Baron

by Joanna Shupe

  Will let out a choked sound in the back of his throat. “Pardon?”

  “A reading. Right now, it will cost you two hundred dollars.” A small smile escaped her lips. No way he would pay it. He’d storm off in a “waste of money” huff, and she’d never see him again.

  He paused for a moment, his gaze locked on hers, then one hand slid into his jacket. He withdrew a long leather billfold, flipped it open, reached inside, and pulled out a stack of paper. Carefully he counted out two crisp bills and placed them on the wooden table in front of her. Two hundred dollars.

  His mouth curved in a predatory smile of white, even teeth. “Sold.”

  * * *

  “That buys you just a reading,” Ava snapped in her normal voice. Will was glad to know the Madam Zolikoff act had now been dropped, at least between them.

  “Of course,” he said, and inclined his head. Taking the chair opposite her, he stretched his legs out. “What else would it possibly buy?”

  He knew what he wanted, of course. Her. But this stubborn woman could not be bought, cajoled, threatened, or forced into doing anything—a trait that angered him as much as he respected her for it.

  “What do you want, Will?”

  Drumming his fingers on the table, he debated where to start. So very many things he wished to discuss with this woman . . . “You hit me.” Her brows rose, so he clarified. “During the séance. You hit me on the back of the head.”

  “I did no such thing. You must have angered the spirits—most likely with your arrogance.”

  He chuckled at the tart response. One could always count on Ava for the unexpected. “Ava, what are you doing here tonight?”

  “If you haven’t figured that out by now, I certainly cannot help you.”

  “Do not be flippant. I never would have attended if I’d known you would be here. I would not wish to cause you any discomfort while you were working.”

  She gave him a patronizing look, one he’d seen from her on numerous occasions. “You do not cause me discomfort. Did your Miss Baldwin not inform you of tonight’s agenda?”

  “Again, she is not my Miss Baldwin, and furthermore, no. She did not tell me anything other than we were attending a dinner party. I saw you gave her a reading.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  The blasted woman did not elaborate, though she knew damn well what he was dancing around. “I am curious about the contents of said reading.”

  She folded her hands on the scarred wooden table. “I believe it’s none of your business.”

  So it had to do with him. “Please tell me you didn’t say anything to her about—”

  Her shoulders flew back, horror washing over her features, and Will felt himself relax. Ava hadn’t revealed anything personal. “Absolutely not. She asked silly things, really. About her love life and future husband.”

  “And what does the future hold for her in those areas?”

  Ava’s generous lips twisted into a smirk, one that heated his blood. He longed to kiss that devious expression right off her face.

  “Oh, William. Worried I ruined your chances with her?”

  Charlotte couldn’t possibly know that Will was considering her for a wife, so the questions must have been generic, the frivolous musings of an unmarried debutante. Which meant Madam Zolikoff had no influence over the outcome either way, thank God. Still, he didn’t like not knowing what had been discussed. “No, of course not. She’s a debutante and therefore expects to marry soon. Stands to reason she’d be curious about her fate.”

  “And money,” Ava muttered. “Of which you seem to have plenty, so you’re perfectly matched.”

  Something about her tone of voice . . . Holy Christ. “I cannot believe it—you’re jealous.”

  “That is ridiculous. I’m certainly not jealous over any woman you choose to spend time with. They can all have you, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Lies on top of lies. Could he ever get a straight answer out of this woman? “Is that so?” She nodded emphatically, and he suddenly needed for her to admit the lie. No woman kissed like Ava did, with her whole body and soul, unless she felt something for the other party involved, at least not in Will’s experience.

  “I’d like my reading now,” he said, and slid his bare palms onto the table. She swallowed and glanced down, leaving him to wait. He’d been craving her touch, the slide of her bare skin against his, for more than an hour now. If this was the only way to get her to touch him, so be it. “Come now, I’ve paid handsomely for it.”

