Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  "Work my wiles?" she repeated. He'd noticed? "Don't flatter yourself."

  "The hand on my thigh was particularly effective." Slowly, he began walking toward her again. "A few inches north, and you might have been confronted with something you hadn't bargained on."

  She smiled slowly. "I would have been able to handle it."

  His eyes widened. For one beautiful moment, his composure wavered. Miranda cheered silently.

  One of the dogs raised his head and stared at his master. "Relax, Blue," he said absently, and the dog subsided.

  "As for you, Ms. Foxglove—" He smiled. "I suppose you mean to imply that you are a woman of vast experience?"

  "Let us say, instead, useful experience." She toyed with the ends of her hair, which just happened to reach the top of her boobs.

  He stopped in front of her. "Am I correct in assuming that you've decided to use your sex appeal to influence my behavior?"

  His eyes were cool, but they were definitely fastened on her stroking hand.

  "You have such a low opinion of yourself?" she said. "I couldn't simply be attracted to you?"

  "Let us say," he murmured, deliberately mimicking her, "that I've been the target of many a devious scheme. I try to keep my wits about me when women come on to me."

  "What a fuddy-duddy you are." As she played with her hair, her pinky finger slowly, casually, stroked the top of her breast. "You must miss out on a lot of fun."

  "Minx." He inhaled sharply. "What's your next trick?"

  She leaned forward. "I think I'll try hypnosis."

  A startled laugh burst out of him. "I don't see a gold watch."

  "This is mental hypnosis." She caught his eye and then deliberately lowered her gaze until she was staring at his crotch. Crude, but fun. Seated here on the sofa, she was right at eye level with that very interesting part of his anatomy. Plus, it was something she'd been wanting to do since the first second she'd met him. Why not make it a game?

  "That's a bloody good party trick." He turned on his heel, and walked again to the windows. The dogs padded silently behind him.

  Disappointment knifed through Miranda. What kind of man walked away from an erection and a willing woman? Well, to be honest, she wasn't willing to actually have sex with him, at least not right at this moment. Maybe he sensed that.

  Or maybe he wasn't attracted to her. The knife twisted deeper at that thought. A thought she didn't want to examine too closely. She was doing this whole game just to get the money she and Sharmie needed to carry on with their lives. Money that was legally theirs. So it didn't matter if he wasn't actually interested in her. She just needed to bug him enough that he wanted to send them on their way.

  Therefore, she couldn't allow him to simply walk away from her. She pushed herself to her feet.

  He frowned at her from across the room, his black brows drawn together fiercely. "Damn it," he said. "I'm not doing this." But something else burned in the back of his gray eyes. Desire. She could work with that.

  She sauntered across the room, rose to her tiptoes and pressed herself lightly against his whole frame. One brief touch and then she stepped away. "Your body's not saying no."

  "My body doesn't have as much sense as that piece of paper you're holding," he snapped.

  She smiled, though she could feel that the smile didn't reach her eyes. She didn't exactly enjoy pursuing a man whose interest was, at best, superficial. "You know how to get rid of me," she purred. She reached out and ran a finger down his shirt front, starting at his collarbone, traveling over one nipple, and further down over his hard abdomen. She shivered, and her own nipples beaded tightly.

  He grabbed her finger, and moved it off himself.

  "Enough!" he barked. "I told you last night, I have no intention of hooking up with someone who is in a position of dependency on me. That offends every standard of civilized behavior."

  She didn't dare to touch him again. His voice was cold, his eyes furious, and his entire body stiff and pulsing with something unnamable that crackled fiercely all around him—a potent mixture of desire and fury and frustration.

  But she did lean subtly closer, inhaling his scent– all hot male. "It doesn't offend me," she said softly.

  His nostrils flared, his hands jerked out of his pockets, and he grabbed her. He yanked her close, and then his mouth came down hard on hers.

  She didn't have time to breathe a sigh of relief. She didn't have time to breathe at all.

