering her.
It wasn’t Quentin. Not really. Francesca gazed at the familiar contours of her face. Her father had once told her she had an angelic face. The man was right, which was unfortunate, in Francesca’s opinion. There was something cherubic about her features that seemed to make people believe that they could take advantage of her. It was irritating. And when she retreated into her head like she usually did with Stedman—the same way that she nearly had this evening—her “angelic” qualities became a raging handicap. She was so tired of people thinking that they could push her around just because she was female and “cute.”
There was a knock at her dressing room door. Thinking it must be Emily, Francesca called out, “Come in!”
Francesca could not have been more surprised when Quentin walked into her dressing room. He leaned against the doorjamb. His big shoulder braced against the wood, and she could not help but admire the breadth of those shoulders and the strength of him in general. He had removed his tuxedo and was dressed in a pair of soft-looking athletic pants and a T-shirt. His expression was unreadable.
Even in the mirror, Francesca could see the surprise in her expression. Her eyes were round, and her lips were parted as though she were about to gasp. She made a valiant attempt to school her features into blandness before speaking. “I thought you were Emily.”
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