The Midsummer Auction

by Pia Tremayne

  They stood under the water, hands moving ceaselessly over each other’s body as it cascaded down over, around and—where possible when they weren’t pressed skin to skin—between them. He bent his head and sucked the hollow of her shoulder blade, drinking water off her newly cleansed skin.

  She nuzzled her face in his chest and then took his nipple in her mouth, worrying the hardened little stone with her teeth and tongue and almost succeeded in smashing his resolve. He pulled her head up and covered her mouth with his in a kiss that seared his soul while the water cascaded over them like a baptism. He knew what she wanted from him, but he needed her to see past the sex, past the game, to understand that for him, it was no longer just about that and perhaps then she would come to the place where he desperately wanted her to be. Always with him, safe and protected no matter what.

  “We should go,” he said. “It’s getting late.”

  Her eyes reflected her disappointment and something that looked to him like regret, but he couldn’t be sure.

  She swallowed. “Okay,” she replied.

  He shut off the shower, slid open the shower door, and took a towel off the rail. He wrapped it around her, and she got out. He followed her, snagging another towel and wrapping it around himself.

  By four o’clock they were ready to leave. She looked up wistfully at the house just before getting into the car.

  “It was nice being here,” she said wistfully.

  He turned to her. “We’ll come back.”

  “It’s kind of like having a secret life, isn’t it,” she said, giggling in a sudden change of mood as they drove off. “Nobody will even know we’ve been here.”

  He glanced at her, amused. “Mrs. Hodgett will know the second she walks into the pantry. She knows every item she’s responsible for down to the last grain of salt. The missing food we ate will stand out like a gaping hole. Nothing escapes her.”

  “How long have they been with you?”

  “They’ve been with the family a long, long time, before I even arrived. My parents left them an annuity, and I’ve done the same in my will, in case I kick the bucket unexpectedly.”

  “Don’t,” she said, almost sharply. “Don’t talk about that. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Okay,” he said agreeably. But he felt a perverse spurt of happiness that the thought of his sudden demise had bothered her.

  They drove along in a comfortable silence, broken by desultory chat about this and that. At one point he thought she had fallen asleep, but then he heard an unmistakable sigh.

  “What’s up?” he asked, his eyes on the road.

  She sat up a little, placed her hands between her knees and squeezed. “I’m tingly inside,” she replied, giving another more heartfelt sigh.

  He clutched the steering wheel of the powerful Aston Martin a little harder. It was infinitesimal but he had felt it lurch in response to the impulse that had traveled from his cock to his foot on the gas pedal. He had to keep his mind on the road when driving this car. Feeling in control again he reached out and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

  “Me too,” he confessed. “We’ll work on it later.”

  Her jade eyes held a lazy smile when she looked at him.

  They were back in London about six thirty and headed straight for Rubens where he had made a reservation.

  “Let’s get some fresh air before we go in,” she suggested. “Just up and down the block, to the palace and back.”

  He handed the car keys to the valet and they set off, walking at a good pace, because it was a fairly nippy night. They got to the corner and stood for some minutes, looking through the magnificent gates, caught up in the palace mystique just like the handful of tourists around who were braving the cold.

  He put his arms around her, held her against him, and sang mischievously in her ear. “They changed the guard at Buckingham Palace. One of the guards ran off with Alice…”

  She bent double with laughter at the parody. “You are so bad,” she said, straightening up and laying her head back on his shoulder to catch his eye.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” he said, grinning. He felt her shiver. “Cold?” he asked, hugging her to him.

  “A little,” she confessed. “Probably because I’m not wearing nylons.”

  “Let’s go back then,” he said.

  They walked back briskly and went into the restaurant. It was very lively upstairs, some kind of group gathering, evidently. Seeing him hesitate, the head waiter who had greeted Anthony warmly, suggested that downstairs might be a bit quieter.

  There were no other patrons downstairs and they settled happily into a cozy alcove. All the tables were covered with floor length cream tablecloths under a white topper and each featured a beautiful centerpiece of creamy roses. Two votive candles in transparent glass above each place setting created an inner ring of flickering candlelight that made each table seem like its own peaceful and private little island, isolated from the noise and bustle of civilization. The flickering light from so many candles reflected off the gleaming china, the crystal, and the cutlery and bounced seductively around the room. Their soft glow created a soothing ambiance that reassured guests their evening out would be perfect.

  At Nicola’s request the waiter obligingly moved one of the high-backed armchairs at their table so she could sit next to Anthony. She sank into the plush upholstery and leaned her head back with a sigh of contentment. She watched Anthony reflectively as he ordered.

  “Can you give us twenty minutes before we order,” she requested of the waiter when he returned with their aperitifs. “It’s been a long day, and I’d like to unwind a bit.”

  “Certainly, miss,” he replied. He placed the menus on the table and left.

  “Well,” Anthony said, “shall we drink to anything?”

  “How about to being spontaneous,” she suggested.

  “To being spontaneous, then,” he said.

