by Monica Burns
It enabled her to keep fortune hunters and other men at a distance, but Simon wasn’t most men, and already she knew she had a problem. Tonight she had given and experienced true pleasure. The terrifying part was that she wanted more, and that meant allowing Simon to break through her carefully erected barriers. As tempting as that thought was, it wasn’t without great risk. For years, she’d avoided just this type of hazard simply because it was so dangerous. But this man made her want to forget everything but the pleasure she knew she would find in his arms.
~~~~
Simon entered Ivy’s salon and saw her quickly rise from her chair. Without saying a word, he strode across the room and swept her into his arms. Although he didn’t give her time to protest, she came willingly. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he kissed her deeply. His cock was immediately hard as her tongue danced with his. Bloody hell, the witch had him twisted into more knots than a sailor had rope. An insatiable hunger stirred inside him and settled into every inch of his body. The abandon with which she responded to him only increased the desire barreling through him. God, he needed to get a hold of himself and maintain some self-control where Ivy was concerned. His mouth left hers to caress her cheek and he drank in the scent of lemons off her skin.
“You taste delicious.”
“As usual your flattery is an exaggeration,” Ivy said with a laugh.
“Well, perhaps you’re correct. I have to admit that tasting your cream last night was the sweetest delicacy I’ve enjoyed in quite some time,” he growled softly as he dragged his finger along the edge of her jaw. Heat flooded her cheeks as she averted her gaze from him. With a chuckle, he released her from his embrace.
“I’ve brought you a present.”
Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out a narrow, satin-covered box. He’d had a devilish time finding a jeweler willing to open his shop on a Sunday. It was only his willingness to pay an exorbitant amount of money in addition to the cost of the jewelry that enabled him to secure this particular present.
Women always enjoyed receiving jewelry. Every mistress he’d ever had in his bed had been fanatical in their pursuit of diamonds and other stones. Watching her closely, he handed over the slim case. Puzzlement arched Ivy’s eyebrows as she accepted the gift. As the box snapped open, the delight on her face filled him with mixed emotions.
He’d been certain that she’d like the bracelet, and the excitement on her face sent a rush of satisfaction through him. But deep inside, he was disappointed to find that she was no different from any other woman. It had merely been a matter of finding the right currency. From her obvious delight, a jeweled trinket could easily buy Ivy’s attention and gain him entrance to her bed.
“Oh, Simon. It’s beautiful.” Her fingers rubbed over the stones. “I’ve never seen anything so exquisite.”
“Here, let me put it on you.” Disillusioned, his jaw muscle flexed with raw tension as he reached for the box from her hand. To his surprise, she snapped the box shut and returned it to him then took a quick step back.
“No. I can’t accept it,” she said with a vehement shake of her head.
“Of course you can. You just said you like it,” he said with a frown.
“Well, of course I do. Any woman would, but I can’t accept such a generous gift.”
He stared at her in amazement. It was a game. She wanted to make him think she didn’t want the bracelet, but if he pressured her enough she’d accept it.
“I’m sure I can convince you otherwise. Stop being stubborn and at least try it on.”
“No, Simon,” she said in a quiet, firm voice. “I’m sorry that you think I’m being stubborn, but I cannot and will not accept such a gift.”
“Any other woman would be more than happy to take this present,” he said with frustration. Her features took on a mutinous expression as she glared at him.
“Perhaps, but what happened between us last night was not done with the anticipation of payment in any form, including jewelry. Last night was a pleasant interlude completely devoid of expectations of any sort.” Ivy’s voice was stiff with injury, while her eyes had deepened to a chaotic, stormy blue.
Stunned, he simply stared at her. She thought he was paying her for last night. Wasn’t he? Isn’t that what he’d always done with the women he bedded? Those women had expected his gifts. But here was a woman who wanted nothing in return for giving herself to him freely and openly.
The knowledge had him floundering as he realized he’d insulted her again. It had never been his intent to make her feel like a whore. His jaw tightened as he recognized the truth for what it was. His entire purpose since first laying eyes on Ivy had been to have her in his bed. There had been no thought of even making her his long-time mistress. All he’d wanted was to prove she was like Elizabeth.
His eyes focused on the diamond and sapphire bracelet dangling from his fingers. The devil take it. The bracelet only emphasized the callousness of his behavior. He’d never bungled his actions with a woman so badly or consistently.
With a quick movement, he returned the jewelry to its box and tucked it back into his coat pocket. Now he had to find a way to undo the damage he’d done and ease the tension between them. Clearing his throat, the muscle in his jaw grew taut.
“It would seem that only by folly am I able to acquire any common sense at all,” he said through clenched teeth. Ivy’s widened with surprise at his words, before the storm in her gaze soften with amusement.
“First Catherine Fanshawe, now Melville? I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone continually apologize to me with such panache,” she said with a laugh.
Relief swept through him with the force of a high wind, surprising him with the intensity of the emotion. Damnation, if he didn’t take care he’d find this woman leading him around by the nose. He scoffed at himself. Such a possibility seemed quite remote. If things went as he planned this evening, he would be doing the leading. Biting back a smile, he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her hard.