  Her head fell back and one of his hands clasped it to hold her still. His tongue filled her mouth instantly, probing and sucking and pulling her into a dizzying whirlpool of desire. She pressed up against him as tightly as she could get. When that wasn't enough, she rubbed her whole body against his.

  He groaned, a deep sound that registered dimly. But it meant that those higher pitched whimpers were coming from her. She couldn't stop them. She felt the crispness of his cotton shirt under her fingers, and then the rough silkiness of his hair as she raised her arms to wrap them around his shoulders. She clutched him tighter.

  The truly alarming thing was the sense of rightness she felt in his arms. Just like last night, the physical sensations were overwhelming. But they were only part of the story. She wanted to be right here, with him, regardless of the fact that they weren't going to have sex. His arms gave her a sense of security, and she wanted to give him the same sense of ease and pleasure, aside from sex. If he had worries, she wanted to soothe them away. If he needed advice, she wanted to be a sounding board.

  Oh, she hadn't known what she was doing when she started this. But she couldn't stop it. One of his hands was on her butt, cupping her, kneading her, until he finally flattened his hand against her and simply pressed her against him.

  Faintly, in the back of her mind, she knew she had to call a halt. In a few more minutes, they'd be naked and rolling on the floor. But she needed just a bit more. She opened her mouth wider, all but begging him to move deeper into her.

  He obliged, and it was his breath she heard panting when he lifted his head. He stepped back from her, dropping his hands as if they'd been scorched.

  "Your little ploy isn't going to work," he said, his voice hoarse.

  "Ploy?" She fought for self-control, determined not to let him see the effect he had on her. "Maybe I think you're the hottest thing since fire was invented."

  He stared down at her, his gaze scorching her. "As it turns out, we are combustible together. Who knew?" He ran one hand through his hair, that she'd thoroughly mussed. She didn't think he was quite as calm as he was pretending to be.

  "I knew." She cast about for some kind of explanation to give him. God forbid he should guess at the emotions she was battling. "Power is such an aphrodisiac," she finally said. Let him think that was what her response was about.

  He barked out a short laugh. "That's blunt. Luckily, I'm well-hardened against the charming ways of women. But I'll enjoy watching your efforts."

  "Why are you so angry?"

  "I told you I wasn't interested. But you're continuing to push me."

  The piece of paper with the budget on it crackled under her feet as she stepped back. "You sound like a virgin in a Regency novel."

  He shook his head. "Learn how to accept no for an answer." Snapping his fingers at the dogs, he opened the French doors, and strode out into the garden.

  Miranda proceeded more slowly out of the office wing. She should have expected that the duke, experienced at fending off wannabe brides, would not fall into her clutches like a ripe peach. She wasn't discouraged though. She'd just have to work harder, be bolder, take more risks. If she were perfectly honest with herself, she was hurt that he wasn't as affected by their kisses as she was. However, since she wasn't planning to actually have sex with him, it had to be good that he was willing to call a halt before their kisses went too far.

  She could set her next trap without worrying that the situation would get out of hand.

  Chapter 15

  Miranda ente
red Sharmie's room and tapped the door with her hip to close it.

  "Good morning," she called out, bearing her beautifully laid tray across the room. She'd asked the housekeeper if she could bring some tea up to Sharmie and the woman had quickly provided a tea service and some homemade snacks.

  "I'm so mortified," Sharmie whispered. "I told Mrs. Wilkins the nurse could leave, but she said no one is authorized to let her go except for 'his grace'." She glanced over to the other side of the room where the nurse had seated herself when Miranda arrived. "They all live in awe of that man. In the meantime, everyone probably thinks I'm faking this illness just so we can linger here."

  "Of course they don't." Miranda pressed the back of her hand to Sharmie's forehead. "Certainly, the nurse knows you're sick. If anyone should feel guilty, it's me. I'm the one who said you should pretend to be ill."

  "I think the duke suspected right from the start."

  "He probably did. He's a very suspicious person. But he knows better now." She poured out a cup of tea for Sharmie and added a spoonful of sugar.

  "Has he said anything about the money?" Sharmie took a sip of tea, her anxious eyes regarding Miranda over the delicate china cup.