  They tilted glasses and he took a sip, watching her as she did the same, her eyes locked on his. Something was going on with her and he was pretty sure he was about to find out what. He could see it in her eyes, the gleam that he had learned to recognize as a precursor to the unexpected.

  She put her glass down and her hand floated into his lap and began to massage his groin. He groaned in mock despair and caught her hand.

  “Not in public,” he protested faintly.

  She ignored him, continuing to massage his cock, which had risen to life like a phoenix under her hand. “This isn’t public, Anthony. In fact, I think it’s very private.”

  Magically, with her clever fingers, she had somehow undone the buttons of his fly and reached in, and now there was nothing between his cock and her stroking hand but his shorts. He closed his hand over hers, but he wasn’t quite sure himself what his intention was, whether to encourage her caress or to put a stop to it. But if he didn’t do something, it was a sure bet that he would be coming in his shorts in about sixty seconds. He stifled a gasp as she found the opening of his shorts and his eager shaft sprang erect in her hand. She stroked it dreamily, sliding the tender foreskin up and down, her thumb rubbing the head in a circular motion.

  She released him abruptly and before he could guess what her next move might be, slipped under the table, and bunched the tablecloth in his lap, effectively shielding his cock from view.

  “Jesus, Nicola!” he said frantically, visions of being thrown out of the restaurant and tomorrow’s Times headlines streaking across his brain. His mouth opened and shut on a thrill as he felt her take him in her mouth and begin to suck him. His mind went blank, all coherent thought erased as every last nerve in his entire nervous system leapt to focus on the mind-blowing sweetness of her tongue swirling around his engorged cock as it throbbed in her warm, wet mouth.

  The top of her head pressed against his belly as she took the whole length of him into her mouth, laved it with her tongue, and then licked it from stem to stern before taking it into her mouth aga
in, sucking hard this time. He felt a tingling sensation, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet and knew that he was on the brink of an explosive climax. He scrabbled, reached desperately under the tablecloth and grasped the back of her neck, hanging on for dear life as a rushing noise filled his head. He groaned aloud as he came, spurting semen into her mouth in response to her relentless coaxing tongue. His body quivered as wave after unceasing wave of release broke over him until at last he flopped back into his chair, catapulted like a capsized surfer onto the shore as the final wave retreated. Weakly, he caressed her face and hair as she continued to suck him until he was completely spent.

  She emerged from under the table and sat down again in her chair, her head resting comfortably against its high back. She gazed at him, her eyes still dreamy, and as he watched, still stunned and replete with his own satisfaction, she swept her tongue slowly over her top lip like a contented kitten that has just lapped up the last of the cream. He almost came again in his shorts.

  “Kiss me, Anthony,” she said softly. “Find out how you taste in my mouth.”

  He gazed at her in wonder, mesmerized by the utter sensuality emanating from her every pore, the look in her eyes drawing him to her like a magnet. Slowly, he leaned over and resting his arm across the back of her chair, above her head, kissed her almost reverently. If he lived a thousand years, he would never meet another like her and he adored her, worshipped her from the core of his being.

  He kissed her long and slow, loving the slight flavor of himself still on her tongue, and then laid his cheek on her chest, just above the soft swell of her breast. She dipped her head and dropped a tender kiss on the back of his neck, then laid her head against the back of the chair again. She stirred restlessly at the touch of his mouth on her skin.

  He began to caress her thigh with his other hand and reached up under the short black skirt she was wearing. Her breath hissed out in staccato bursts as he began stroking her sex. A heated desire overtook him and he dipped his head lower, nuzzled inside her blouse, and took her breast into his mouth. A kind of frantic wanting razed them like wildfire and she writhed as he sucked her nipples and fucked her with his fingers.

  She buried her face in his hair, her arms tight around him, stifling her cries as he created havoc inside her body with his mouth and hands, shooting carnal messages crazily back and forth between the two erotic zones.

  He could feel her on the verge, and more than anything at that moment, he wanted to see her face when she came. Relinquishing her breast and his intense enjoyment of her tender flesh with its little bud that filled his mouth so perfectly, he raised his head to look into her face. Her eyes were closed, her face contorted, straining with her impending orgasm.

  “Open your eyes,” he whispered to her urgently. “I want to see them when you come.”

  “I…can’t!” she ground out.

  “Yes, you can,” he insisted, with such fierce urgency that her eyelids swept up heavily and his breath caught in his throat.

  Passion had turned her eyes to a silvery jade, giving her a near feral look. He continued to fuck her, sweeter now, using his forefinger and his long middle finger to reach deep inside with compelling strokes. Her fluids bathed his fingers copiously, alerting him that she was on the verge of coming.. He swept his thumb over her sensitive mound and played with her bud, stimulating her so acutely that it forced a poignant cry from her throat. Her lids swooped down again, becoming too heavy as she strained against his fingers, and he covered her mouth with his, swallowing the cry emanating from her throat as her orgasm spilled down his hand.

  He stayed like that until he felt her caress his hair. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. They were peaceful, the pupils that had magnified before the storm beginning to return to normal. He withdrew his hand from under her skirt and she immediately took it and slipped the fingers that had been inside her into her mouth.