  “Fine.” She exhaled sharply and then reached for his wrists. At the first touch of her fingers, his body jolted. His pulse began to race, every nerve ending suddenly attuned to that precise area.

  She pursed her lips and pretended to study his palms. “I see that you are stubborn and arrogant. You’ve been indulged since childhood and are convinced you’re always right. You’ll die a miserable, lonely old man with only your money and servants to keep you company.” She released him and sat back. He’d believe her unaffected if it weren’t for the furious flutter at the base of her neck. She was attracted to him and fighting it damn hard.

  He tried not to smile. “A bit on the light side for two hundred dollars.”

  “Take it up with the union,” she snapped, not meeting his eyes as she smoothed her sleeves down over her wrists.

  “I’d like to read your palm.”

  Head shooting up, her startled gaze locked with his. “What?”

  “Your palm.” He crooked his finger at her. “Come, let me read it.”

  “No. You’re hardly qualified to understand—”

  He reached forward and snagged her right hand in both of his palms. His breath caught. The same electric current jumped between them, the simmering desire on the verge of boiling over, a sensation that raced along every nerve ending.

  Thankfully, Ava seemed too stunned to fight, so before he lost his chance, he stroked his thumbs over the smooth surface of her palm. A nearly imperceptible shiver went through her arm. Excellent.

  With the tip of his finger he traced the longest line on her palm. “You have a sturdy, long Life line, which means you’re clever and hardworking. You have many responsibilities but handle them admirably. You’re resourceful.”

  “That’s . . . that is not what a long Life line means. You’re making all of this up.”

  He looked into her bewildered brown eyes. “This is my reading. Stop interrupting.” Shifting in his chair, he continued. “This is your Love line.” He dragged his finger slowly across her delicate, creamy skin, tracing the slight indentation as if memorizing it.

  Perhaps he was. He wanted to learn everything possible about her body, feast on her until he was sated. Satisfy this obsession for her and then return to the way things were before Madam Zolikoff. The calm predictability where no one challenged him.

  But first . . . first he would have her.

  He cleared his throat. “You do not trust easily because you’ve been hurt in the past. You are suspicious of your passion, of your feelings. But there’s so much passion inside you, Ava. It’s as plain as the lines crisscrossing your skin.” He slid his fingertip down the length of each of her fingers, one by one, mapping her digits with his touch. Her lips parted, and he heard a small sigh escape. “So much passion it makes you ache.”

  Lifting her hand to his lips, he placed a tiny kiss on the pad of every calloused finger, until he’d given attention to all five, then he pressed his mouth to the middle of her palm. Her small hand trembled beneath his lips, and he gently nipped the heel of her hand with his teeth. She gasped but did not pull away, and the sound caused his cock to swell behind his trousers.

  “Do you ache, Ava?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, her chest now rising and falling rapidly.

  Sensing victory, Will drew another line on her palm. “This is your Fate line,” he said, holding her stare. Her brown depths were dark and glassy, and his erection throbbed in response. Soon. He would have her very, ve
ry soon. “Would you like to know what your fate holds?”

  She nodded, and the words tumbled out of his mouth. “There is a man you know, one very close to you. He wants to bring you pleasure, more pleasure than you can possibly stand. Worship you with his hands . . . with his mouth. Take you to bed and love you until you beg for mercy. He will take very good care of you, Ava. So good, you’ll never doubt again.”

  A becoming flush crept up her neck, her mouth going slack with arousal. The air turned thick, like breathing in humid air on a hot summer day, and Will had to remind himself of the reasons he could not pounce on her now. “Will you meet me tomorrow?”

  He held his breath, waiting for any sign from her. Finally, just when he thought she wouldn’t answer, she nodded. Satisfaction roared through him, lust tightening his belly. “Meet me tomorrow at the café inside the Washington Street Hotel at one o’clock sharp.” Another nod of acknowledgment.