  "He's a complete jerk." Miranda had to wipe the memory of his kiss from her mind just to force the words out. It was possible that a man could be a jerk and still kiss like the duke did, but it was difficult to have negative feelings about a man who sparked bliss in every corner of one's body.

  "Don't worry about it," Sharmie said. "I'm being silly."

  Miranda waggled her eyebrows and spoke in a deep voice of doom. "I'm not finished with my plotting yet."

  Sharmie gave a faint giggle. "I've seen that look in your eye before. Do I need to warn the duke?"

  "The duke needs no warning. I may be flirting with him a little, but he can certainly hold his own when it comes to any predatory woman."

  "I don't doubt that," Sharmie said emphatically. "So what is the point of the flirting?"

  "Well, either he responds well and decides he likes me enough to relent and give me the money you need—"

  "Or?"

  "Or he gets annoyed enough that he gives us the money to get rid of us." Miranda pointed to the plate of delicious looking scones and muffins. "Would you like one?"

  Sharmie chose a plain scone. "Why can't he simply get rid of us by telling us to leave?"

  "Sharmie! Because we are not leaving until we get what we want. It's our job to make that clear to him." To soothe her agitation, Miranda picked up a blueberry muffin for herself. She'd skipped breakfast this morning.

  "How are we going to do that?" Sharmie asked.

  "That's my Plan B."

  Sharmie groaned. "I was afraid of that."

  "Don't be so timid. No guts, no glory and all that."

  Blowing out a soft sigh, Sharmie said, "Tell me about Plan B."

  "I'm encouraging Jack to invite me to stay." Miranda took a bite of the muffin. Really, her plan didn't sound so bad, did it?

  "You mean you're flirting with both brothers?"

  "They're half-brothers!"

  "That makes it okay, then." Sharmie rolled her eyes.

  Miranda put the half-eaten muffin down on a napkin. Her appetite wasn't too hearty this morning, after all. "Look," she said, "if we get thrown out, we have no chance to get the money. I don't really have a choice. One of them has to want us to stay, and I don't much care which one it is."

  "I presume you cajoled Jack into getting Charlotte to invite us to her garden party?" Sharmie's lips twisted wryly. "I must admit I was shocked when the butler brought me that invitation last evening."

  "Plan C," Miranda said cheerfully.

  "Isn't that enough?" Sharmie raised her delicate blonde brows. "We can't stay beyond this weekend anyway."

  "It should be." Miranda took a sip of tea to hide her hesitation. She wasn't sure how much she wanted to confide in Sharmie. "I'm not sure if the duke can countermand Charlotte's invitation or not."

  "He would do that?"

  Miranda shrugged. "I'm kind of playing on the edge here, annoying him on the one hand, and flirting with him on the other." And that was no joke. If she were smart, she'd give up the flirting, because she was getting in over her head. She could tell others that she was the one doing the flirting, but she couldn't kid herself. He might be far more effectively seducing her. The wire on which she was dancing was very thin, and very high in the air. One misstep and she might tumble right into his arms.

  No. She might as well be honest with herself. His bed.

  She couldn't tell Sharmie all that. So she plastered a smile on her face and said, "Let's just say I want to I hedge my bets. Our time is limited so I can't take anything for granted. Until we get the money, we need to keep moving forward on all fronts."

  "I have to warn you that I'm feeling better today," Sharmie replied. "Not well enough to leave yet, but by tomorrow, the nurse might be able to report that I'm recovered."

  "That's good news. You know I don't really want you to be ill." Miranda pointed to Sharmie's tray. "Could you drink a little more tea? Won't you try the scone? They're delicious. One thing about this duke – he enjoys the good life."

  "No, I guess I'm not actually ready for food. Tell me what you did yesterday."

  Miranda quickly sorted through yesterday's list of activities. She had to be careful. Despite Sharmie's somewhat flighty behavior, and her fragile blonde appearance, she was astute.

  "The main thing is that I had a nice visit with Sarah, and discovered she really is a talented designer."

  "Wonderful. What does she make?"

