The Sculptor's Seduction (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 2)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  And he couldn’t decide what feeling it inflamed more – his frustration or his desire.

  It didn’t matter – both demanded the same response: careless, asshole Pierce. He needed to push her away and the best way to do that was to push her buttons – irritation interspersed with blatant flirtatious advances that suggested she keep her distance unless she wanted to be ravished by him. Most would argue that this was his normal self, but it was only normal when he was trying to keep someone at bay, usually someone he was afraid was beginning to think him soft or had started to care too much. He couldn’t let anyone care about him.

  He wasn’t worth anyone’s feelings. It wasn’t his fault that certain people – like Tristan, Sloane, and Morgan, and even Ellie and Cyn – chose not to see that in spite of how hard he tried to make it painfully clear.

  Ana, though… she seemed to see him for exactly what he was worth and for both of their sakes, he tried to keep it that way.

  Until this morning.

  Disappearing beneath the streets into the dark tunnels beneath, Pierce felt his personality becoming more at home. Cursing, he jogged down the steps only to realize that he’d missed the latest train. The empty platform now taunting him with dark thoughts from earlier.

  That morning had been like every other morning since their plane had landed at Heathrow. Pierce had woken up with the dawn annoyingly aroused again and wondered for the umpteenth time why his body chose this instead of the willing bed partners he’d invited back to the house to slake his lust – and solidify his reputation in Ana’s eyes.

  He’d thrown on his sweats and went into the sitting room adjoining his spacious bedroom. At least the house she’d procured for them was practically a mansion in the middle of the Mayfair. She must be doing well at Interpol to have access to a residence like that.

  Each bedroom had its own private sitting room. In his case, he’d turned that sitting room into his temporary studio. And considering how she’d scolded him for bringing food up to his room – it was probably for the best that she didn’t know about the paints that were strewn everywhere. He’d brought some of his supplies with him and then purchased everything else that he needed the first day or two that they were in town.

  After recovering from his jet lag, he’d gone out in search of some lovely women to model for him and take his mind off a very specific, puzzling, and frustrating woman who was off-limits for so many reasons.

  The first night, he’d been his usual charming self and picked up a lovely Brit at a bar nearby who was willing to let him paint her in return for the seductive promise in his dark eyes. Everything was going according to plan until he reached the point where he normally stopped working on the painting in favor of some more vigorous activity. At that moment, the lovely, buxom brunette who had been eagerly awaiting his attentions was now no longer attractive to him.

  Pierce had felt like a train had hit him, knocking every lascivious desire from his body. The shock had only been momentary before rage set in; in retrospect, he felt a small twinge of guilt for telling the woman to get out. The look on his face quickly halting the protest that was about to escape from her mouth – wondering why he intimated that there would be a long, pleasurable night ahead only to kick her out barely two hours in. Again, it was the unexpected that set his temper off.

  He’d tossed the painting he’d been working on, starting over fresh from his imagination. Only the woman that appeared on the canvas was no imagined seductive goddess – it was a very real Ana.

  Pierce stepped onto the train, bracing himself as it began to move, taking him towards the very same woman who occupied his thoughts. He checked his watch; he was going to be late for the damn meeting and he knew he was going to get shit for it from Her Majesty, Queen Ana.

  The same scenario repeated itself every other night for the past few weeks. And it didn’t matter what he did – if alcohol was involved, if he had the women pleasure themselves in front of him – as soon as he gave up on the painting that was going nowhere, every sexual desire of his was gone.

  It had been over four goddamn weeks since he’d had an orgasm, he thought angrily as he got off at the Green Park stop. It was the longest he’d ever gone and he wasn’t sure he was going to make it much longer.

  To make matters worse, the only woman his body felt like desiring was his friend’s goddamn twin sister – the one woman that practically ignored him each and every day and for good reason.

  The house was big so it was relatively easy to go about business without running into anyone, but he knew she was purposefully avoiding him. When they did come into contact, her words were succinct and to the point, wasting no time conveying her thoughts or getting information from him so that she could be free from his presence. She was biding her time until the rest of her team got there and she was forced to work with him.

  They’d arrived in London sooner than expected because of Tash, so it was only a few days ago that the two agents Ana wanted – and trusted – to help them finally arrived back in London fresh off of a case in Spain and today was the first day that all of them would meet to go over intel and strategy. A meeting that he was currently ten minutes late for.

  Walking up Berkley Street, he knew he should have gone for a run that morning. If he had, he probably could have avoided everything that happened earlier.

