by Shelby Reed
“Oh?” She maintained her languid pace beside him, profile limned by the glow from the porch. “I’ve thought of you, too.” Pausing, she added, “You want to go first? In English, please.”
“In a moment.” He caught her sleeve, nodded at Jude, who had stopped at the door to kick off his sneakers. “I’m going to talk to Kate for a while, J. It’s getting late. Why don’t you turn in, and I’ll stop by on my way to bed in a few minutes.”
“You don’t need to.” Jude turned away before Gideon could respond and slipped inside the house, closing the door quietly behind him.
“God, he’s moody,” Kate remarked, staring after him. “I’m guessing it has to do with you and me being so friendly.”
Friendly wasn’t exactly how Gideon would describe the throbbing need that pounded in his vitals at the memory of how close he’d come to ripping off her panties and taking her there against the piano in the haunted music room. “He’ll have to get over it.”
“And so will I.” She faced him, her brown eyes warm and luminous as they searched his face. “Gideon, I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened in the conservatory before you left town.”
“Me, too. With great agony and anticipation of finishing it.” He stepped closer. “There’s an exception attached to those thoughts of yours. I hear it hanging in the air.” He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, unable to keep his hands to himself. “You’ve been thinking about what happened, but…”
“But you had reservations from the start about getting involved, and you’re right. Your lifestyle, Jude’s illness, the solitude you’ve elevated to an art form…there’s no room for anything more than a causal fling, and I’m not cut out for that.” She chewed on her bottom lip and looked away. “Maybe your friend-who-isn’t-a-friend in Roanoke is better suited for that sort of thing.”
“Yes,” he said, walking a few steps ahead. “She’s perfectly suited for, and quite content, with a casual relationship.” He leaned to retrieve a pebble and skidded it across the driveway. “It’s over with her. I’m not seeing her anymore.”
When he looked at her again, she was watching him with a desperate frown. “You confuse me terribly.”
“I confuse myself.” He caught her hand and drew her closer, reveling in the soft, floral scent of her perfume, the heat of her skin, the rhythmic rush of blood in her veins. She intoxicated him. “How do I stop wanting what I shouldn’t have?”
“Gideon, don’t,” she said when he lifted her knuckles to his lips, but the weakness in her voice told him she didn’t mean it. “We don’t even know each other.”
“Something’s there, nonetheless.” Moving impossibly closer, he let his gaze wander over her bewildered features. He was going to kiss her; he couldn’t control it any more than he could stop the hunger brimming somewhere deep in his center, dangerous and impatient. But by God, it could wait. Wait until he knew what it was like to bury himself inside her and be lost. Then he’d deal with the need to feed. Later.
“There is something,” he repeated, lowering his mouth to hers. “More than attraction between us. More than this incredible, driving need for sex. Tell me you know.”
Her free palm pressed against his chest, more to brace herself than to dissuade him. “I know.”
She took a breath, held it, reminding him of a swimmer about to plunge, and he smiled at her unadulterated anticipation. Then his lips met hers, a gossamer touch, lighting and lingering before he drifted back to weigh her response.
Tears sparkled on her lashes, unexpected and raw. “It’s been a long time for me. I’m not used to such tenderness.”
“Me neither. I’m trying it on for size.” He glanced at her. “So how am I doing?”
At last her smile returned, as though she couldn’t help it. “Disconcertingly well.”
Gideon swayed toward her again, inexorably drawn to her lush, responsive mouth, but the sound of the front door swinging open shattered the aching tension between them.
“Telephone, Mr. Renaud,” Martha said, her pale eyes magnified five times behind the heavy lenses of her glasses. Her cool, stony regard made Gideon feel as though he’d been caught with the girl next door—the sweet, unsullied girl whose smile spiraled through him like an indecent caress.
“Could you take a message, Mrs. Shelton?” he returned, annoyed at his self-conscious reaction.
“This is a call you’ve requested I put through.”