She was soft and pliant beneath his touch. An ache wrenched through him as his body reacted to her voluptuous curves. He wanted to undress her and explore every inch of her this minute. All too quickly, her eager response made him harder than steel, and he immediately broke away from her. Now wasn’t the time, he wanted to woo her with words not with mere passion. An idea took shape in his head. The library. It was the only place where he could seduce her completely with words in a way that would make her come undone in his arms.
“No matter how much you resist me, I will see you wearing diamonds and sapphires. That and nothing else,” he said with a wicked grin. “Now then, I have something special planned for us tonight. I want you to meet me at the library this evening at nine.”
“The library? What on earth are you up to, Simon?” The bemusement on her face made him grin as he captured her chin and gave her a quick kiss.
“Come to the library this evening and find out.” Turning sharply around on his heel, he strode toward the salon door. Behind him, the sound of her disgusted exclamation widened his grin.
“Blast you, Simon.” Her irritation made him laugh softly. Tonight, Ivy Beecham was going to cry out his name in a much different tone when he was done with her.
Chapter 10
The cold air made soft clouds of her breath as Ivy stepped out of the hack. Despite the fact that it was only a few weeks before Christmas, the weather had brought an unusual amount of chilly temperatures. Slowly, she climbed the steps up to the door of the library.
There was no light coming from within, and she turned to look up and down the street. Perhaps Simon was late. The only person on the quiet street was a night watchman heading quickly in her direction. Reaching into her bag, she pulled her key out and turned to open the door.
“Good evening, miss, might you be Miss Beecham?” The man’s question made her glance over her shoulder, as she nodded at the watchman. “Well then, miss, the gentleman asked me to give y
ou this.”
Accepting the white envelope, she thanked the man and entered the library. Closing the heavy door behind her, she flipped the latch and locked it. The cool vellum paper between her fingers could mean only one thing—Simon wasn’t coming. Ivy’s stomach lurched with disappointment as she hesitated to pull the note out and read it. Dismay quickly followed as she realized how easily her attraction for Simon was spiraling out of control. Whether it was the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, or the way he looked at her, the man set fire to her senses every time they were in the same room.
Even the mere thought of him made her skin tingle and pull her body into a high-pitched state of arousal. That was something Whitby had never done. She shuddered. Once before she’d allowed her emotions to control her body. Whitby had broken her heart all in the space of a month. It had taught her a brutal lesson in betrayal. No. Whitby had simply made a fool of her. Caroline had been the one to teach her what true betrayal was. Cramming the past back into its tiny compartment in her head, she shook her head. As exquisite and pleasurable as last night had been, it had been nothing more than an exercise in temptation.
Did she really think the man could have been serious when he’d instructed her to come to the library at this hour? Blast! All of this self-examination was pointless. With a sharp shake of her head, she blew out harsh breath of disgust. She had no intention of playing Viscount Wycombe’s game, whatever that might be. About to turn and leave the building, Ivy realized for the first time that the main entryway of the library wasn’t as dark as it should be.
Frowning, her gaze noted a soft light spreading its way across the floor from a behind the large rotund pillar shielding the circulation desk. Dear lord, the library was on fire. Ivy raced forward hoping the flames were confined to one of the wastebaskets behind the counter. As she rounded the column, she saw a single candle burning in a brass holder. Confused, she stared at the light then at Simon’s bold handwriting across the crisp, white parchment. She scowled at the missive in her hand then tore it open to read the note. Quickly scanning the words, she uttered a small noise of exasperation. The man was testing her again.
Pierre Corneille wrote, “How delicious is pleasure after torment!” If you wish to end our torment and surrender to pleasure, Ivy then find the note left for you where Corneille is housed.
Still irritated, Ivy studied the message on the note card. What sort of game was the man playing now? She tapped the note against her fingertips for a moment then shoved it into her drawstring bag. Ivy tugged her cape from her shoulders then draped it over the circulation desk. Candle in hand, she walked toward the book stacks. It had been a while since she’d read Corneille, and she bit down on her lip trying to remember where the author’s books were in the library. The memory of Lord Lansdowne requesting a particular volume of Corneille’s triggered a vague recollection that she would find what she was looking for on the second floor of the book stacks.
One hand wrapped around the cold iron banister of the spiral stairs leading to the second floor, she glanced upward. Was Simon waiting for her upstairs? Suddenly eager to find out, she gathered her skirts and hurried up the metal stairs.
Disappointed that Simon wasn’t waiting for her close to the stairwell, she scowled at the empty air at the top of the stairs. The man was making her throw every caution to the wind. She should be running away as fast as her feet could carry her. Instead, she hurried toward the spot where Corneille’s books were shelved at the end of the second aisle. In seconds, she was running her fingertips over the worn leather of Corneille’s literary works. Her search finally revealed the white edge of a card peeking out from between two of the author’s books. Triumphantly, she pulled the envelope out from its hiding place and quickly opened it.