  This morning, instead of using exertion to exhaust his desire, he’d woken up on the couch in his studio to the face – the painting – he’d felt compelled to create and the only one that he seemed content with its progress; it was the one of Ana. Invariably, after he sent home each and every model that he brought back, Pierce ended up working on her face.

  The soft waves of her blonde hair and those hazel eyes that seemed to change with her mood… Letting out a frustrated curse, Pierce ran his hand through his jet-black disheveled hair, deciding to get something to eat to satisfy his stomach… and maybe something to drink to subdue his mind.

  The house was three floors with a main staircase that connected them, sweeping down into a grand entryway. A hard right at the bottom of the stairs, would let you follow the hallway into the back of the house where the kitchen and morning room were secluded; it was the way that he should have gone. Instead, he used the second staircase that secretly connected the third floor (where his suite was) to the second floor and then down right into the kitchen; it was probably a remnant feature from back in the days when the third floor was reserved for servants who needed quick, secluded access to the kitchen.

  Not bothering to put on any more clothing, he silently left his bedroom – shirtless and wearing sweatpants that did nothing to conceal his arousal. Pierce stalked down that narrow stairwell in the dead silence of the early morning. The problem with such a large house was that it lulled him into the assumption that, at that hour, he could move freely through the space without seeing his housemates.

  Of course, except for this morning.

  He’d reached the bottom of the stairs in a rush and stalked around the corner to where the fridge would be waiting a few steps ahead. He was too beleaguered with his own contemplations to be paying attention to his surroundings and crashed directly into the very object of those thoughts.

  Ana.

  “Shit,” he swore as his arms came around her slender form to steady her, feeling the cold rush of water between them from the glass that she had been holding; he was surprised that it didn’t sizzle right off of his skin for how hot and aroused he was.

  It was only a few seconds – if that – that she was pressed tight against him, but fuck did she feel good. Even with all the clothes that she had on, Ana was warm and soft in all the right places – a delicious respite for the hot and hard parts of his body that could find no other release.

  “You can let me go now.” Her Majesty retorted a moment later as though being pressed up against his large, hard form did nothing for her.

  He looked down over her blonde hair that was piled on top of her head like a golden c
rown, down to her sensual, yet sleepy face, locking his black eyes with her hazel ones.

  Two could play at that game.

  “Are you sure about that, Your Highness?” He smirked. “Are you sure you don’t want me to hold you a little closer?” He emphasized his question with a squeeze, acutely aware of the torture he was causing himself. “I wouldn’t want you to get cold…”

  Her gaze narrowed as she purposely tipped her hand, letting the rest of the water from her cup spill out onto him.

  Pierce hissed and released her, watching as the water ran down his chest and stained the front of his very bulging sweats. His head jerked back up to glare at her, sparks flaring in his dark eyes.

  “Oops! Looks like I got you a little wet. Sorry about that,” she said innocently, biting her lip as though it had been a complete accident. “Don’t worry, it’s just water; hopefully it won’t make you melt.” She paused, her gaze dropping to his blatant erection and then returning to his, raising an eyebrow. “Or maybe, hopefully, it will.”

  Her taunting expression immediately evaporated as her brain processed what her eyes had just glanced over – the giant scar that ran down the left side of his neck, down onto his chest, and finally stopped just onto his stomach. The puckered skin almost half an inch wide in some spots.

  He saw her body language immediately change; her gaze turning to one of shock, concern, and pity. He fucking hated that stare. He growled, stepping towards her to put her back on the defensive from his advances. She responded just as he thought she would, moving back to become trapped by the island that was directly behind her.

  Pressing his torso flush against hers, he bent in close to her ear to whisper, “Keep that up, princess, and the only thing that will be melting is you underneath my tongue.”

  That should keep her thoughts from wondering what had happened to him.

  If it had been any other place or time of the day, he would have missed the barely perceptible intake of her breath and the slight flush that graced her velvet skin; they were the only things that told him that what he said had had some sort of effect on her. As he pulled back, her face remained just as coolly composed as it had been before – as if he was boring her.

  And that was what he’d been dealing with for four fucking frustrating weeks. Every attempt to tease or taunt her was met with calm composure. It was so goddamn irritating since it was his main talent - and what he might consider the joy of his daily life - to unnerve everyone else around him.

  He reached his arm behind her. She bent backwards to accommodate him as he leaned forward to grab a handful of paper towels from off of the roll that sat on the granite countertop, rolling her eyes as if to say, ‘seriously?’