Delilah. Instantly a rush of hunger pounded through him, an involuntary response invoked by Kate’s softness, and only safely assuaged by Delilah’s lurid charms. He wanted so desperately to deny it. It wouldn’t go away, though. It would build, and build…
Gideon swallowed the raging heat in his chest, his eyes fixed on Kate. “Take a message,” he told Martha. “Please.”
“With pleasure.” Martha sounded smug as she slipped back into the house and closed the door.
In the silence, Kate returned Gideon’s gaze. “It’s late,” she said hesitantly. “We should say goodnight.”
He nodded, absorbing her uncertainty, her regret. Underneath dwelled something darker. Fear maybe; she was an intuitive woman. No doubt something bothered her about him she couldn’t name.
“Goodnight, then.” Resisting the urge to touch her arm, her cheek, any part of her just so he could take the sensation with him, he turned and ascended the stairs, feeling her wide, brown gaze on his back.
Promise you won’t hurt her, a plaintive voice whispered in his mind.
He’d die first.
* * * * *
Somewhere in the night, Kate stirred, caught in the place between sleep and waking, where the world is languid and blue and silky.
The curtains over the open French doors waved in the breeze, diaphanous, fluid. She watched them without stirring a muscle. Just her lashes, rising and falling as her eyes followed the sensuous undulations. A light sheen of moisture covered her skin, and the breeze sipped it away with every lift of material. Humidity lurked beneath the temperate night.
Her drowsy gaze shifted away from the doors. Shadows slunk across the room, twisting and writhing. She chased them with her eyes, knowing they weren’t inherent to the atmosphere, but unafraid of them. Drifting and dreaming. Her eyelids drooped. It was a lovely place to linger.
Long fingers curled around the bedroom doorknob, a phantom’s touch. The faint creak of hinges, a soft click as the door closed again. Between one breath and the next, Gideon was there, salient shadow among the gloom. Kate couldn’t see his face, but she breathed his scent, breathed in desire, her heartbeat throbbing like a lazy metronome.
She wasn’t afraid.
His bare shoulders gleamed, ivory smooth, in the dimness. He was merely an element of the night, naked and intent as he drew back the sheet from her body and eased down beside her, eyes like anthracite, radiating heat.
Her eyelids slid closed, arms opening to him and embracing air. But he was there; she smelled him, heard the tender whisper of her name on his lips. Felt the glide of his palm against her hair, caressing her face, her throat. His fingers traced her arm, left chills in their wake as they skimmed aside the strap of her nightgown to reach naked flesh.
Lifting a languid hand to cover his, she guided his fingers to her breast, and encountered her own flesh, soft, yielding, nipple hard and aching. But it was his touch—his touch—invisible to her fingers, which cupped her breast and slid aside the bodice of her gown, his mouth warm and wet and searching against her throat. Her breath quickened, body rising to meet his delectation, fingers reaching to sink into the dark thickness that slid like feathers across her skin. Finding nothing. Nothing to hold, no way to anchor herself as his lips closed around her nipple and drew on her as though he could swallow her very heart.
Hell of a dream.
Cool air wafted beneath her palms as she slid them down his broad back, following the strong line of his spine, tracing through space for the shift of muscle beneath skin and finding intangible mas
s. A ghost.
The night kissed her bare legs, a cool contrast to the heat that pooled between her thighs and misted her skin. Gideon moved over her, a look of such dark intent tightening his features that she felt the tiniest quiver of apprehension. She roused enough to shift her head on the pillow, sensed its solidity beneath her hair; yes, it was real, she was real. Gideon’s touch, sliding aside her nightgown, slipping beneath the elastic of her panties, was real. And his whispered accolades as she lifted her hips, felt the bikinis slide down her thighs…real, all of it. Her lashes fluttered and for an instant, she focused. No one there. An empty room.
“You’re not here,” she whispered. “What do you want?”
“To taste you.” Gideon’s lean body curved over her. “Invite me in.” Words spoken against her abdomen, lips nuzzling in slow descent, warm palms on her thighs, urging them apart.