I promised you pleasure, and the Bard himself said
pleasure and action make the hours seem short. Tonight,
time will fly because I intend to pleasure you in ways
you have yet to fathom.
The words on the note card made her inhale a sharp breath. Erotic and sensual, the note shot a bolt of anticipation through her. She’d been right in thinking she should be running away as fast as she could. It was madness not to flee, but this game of words Simon had devised was not only intriguing it was intoxicating.
The Bard had to be a reference to Shakespeare. Amused excitement had her running toward the back of the second floor stacks to the classic English literature section. Her fingers trailing across the leather bindings, she saw the white envelope lying on top of two books. As she reached for the card, she laughed. Never had she met a man with such a clever wit. Pulling the envelope from the books, she tore open the envelope and pulled out the note.
“Was this the face that launch’d a thousand ships,
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?”
Helen of Troy. She frowned at the words. Now the game had taken a deliciously wicked step up in difficulty. Homer’s poem, the Iliad, was about Helen, but these weren’t the words of the Greek storyteller. They were far too modern for the Grecian era. No. These were someone else’s words. But who? Closing her eyes, she repeated the words from the card over and over.
The author’s name was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t quite remember it. It was worse than not knowing what might be in a Christmas present. Christmas—Christopher. That was it. Christopher Marlowe. His books were downstairs.
Eager to find her next clue, Ivy hurried through the book aisles and down the spiral iron stair case. No one had ever been so creative in their dealings with her before, and she liked it. She liked it very much. Reaching Marlowe’s works, she eagerly opened the envelope lying on top of the open shelf beside the books.
“Surely, I said, knowledge is the food of the soul.”
While this is a true statement, I find it vastly over-rated. Perhaps he should have said the art of pleasure
is food for the body, mind and soul.
Smiling she shook her head. For all his rakish charm, he was almost as much of a bookworm as she was. Food for the soul. Was that Plato or Socrates? It didn’t matter, they were both in the Greek philosophy reading area, and she only hoped the game was close to ending as his words were seducing her almost as quickly as his touch had seduced her last night.
Adding the note to the other clues in her purse, Ivy ran toward the philosophy section where Plato and Socrates were housed. Something told her she was almost at the end of this clever scavenger hunt, and her excitement was building with each step she took. As she turned the corner and entered the classical Grecian era section of the library, she caught the faint scent of cinnamon and pine. At the end of the row of books, a soft light flickered against the wall. A light that wasn’t supposed to be there.
Simon. He must be in the small reading room in the back of the library. Smiling she hurried past the rows of dusty volumes to the end of the aisle. Light filtered out into the darkened library from behind the partially open door of the reading room. The door allowed just enough candlelight to shimmer out into the book section. She shivered as she put her hand on the door and pushed it wide open.
The sight in front of her made her suck in a sharp breath. Stretched out on the floor on a bed of soft furs, Simon smiled at her. It was a deliciously wicked smile, but it was his nakedness that stunned her. The maleness of him set every nerve ending beneath her skin on fire.
One leg bent, his arm rested nonchalantly on top of his knee. The confidence he displayed with the revealing pose sent her pulse skidding out of control. Even if she wanted too, she was so transfixed it would be impossible to flee from the room. Her breathing ragged, she pressed one hand to her throat as she took in every hard line of his body. Everything about him shouted raw male power. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized how much she wanted him. She wanted to glide her hands over him in an exploration that would help her memorize every inch of him. She was certain his shoulders would be hard and muscular while his beautiful arms would feel as sin
ewy with power as they looked.
But touching wouldn’t be enough. She wanted to taste him. Press her lips against the sculpted muscles of his chest. It wasn’t fair that he could affect her this way. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry simply from the heat blowing through her. Unable to help herself, her gaze skimmed across the hard muscles of his chest before it followed the thin line of hair that dove toward his erection.
His hard length jutted upward to brush against his stomach, and she swallowed. The sudden dampness between her legs told her that she was as aroused as he was. Wild, wanton sensations flooded her senses. The sight of him made her want to do things she’d only contemplated in the privacy of her own mind.
“Are you ready for our evening of pleasure, Ivy?”
She swallowed the knot in her throat with great difficulty as she nodded and continued to stare at the splendor of him. Tonight would be one she would never forget—she was certain of it. The real question was whether she would emerge unscathed. At the moment, she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was explore his magnificent body and enjoy his touch in return. She watched his smile deepen into one of skilled seduction.
With a lithe movement, Simon sprang to his feet. He reminded her of a sleek, powerful jungle cat as he moved toward her with a slow, leisurely stride. Heart pounding, she sucked in a quick breath as he pulled her into the room then shut and locked the door behind her. She shuddered as his warm hand caressed the nape of her neck before he pressed his hand into her back and gently urged her forward.
Excitement slid through her as he circled her to face her again. He was beautiful. Strong, hard and all male. His touch light, Simon brushed his fingertips across her lips then leaned forward and feathered her lips with a whisper of a kiss. The touch served only to increase the desire growing inside her.