  Enjoying one last second of the forbidden feel of her body, he stepped back away from her. Ana turned to set her now empty glass on the counter and Pierce saw that she hadn’t come away unscathed from the spill. She, too, was wearing looser sweat pants and probably a tank top; but, again, it was hard to tell because she had a giant sweater on that her right hand was holding closed over her chest with a death grip.

  He ripped the wad of paper towels in half and went to hand her half when she recoiled, clasping her wet sweater even tighter over her chest. She must have thought he was going to attempt to dry her but quickly realized that that wasn’t his intent.

  “I think you can handle this on your own, princess,” he teased as she begrudgingly took the towels from him, attempting to dry her sweater shield. “You could just take the sweater off, you know. Throw it in the dryer, maybe…” He shrugged, wondering if it was really because she didn’t want him to see any part of her upper body that she stayed clothed in the wet fabric.

  Seeing that her paper towel was now soaked through, he reached towards her to grab her another one. “Let me—”

  “I’m fine.” She huffed, pulling back from him, continuing to pointless attempt to dry herself with the wet rag.

  “Trust me, princess, I’d love nothing more than to dry you off right now. However, I was just going to get you another paper towel…” He chuckled – even more so as she scowled at him, turning to grab a dry sheet for herself. “Actually, that’s a lie. There is one thing that I would love more… and that would be to make you even wetter.”

  “Seriously?” Now the word left her mouth – an acerbic retort as she patted herself off, still not letting go of her sweater, though.

  “‘Seriously’ what?” he asked with a playful smile that she ignored.

  “Does that really work for you?”

  Pierce stepped closer to her again; this time she didn’t recoil, still focus on rubbing the edge of her sweater. “I don’t know, Ana,” he said as he plucked the damp paper towels from her hand. He heard her small gasp as her gaze shot to his, realizing just how close he was to her again. “Did it work?” A devious smile crept onto his face. “You seem a little more out of sorts…” He bent his head even closer. “Do I make you feel nervous, Ana?” His lips now just a breath from hers.

  “No, Pierce,” she whispered, her eyelids drooping as she let the tip of her nose brush his. For a second, he thought that she might kiss him and his entire body froze until she murmured, “You only make me feel nauseous.” Her hard, hazel eyes cut into his stormy stare just like her words cut through him.

  Pierce threw back his head and laughed, letting her sidestep around him to take the narrow stairwell back up to her room on the second floor. He grabbed her arm just before she was out of reach and she spun back to him, still holding her sweater, with fire in her eyes.

  His laughter died into seriousness. “Careful, princess,” he said hoarsely. “Before I take that as a dare to make you feel more.” He released her and she turned and fled, like Rapunzel up to her tower.

  He planted his hands on the countertop as he tried to reign in his body.

  Fuck.

  He tossed the wet paper towels into the garbage, turning to open the freezer and pulled out the bottle of Belvidere. He took two long swigs of the icy liquid before moving to the fridge. In a daze, he grabbed the carton of milk and made himself a protein shake.

  God. The feel of her pressed up against him was like water on his arid body; he’d wanted to suck up as much of her as he could before the sweltering heat of his pent-up desire desiccated him.

  Only, as he walked back up to his room chugging down the nutrients from the shaker cup, he realized that her touch only made his torture worse; his arousal was throbbing to the point where he could no longer will it into submission. Closing his bedroom door behind him, he stalked into the bathroom, turned on the shower, shucked off his sweats, and did what he’d been doing for weeks now.

  He stepped into the ice-cold stream, standing there until the frigid water numbed every ounce of desire from his body – painful, but necessary.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to turn off his arousal like this; he didn’t even know if there was a last time. Pierce had never had this problem before. Then again, he’d never wanted someone like this either.

  He’d never wanted someone who hadn’t wanted him before.

  And it pissed him off.

  And that was why he’d had to get out of the house this morning. After his shower, he’d left and just started walking, hoping the city would provide him a distraction from his frustration and fury.

  Ana was an enigma – an enigma that he couldn’t… shouldn’t… want; she was Morgan’s sister for God’s sake. Maybe if he were Sloane, or even Tristan, Morgan might be able to forgive that or find a way to be ok with it. But not him.

  He was a dark devil and the only thing darker than his appearance was his heart.

  And it was with that dismal thought that Pierce unlocked the front door to the house. He didn’t know how to prepare himself for the wrath of the seductive sovereign within.

  All he knew was that whatever happened, he was royally fucked.

  ction (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 2)