Her fists clenched around the sheets and she was lost, trapped between a sultry dream and chilled reality as his breath wafted across her most secret places, followed by the silken glide of his tongue. Its tip slid lightly, gingerly, up and down her flesh, circling her clitoris, sampling her secrets.
“Kate,” his words tickled flesh already slick and sensitized, sending myriad shudders quivering through her limbs, “invite me in.”
“Come inside me,” she groaned. “Please, please…”
His tongue plunged unexpectedly into her core, a spear of heat tunneling inside her and wrenching a choked cry of ecstasy from her throat.
All languor fled. Hands slid beneath her hips, curved around her buttocks and lifted her like a chalice as he drank from the center of her pleasure, piercing her with his tongue, then away, circling and teasing, nipping and stinging, until she whimpered with frustration, confusion and delight, until her fingers ached from twisting the sheets and her muscles screamed from straining toward his evasive caress.
Her body danced under his hands like the curtains drifting at the French doors. Blood pounded in her ears; fragments sparkled behind her eyelids. He was eating her alive.
“Kate,” he whispered, lips moving against her tender, yearning center, “come.”
She had no choice. She let go, her fists relinquishing the sheet, limbs quivering as they bore the rushing wave of her climax and fierce, electric spasms pinned her to the damp linens. Pleasure too great to abide. Her cry sheared the air, feral, abandoned.
“Gideon!”
Instantly she jolted awake, tears wet on her face, chest heaving with breaths too shallow to provide oxygen.
The room was empty. She was alone.
“No, no, no…” Her fist hit the mattress, frustration washing away the remnant shudders of pleasure. A stupid, useless, lonely dream.
Shaken, she sat up on the side of the bed and switched on the lamp, and instantly spied her panties in a silken tangle by the bed. Good God. When had an erotic dream ever rendered her desperate enough to shuck off her own underwear? But what a dream it had been. What an incredible, intoxicating, impossible fantasy.
And then she saw the bite marks on the inside of her thigh.
Chapter Seven
The fluctuating sounds of conversation rose from the kitchen, drawing Kate down the steps, toward Gideon’s low voice. The same voice that still resonated in her ears from her dream the night before.
Kate…come.
No question there; she’d done exactly as instructed and couldn’t replay the hazy recollection without shuddering.
“And don’t forget, four o’clock at the garden club,” Martha told Gideon as Kate paused in the shadows beyond the kitchen doorway. “You spread yourself too thin, Gideon. There’s no time in your schedule for a break.”
Dressed in a burgundy tie and a striking, custom-tailored suit the color of his gaze, Gideon leaned his hips against the counter, eyes closed, fingers pressed to his forehead. “Tell me again why I agreed to meet with the garden club?”
“Because you’re a pushover. And you promised to donate thirty rosebushes for the home show, so Jose’s already loaded up the truck to deliver them before your speech. You can then count on an extra hour or two of answering questions and accepting the preening of thirty bored old women who never get to stare at a handsome face like yours.” Martha closed the appointment book and primly seated herself at the table, her back to Kate. “So that should put you home tonight around seven o’clock. Just in time to have dinner with your son.”
He released a slow breath, lashes lifting, and met Kate’s gaze across the room. Instantly his fingers dropped from his brow and he straightened. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” A wave of self-consciousness climbed her neck, flooded her face with heat as she moved quickly to occupy her hands, which had begun to tremble. Grasping a cup from the table, she approached the coffeemaker beside him and reached for the pot.
“Let me.” He took the cup from her, fingers brushing her skin, and filled it. “Sleep well?”
Her lips thinned and she shot him a warning glance. “Just fine.”
“It was hot in the house last night.” He returned the coffeepot to its cradle and moved around her without looking at her again. “Martha, make a note to call the repairman. The cooling unit in the west wing seems to be sluggish.”
“What about the east wing?”
“I only noticed it in the west wing,” he said, pausing to touch a bouquet of freshly cut hydrangeas the cook had brought in. “Incredible heat in that part of the house. No one could possibly sleep.”
Kate forced herself to breathe and clung to the countertop to keep from puddling to the floor.