  Standing, he crossed to her side of the table and leaned down to quickly brush his lips across hers. “Until tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ava could not stop trembling. She sat at a small iron table in the hotel’s crowded café, thankfully an establishment where women were permitted to dine alone or with other women. Otherwise, an unescorted woman would have presented a problem.

  But Will had known, obviously. The careful consideration of this location should not surprise her, undoubtedly a result of his many illicit trysts over the years. He was clearly experienced in seducing a woman, evidenced by his ability to turn her into a puddle of desire last night at Mr. Price’s house. How could she have possibly refused him?

  Something about seeing him there with another woman had caused her to act rashly. Ridiculous, when she had no right to be jealous. Logically, she’d known as much, yet a small part of her needed Will to want her—not some girl only interested in his money. And whatever the reasons behind this line of thinking could be unearthed precisely never.

  The urge to flee welled up for the thousandth time since accepting his proposal. The man was pompous and privileged, the complete opposite of her in nearly every way. It’s not too late. You can still leave. But she wouldn’t, not now.

  Because you deserve one afternoon of selfishness. One afternoon to merely enjoy herself. How long had it been since she’d done that? Years, most likely. There were countless things to do every day, responsibilities she could not shirk. And every penny had been saved or spent on the family—never on her.

  One afternoon. That was all she wanted. All she needed. After today, no more selfishness. This day would sustain her for years, the memory of an afternoon where a handsome, enthralling man had been desperate for her. Then she would walk away with her heart intact.

  A tall figure across the room caught her eye. Will. Heart pounding in her throat, she watched the shift of his broad shoulders, the length of his long, confident stride. Thigh muscles bunched under his navy trousers with each step. Heavens, he was beautiful. Men should not be this appealing; it was unfair to the women of New York.

  His mouth hitched when he saw her, something akin to relief shining in his gray gaze as he sat at her table. “Miss Jones,” he murmured in his cultured, deep voice. “I had my doubts you would actually show.”

  She swallowed. “I’m a woman of my word, Mr. Sloane.”

  He reached into his coat pocket and placed a handkerchief on the table. Then he leaned in and said quietly, “Inside is a key to room four-oh-four. Take the stairs there now, and I’ll follow in a few minutes. Did you settle your bill here?” He indicated her half-empty china cup.

  “Yes, I did.” She stared at the white linen handkerchief. Was she truly going to do this? How could she not do this? No one had ever caused her to feel this dizzy or desperate. When would a chance like this, with a man she craved to the bottom of her toes, arise again?

  “I cannot risk conception.”

  He jerked slightly at her quietly blurted words. “Of course. We’ll take precautions to prevent a child. I would never want to add to your burdens, Ava. And you should know that, should a child accidentally result, I promise I will accept responsibility.”

  She believed him. He was different from Stephen van Dunn, so much more open and forthright. Will did not mince words or spout platitudes; he said what he meant and damn the consequences. Stephen had been weak, too afraid to stand up to his family for her. Will Sloane was the strongest man she’d ever met, with a drive and force of will unlike any other.

  Decision made, she slid her hand across the metal table and fisted the cloth. The outline of the large key bit into her gloved palm as she rose. “Good afternoon, sir.”

  He stood and tipped his derby. “And you as well, miss.”

  The stairs loomed inside the lobby, and she took them carefully, slowly, thanks to wobbly knees. Up she went until she reached the fourth floor. Brass placards on each door proclaimed the room number. Breathing hard, she unearthed the key from the cloth in her hand and fit the end into the lock. Turned. Pushed the wooden door open.

  A large room came into view—along with an equally large bed. Against the wall stood a wooden dresser with a porcelain pitcher and washbasin on top, but her focus remained on the bed. Would she truly be taking off her clothes and lying with Will Sloane? The skin of her face burned just considering it. Yet Ava was not particularly shy or timid, and she did trust Will to take care with her. He’d already demonstrated that ability on the train from Albany.

