She put her finger over his mouth. “Wow,” she murmured. “I had no idea you could get worked into such a state. Mr. Super-mellow Liam let’s-contemplate-the-beauty-of-the-flower Knightly.”
His explosive snort of derision cut her off. She shushed him again, enjoying the feel of his lips beneath her finger. “You’re not a jerk or a user,” she said gently. “You were magnificent. Thank you. Again.”
He looked away. There was a brief, embarrassed pause. “That’s very generous of you,” he said, trying to flex the wounded hand. “But I’m not fishing for compliments.”
“I never thought that you were.” She placed her own hand below his, and rested them both gently on his thigh. Her fingers dug into the thick muscle of his quadriceps, through the dirty, bloodstained denim of his jeans. Beneath the fabric, he was so hot. So strong and solid.
She moved her hand up, slowly but surely, stroking higher towards his groin. His breath caught, and then stopped entirely as her fingers brushed the turgid bulge of his penis beneath the fabric.
Here went nothing. “I think I know what you mean, about the hard place,” she whispered, swirling her fingertips over it. Wow. A lot of him. That thick broad, hard stalk just went on and on. “Or was this what you meant when you were referring to the rock?”
His face was a mask of tension, neck muscles clenched, tendons standing out. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice strangled.
Aw. So sweet. Her fingers closed around him, squeezing. He groaned, and a shudder jarred his body. “I can’t seem to stop,” she said.
“Watch out, Nancy,” he said hoarsely. “If you start something now, there’s no stopping it.”
She stroked him again, deeper, tighter, a slow caress that wrung a keening gasp from his throat. “I know,” she said. “I know.”
He reached out, a little awkwardly, clasping his arms around her shoulders, staring into her eyes as if expecting her to bolt.
He pulled her close, enfolding her in his warmth, his power.
Suddenly, they were kissing. She had no idea who had kissed who. The kiss was desperate, achingly sweet. Not a power struggle, not a matter of talent or skill, just a hunger to get as close as two humans could be. He held her like he was afraid she’d be torn away from him.
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“You’ve got kind eyes,” she said.
“Kind eyes?”
“You’re the kind of person who cares about strangers.”
“Not really,” he said.
She shivered. Was she putting her trust in the wrong man? The image of him coming into the hallway and rescuing her from Burati played in her mind. He was the only man she trusted.
“Sit down and get comfortable,” he said. “I’m going to ask you a bunch of questions. I’ll record everything you say.”
“Okay.”
“Before we get started, do you have the stuff you took from Lambert?”
“Yes. I left it upstairs. Should I go get it?” she asked.
“Yes, please.”
She left the room but couldn’t make herself go upstairs. It was dark and…suck it up, she thought. Was she really going to stand here like some kind of wimp? Kirk wasn’t going to let anyone into the house or upstairs while she was there.
She took a deep breath and ran up the stairs two at a time. She held on to the railing and then ran flat out to the room she’d been given. She’d left the lights on and she entered the room quietly. She took the pile of things from the dresser and then ran back downstairs.
She hadn’t had a chance to look at them and she hoped there was something incriminating in the information. Despite the fact that she was having a hard time believing the man who wooed her in London would want to kill her. Even though she’d seen him with the gun and he’d sent her bodyguard after her. She wondered if she’d simply misinterpreted things.
Kirk still sat where she’d left him. He’d turned on an overhead light now but had left his shirt off. She could see his skin better and realized he had a lot of scars on his back.
“What happened?”
“When?” he asked turning to glance over his shoulder at her.
She walked over and put her hand on his back and moved her fingers lightly over his skin, tracing the scars that covered his back.
“Fire,” he said. Standing up, he walked over to his T-shirt and pulled it on.
“You didn’t have to put your shirt on,” she said.
“Yes, I did.”
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” she said. She had liked touching him. Had been wondering how he’d feel since the moment he’d come to her rescue. Well, to be honest, she hadn’t thought of that until they’d been in the car together and she’d started feeling safe.
Her fascination had to stem from the fact that he wasn’t like any other man she knew.
“I’m not uncomfortable,” he said. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to touch me.”
“Why not?” she asked, because she thought after the way he’d touched her that he was interested in her. Oh, man, what if she was reaching for him because she needed the distraction? The distraction from her memories of today, from the betrayal that Ray had inflicted on her.
“You’ve just been through a traumatic event and you aren’t yourself.”
“What makes you sure?”
“I’ve been a woman’s adrenaline lover before.”