Oblivious to the tension in the air, Martha jotted the reminder in the back of the appointment book. “Anything else?”
“That’s all.” His expression softened as he crossed to retrieve his briefcase from the chair beside her. “What would I do without you, dear lady?”
“I shudder to think.” She adjusted her glasses, glanced at the gold watch on her petite wrist. “It’s after eight. You’d better hurry.”
“Right.” He grabbed his sunglasses from the desk below the cabinets.
“What about breakfast?” Betty sounded affronted as she set aside a skillet of fragrant pancakes and flashed him a disapproving stare from the stove. “You didn’t eat anything.”
He squeezed the cook’s arm as he moved by her. “I’ll have to miss out this morning. But I bet the gardeners will help you make a dent in those.” He paused and glanced back at Kate. “Why don’t you walk out with me, Ms. O’Brien?”
Heart pounding, she set aside her coffee and stepped out the back door, waiting for him to slip the sunglasses over his eyes. Then she strode ahead of him down the sidewalk, arms folded tightly over her breasts. Her entire being felt raw and discombobulated. She wanted answers, and she was damn well going to get them. But how could she possibly broach the subject of last night’s experience with him, when she wasn’t even sure he’d been in her room?
The mark on her thigh, small and faded, was still there when she’d showered this morning. She couldn’t have dreamed it. Her skin tingled at the memory of his touch. He’d done things to her she hadn’t experienced in years, and only an actual orgasm as strong as the one she’d experienced could have left her muscles sore and shaky. She was imaginative, but not that imaginative.
They rounded the corner, Gideon whistling tunelessly and Kate in sullen silence. This was too much. Too bizarre, too infuriating. She finally looked at him. “Something happened last night.”
Gideon didn’t hesitate. “Really? What?”
“Don’t play games with me.”
The indignation in her tone turned his head, but she couldn’t see his eyes behind the reflective lenses as he paused midway between the mansion and carriage house and caught her hand. “Nothing about this is a game, Kate.”
“Then why do I feel bamboozled?” She shivered as the cool breeze lifted the loose hair from her face. “What happened in my room last night?”
A troubled shad
ow crossed his features and his thumb whisked over her knuckles, back and forth, restless. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it, though, and see if I can come up with a reasonable answer.”
Staring up at his face, Kate couldn’t think clearly. God, his lips were beautiful. Warm and delicious and oh, so skilled on her body. His jaw was clean-shaven, where last night the shadow of a beard had rasped her skin. The scent of soap and mint and aftershave filled her senses.
He released her hand, glanced at his watch and started walking again, leaving her behind in the grass.
“Gideon,” she exclaimed. “Damn it, I have a right to know what’s going on between us.”
His laughter floated to her ears. “Me, too. I can’t wait to find out.” He disappeared inside the garage, and the sound of the Audi purring to life drowned out her curse. If he could be casual about last night’s surreal encounter, so could she. And tonight, she’d lock her bedroom door. Shut out the ghosts and ghoulies and Gideon. She started back toward the house, throat tight with anger.
Behind her the black Audi rolled to a halt, and an electric window buzzed its descent. “You’re upset with me,” he said, his voice low beneath the thrumming engine.
She stopped, whirled back to face him. “Absolutely.”
His expression was somber, unreadable. He laid an arm across the steering wheel and stared out the windshield. “Now’s not the time to discuss this, Kate. But tonight, after Jude goes to bed, sit down and talk with me. No interruptions.”
“Fine,” she replied, only slightly mollified.
A smile touched his lips. “See you tonight, Ms. O’Brien.”
* * * * *
The day ticked by in slow-moving seconds. It exhausted Gideon to move among mortals disguised as one of them; as practiced as he was, he found himself impatient with their frivolous concerns, their slow comprehension, their inability to absorb the colors and sounds and scents of the magnificent world they lived in. Few seemed able to peer beyond the self-imposed walls that surrounded them…and Putnam, with all its God-fearing good intentions, served as a hotbed of the narrowest minds.