  “I want to find out how I taste in your mouth,” she told him.

  “Well, you’re going about it all wrong,” he said. He put his fingers in his mouth, licked them thoroughly, and then gave her a lingering kiss. The furthest thing from his mind was the Times.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The following morning he awoke feeling uneasy. Something had awakened him, and almost immediately he knew what it was. He was alone in bed. She was gone. He lay still for a moment, listening to the quiet, struggling against a feeling of dread. Feeling strangely disembodied, as though he had ceased to be in some way, he threw back the covers, walked to the closet, and opened it. Relief flooded him, and he let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. Her things were still there. She hadn’t left.

  Pulling on his dressing gown, he left the bedroom and walked down the hall, glancing quickly into all the rooms before descending the stairs. A quick check downstairs confirmed she was nowhere in the house. She must have stepped out for something. He switched on the coffeemaker, went into the study, and stood in front of the window, looking down the street. When the aroma of coffee wafted in, he went back into the kitchen, poured himself a cup, and sat at the kitchen table to drink it.

  He heard the key being inserted into the door and then her quick footsteps as she came in, closed the door behind her, and walked into the kitchen, pulling off her wool mitts. She came up to him, leaned against him and dropped a kiss on his head.

  “Did you miss me?” she asked. “I felt like going for a run, but I didn’t want to wake you. Mmm, that smells good,” she said.

  He held the cup up to her lips and she took a sip. “I didn’t know you were a runner,” he said. “Where do you run?”

  “This morning just in the park for a bit. I’m not really a runner. I just run now and then when I’m in the mood or when I’ve been cooped up too long.”

  “Is that how you felt this weekend, cooped up?”

  “Nope. God, I’m hot.” She whipped the sweatband off her head, unzipped the jacket of her tracksuit, and hung it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

  His eyes fastened on the outline of her nipples through her spandex tank top. She released her hair from its ponytail, fluffing and aerating it with her fingers. The movement jutted her breasts out, and he forgot about his coffee as he sat there, lost in contemplation of her outlined nipples, her rosy cheeks, her reddened nose, and the sweat stains on her tank top. Thinking of where else she might be sweaty turned him on.

  “Your coffee’s getting cold,” she teased.

  He blushed, knowing she had probably read his mind.

  “An overactive imagination can kill ya,” she said, putting her head to one side and regarding him with amusement.

  “At least I’ll die happy.” He grinned back.

  “Does that mean you don’t need what I was thinking of giving you?”

  “I don’t know. What were you thinking of giving me?”

  “Use your imagination,” she said mischievously. “I’m going up to take a shower.”

  He watched her smilingly as she ran lightly up the stairs, then picked up his coffee and went into the study. He turned on the computer to see if he had any messages before he left for the office.

  About fifteen minutes later he went upstairs. He entered the bathroom and stopped short, watching her faint outline through the steamed-up glass shower doors. Her back was turned to the shower, and she was standing there, her head thrown back, letting the spray hit the back of her head. She turned off the shower, and as the steam began to clear, he saw her bend over and upend her hair. She took hold of it and twisted it, squeezing out the excess water. Then she straightened up, flipping her hair back, and slid the door open. She stopped short when she saw him standing in the doorway, then took a towel and wrapped it around her, tucking the end in between her breasts.

  “Your turn,” she said, walking over to the door. She ruffled his hair as she passed and went into the bedroom.

  He walked over to the sink and began to shave, his eyes on his reflection in the mi
rror, feeling a little bit shaken at how deeply he craved this intimacy with her, being surrounded by her femininity, watching her do all those little things that made her so intensely female, sharing a bed, a bathroom, a house with her. He dreaded the day when his six months with her would be up.

  His secretary had scheduled several meetings that kept him occupied for most of the day. Around three o’clock she entered his office with a large envelope, which she indicated had been hand delivered. He had been expecting it. The full report from the agency he had hired to track Nicola. He debated delaying reading it until after his last meeting, scheduled for three thirty, but curiosity got the better of him.

  He slit the envelope open and pulled out the contents—a cover letter and two typed pages. He skimmed it. Most of it he already knew from their interim reports. The last paragraph of the second page chilled him. When the initial shock had passed, he got up precipitately, anger and jealousy raging through him. He reached for his briefcase, threw the report inside, and snapped it shut. He put on his coat and walked out the door.

  “Don’t forget your three thirty,” his secretary called out, observing his agitation. She watched him, her expression concerned as he stalked past her desk.

  “Cancel it,” he snapped.

  Chapter Thirty

  He let himself in the house quietly, hung his coat in the closet, and walked into the study. She was lying on the couch asleep. He studied her face as she slept, her thick lashes like sooty crescents, her mouth slightly open, a hand curled under her cheek. She looked so innocent, so untouched. He felt completely taken in by her, and pain knifed him at the thought that he wasn’t the only one. He shook her by the shoulder, almost roughly. Her eyes flew open, widening in pleased surprise when she saw him.