“What a rude thing to say,” she said. She wasn’t going to pretend that she hadn’t been looking at him in a sexual way, but it was more than that. The attraction she felt for him stemmed from…she didn’t know what it stemmed from.
“Just calling it like I see it,” he said. He walked back over to her and tipped her head up toward his. “I don’t want you to regret anything, Olivia.”
There it was again—the way he touched her. “I can live with the consequences of my actions.”
“Can you?”
“Yes,” she said. Then to prove that she could, she went up on tiptoe and kissed him.
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“What type of individual would you consider ideal to play this role of suitor, protector, investigator?” Jasper asked finally.
Eliza’s head tilted slightly as she pondered her answer. “He should be quiet, even-tempered, and a proficient dancer.”
“How do dullness and the ability to dance signify in catching a possible murderer?” he queried, scowling.
“I did not say ‘dull,’ Mr. Bond. Kindly do not put words into my mouth. In order to be seen as a true threat for my attentions, he should be someone that everyone would believe I would be attracted to.”
“You are not attracted to handsome men?”
“Mr. Bond, I dislike being rude. However, you leave me no choice. The point of fact is that you clearly are not marriage material.”
“I am quite relieved to hear a female recognize that,” he drawled.
“How could anyone doubt it?” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “I can more easily picture you in a swordfight or fisticuffs than I can see you enjoying an afternoon of croquet or after dinner chess. I am an intellectual, sir. And while I do not mean to say that you are lacking in mental acuity, you are obviously built for more physically strenuous pursuits.”
“I see.”
“Why, anyone would take one look at you and ascertain that you are not like the others at all! It would be evident straightaway that I would never consider a man such as you with even remote seriousness. Quite frankly, sir, you are not my type of male.”
A slow smile began in his dark eyes, then moved downward to curve his lips. It was arresting. Slightly wicked. Troublesome.
Eliza did not like trouble overmuch.
He glanced at her uncle, the earl. “Please forgive me,
my lord, but I must speak bluntly in regards to this subject. Most especially because this is a matter of life and death.”
“Quite right,” Melville agreed. “Straight to the point, I always say. Time is too precious to waste on inanities.”
“Agreed.” Jasper glanced back at Eliza, his mischievous smile widening. “Miss Martin, forgive me, but I must point out that your inexperience is limiting your understanding of the situation.”
“Inexperience with what?”
“Men. More precisely, fortune hunting men.”
“I would have you know,” she retorted, bristling, “that in my six years on the marriage market I have had more than enough experience with gentlemen in want of funds.”
“Then why,” he drawled, “do you not know that they are successful for reasons far removed from social suitability?”
Eliza blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Women do not marry fortune hunters because they can dance and sit quietly. They marry them for their appearance and physical prowess—two attributes you have already established that I have.”
“I do not see—”
“Clearly, you do not, so I shall explain.” His smile continued to grow. “Fortune hunters who flourish do not strive to satisfy a woman’s intellectual needs. Those can be met through friends and acquaintances. They do not seek to provide the type of companionship one enjoys in social settings or with a game table between them. Again, there are others who can do so.”
“Mr. Bond—”
“No, they strive to satisfying the only position that is theirs alone, a position that some men make no effort to excel in. So rare is the skill, that many a woman will disregard other considerations in favor of it.”
She growled softly. “Will you get to the point, please?”
“Fornication,” his lordship said, before returning to mumbling to himself.
Eliza shot to her feet. “I beg your pardon?”
As courtesy dictated, both her uncle and Jasper rose along with her.
“I prefer to call it ‘seduction,’” Jasper said, his eyes laughing.
“I call it ridiculous,” she rejoined, hands on her hips. “In the grand scheme of life, do you collect how little time a person spends abed when compared to other activities?”
His gaze dropped to her hips. The smile became a full-blown grin. “That truly depends on who else is occupying said bed.”
“Dear heavens.” Eliza shivered at the look Jasper was giving her now. It was certainly not a bug-under-the-glass look. No, it was more triumphant. Challenged. Anticipatory. For some unknown, godforsaken reason she had managed to prod the man’s damnable masculine pride into action. “While I acknowledge that a man’s brain might traverse such channels of thought, I cannot see a woman’s doing so.”
“But is it not men whom you wish to affect with this scheme?”
She bit her lower lip. Clever, clever man. He knew quite well that she had no idea how men’s minds worked. She had no notion of whether he was correct, or simply tenacious about securing work.
“Give me a sennight,” he offered. “One week to prove both my point and competency. If at the end you do not agree with one or the other, I will accept no payment for services rendered.”
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Copyright © 2009 Sherrill Quinn
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Seducing the Moon Page 22