  "Mostly dresses. Of course, she's dabbling right now. But we came up with a plan to get her some visibility."

  "You're looking guilty," Sharmie commented. "You might as well tell me the whole thing."

  Miranda laughed. "As I said, this is really Plan C, but Sarah's the one who thought of it, so you can't blame me."

  "Spill it."

  Miranda described the plan for the cocktail party, outlining how both she and Sarah might benefit from some top-notch visibility if everything went as hoped.

  Sharmie looked skeptical, more than impressed. "You're hoping to sell your hats in England?"

  "You know I've wanted to start my hat business for a while. If I can get some sales in England, that would be great. Then I can also sell them in New York." Miranda couldn't disclose her vague hope to remain in England if she could figure out a way to sell her hats here. Really, it was a stupid fantasy and she wasn't going to share it.

  "I don't know." Sharmie plucked at the silk coverlet. "I need to see Pookie while I'm here. Maybe I should just give up and let him pay for the wedding."

  "No," Miranda said fiercely. "I'm not done yet." After everything Sharmie had been through, nursing her husband for years, raising the twins by herself, and now being deprived of her rightful inheritance, she deserved this one thing. "You concentrate on getting well, and leave the duke to me."

  Sharmie stretched out her hand and clasped Miranda's. "Don't do anything outrageous, Miranda, I beg you. Remember, he's still our host and our trustee."

  Miranda leaned over to give her step-mother a kiss. "I'll be as well-behaved as a judge."

  ~*~

  Miranda dove into the water cleanly, without creating a splash. Not that anyone was around to notice her abilities. She'd deliberately arrived fifteen minutes early to have a swim before the time she expected Devon. Since he always had a fixed schedule, she'd asked Daisy what time he went for his nightly swim. Of course, she told Daisy she wanted to avoid him, when, in fact, the opposite was true.

  She was an excellent swimmer, courtesy of summers spent on a swim team at their Vermont vacation home. The pool was cool and refreshing and mysterious in the darkness. Although there were bound to be lights available, she hadn't looked for them. The full moon cast a bright-enough light over the open area.

  A stone-flagged terrace surrounded the pool, and several lounge chairs ha
d been stored for the night in a down position. Miranda had carefully chosen a chair that would highlight her in the moonlight when she exited the pool, and she'd placed two towels and her white cotton sundress on it.

  Of course, she was naked in the pool. The silky water caressed every part of her, and she enjoyed the sensation as she crawled smoothly down the length. Back and forth she traveled, counting laps automatically.

  Twenty laps. One mile.

  She started on a second set, switching to a breast stroke, just to exercise some different muscles.

  A click broke the silence.

  Her body tensed. If it was someone else arriving, she'd have a problem since she was naked. But it was Devon who emerged from the same door she'd used to exit the house. His feet made no sound on the stone, but she could see the outline of his tall, broad-shouldered shape. He must have noticed someone swimming, but he didn't say anything until he stood at the deep end of the pool.

  "Good evening." He looked down at her, and his cool formality wrapped around him like a protective cloak. Not for the first time, she saw the power of an important title and a lot of wealth. You always had your dignity.

  But he also seemed so alone in his quiet stance. Her heart pinged a bit. Did he enjoy loneliness, or was it just a byproduct of his living conditions? The boss always operated on his own. A tyrant never had friends.

  She treaded water, realizing suddenly that a plan that had seemed feasible when considered only in her imagination was downright scary now that she was confronted with the duke. How could she have thought she could be naked in his presence? It was too unnerving. "I hope you don't mind me taking advantage of the pool," she said.

  "Not at all," he answered politely. He glanced over to the lounge chair, where her white dress glowed in the moonlight. "In fact, I presume you're skinnydipping, and that's a delightful image for me to ponder."

  So much for subtlety. She gulped, her heart pounding. Did she have the nerve to do this? An image of Sharmie bloomed suddenly in her mind, her delicate face pale, her eyes worried. Only Miranda could give Sharmie the wedding she wanted. On the thought, Miranda straightened her spine and waved an invitation. "Come on in."