  She exhaled and removed her gloves. Then she unpinned her hat, placed it on the dresser. Before she could worry over what else to take off, a knock sounded at the door. Opening it, she found Will on the other side, his lids heavy as he swept down her frame. “I appear to have the right room,” he said softly, then came inside.

  When the door shut behind him, he stepped in closer and cupped her jaw in his large palms. “I hardly know where to start, you exquisite woman. I want to do quite a number of dirty things to you.”

  Her heart raced inside her chest. “Someone as proper as you, dirty? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Always challenging me,” he murmured. His head dipped, mouth drawing closer. “Brace yourself, then, because there is no limit to the amount of pleasure I plan to bestow on you this afternoon.”

  He kissed her, a swift sealing of their lips that stole her breath. He did not tease or hesitate; instead, he was impatient and demanding. His tongue wasted no time in sliding past her lips to invade her mouth. Slick heat assaulted her, and a wave of need unfurled low in her belly. The unexpected wildness went a long way in reassuring her, the idea that he might crave her enough to forget his well-bred manners.

  One of his large hands settled against the side of her neck, and the other burned through the clothing on her hip. Her own hands crept along his lapels and then twined around his neck, leaving her fingers to tangle in his silky hair. He clutched her tighter, her breasts now crushed to the flat plane of his chest, and he let out a frustrated grunt.

  “Too many blasted clothes. May I undress you?”

  The portentous question hung between them as they both struggled for air. There would be no going back after this moment. Will’s intense gaze, so full of hunger, burned down at her, almost as if he wanted to devour her on the spot, and all doubt fled. She brought her fingers to her throat to unfasten the small pearl buttons at the top of her collar.

  Will stepped back, his mouth curving in a half grin as he shrugged out of his frock coat. By the time the top of her throat lay exposed, he’d already shed his necktie and vest. “Here, allow me.”

  Just when she thought he would assist with her clothing, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. With one knee on the mattress, he placed her near the center of the bed and then stretched out beside her.

  He leaned over to capture her mouth, his body pressing her into the mattress. She would never tire of his kisses, the skilled assault on her senses. So unlike any of the others she’d shared with a scant number of men over
the years, Will’s kisses held wicked promise, the lure of something momentous ahead. If she hadn’t told herself this was a onetime occurrence, she might be worried of becoming addicted to him.

  Breaking away from her mouth, his lips trailed along her jaw. His fingers clasped her hand and brought it to her chest. “You work on the top half, and I’ll work on the bottom.”

  Before she could garner any embarrassment, he was moving down the bed. He began lifting fistfuls of her skirts, raising them to her waist, exposing her drawers. His eyes, hot and intense, raked her from hip to toe. “You are impossibly lovely. I cannot think of a more beautiful sight than you, right at this moment.”

  He found the tie to her bustle and, rolling her, removed the padded piece. Then she was on her back, and he slid between her thighs. His shoulders held her legs wide open, his face right above her mound. His hot breath gusted over the thin cotton of her drawers. What was he doing down there?

  She’d expected for them both to remove their clothing, after which they would join their bodies. Quickly. Feverishly. A lovemaking that would satisfy this insane burning. Then she could put her clothes back on and leave, resume her daily routine. In all her musings, never had Will remained mostly clothed and placed his face between her legs.

  “I do not see you unbuttoning,” he reminded her.

  “I am waiting for these dirty things you promised.”

  “Oh, indeed?” He reached forward and parted her drawers, revealing the most intimate part of her. His head dipped, and she wondered what he—

  The wet slide of his tongue swept through her cleft, and Ava’s hips jerked off the bed. Mother Mary, what had he just done? The tingles reverberated down her legs and caused her toes to curl.

  “Hmm,” his deep voice rumbled. “I think you’re going to like the first dirty thing as much as I will.”

  * * *

  Will had died and his tongue had gone to heaven. It was the only explanation for the exquisite taste of her, this maddening woman who had been driving him crazy for weeks. But he had her now, and he had no plans to let her go until they were both exhausted.