by Anna Durand
During the carriage ride to Sir Dexter's house, we hold hands again. I scoot closer to him so I can rest my cheek on his shoulder. How can spending time with a man I barely know feel so comfortable? Doesn't matter. This is my first vacation in…ever, I think. I'm going to enjoy it and make the most of every moment.
Soon the trees thin out, revealing a large house with oil lanterns hung across the width of its wraparound porch. More flickering light emanates from inside the house.
"Does this guy have electricity?" I ask Richard.
"I have no idea. I've never been here before."
"Are you sure this guy is worth all the trouble?"
He sighs. "These days, I'm not sure of anything."
The closer we traveled to this house, the edgier he'd gotten. I felt his body stiffening up—and not in the way I like. Now that we're here, and our carriage is rolling to a stop, his shoulders bunch up, and I swear he's clenching his teeth too.
"Are you okay?" I ask while he helps me out of the carriage.
"Fine, yes."
"So you grit your teeth for fun?"
He stares at me for a second, then blows out a big breath. "Sorry. I don't want to ruin the evening for you. I've been courting Dexter for months, but this is the first time I'll meet with him in person. We've spoken on the phone several times. But mostly, I talk to his assistant, Ilsa."
"You're nervous. That's understandable. You've got a lot riding on convincing Dexter to work with you."
"The fate of my company, and all the people we employ, rides on this. Signing him could erase the mistakes I've made."
I slip my hand into his, threading our fingers. "Wish I could help you."
"We met yesterday, so you're under no obligation to do anything for me. But I appreciate your support."
"Maybe I can't convince Dexter to sign a contract with your company, but there is something I can do later." I lean closer and whisper, "I give great massages."
"Since we're not going to have sex, I'd better decline your offer. A massage from you will make me want to do wicked things to your body."
Richard leads me up the porch steps and to the front door. It's huge, taller than both of us combined, I think. He grasps the big gold knocker and raps on the wood.
Maybe two seconds go by before the door swings open.
A pretty woman wearing a scarlet dress—Victorian, of course—offers us a tight smile. "Good evening, Mr. Hunter. And who is your guest this evening?"
She speaks with an accent, German or something. I've never been good at figuring out where someone's from based on their accent. She has golden blonde hair that's pulled up into an intricate style, and her blue eyes focus on Richard and only Richard.
He lays a hand on my back. "This is Dr. Madeleine Solberg."
The woman finally looks at me, one brow arching. "Doctor? Sir Dexter will be impressed you've brought such a high-caliber guest, Mr. Hunter. I am Ilsa Weingartner, personal assistant to Sir Dexter Armstrong-Hill."
She offers me her hand.
I shake it, feeling a little intimidated. This woman is lovely, tall, and elegant, and she carries herself with poise and grace. She looks like she belongs in a Victorian dress, while I suddenly feel like an impostor. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Weingartner."
She nods crisply, then steps aside and waves for us to enter.
We follow Ilsa down a hallway and into a dining room.
A long wooden table fills most of the space, with matching chairs lined up along either side and one at each end. Candelabras sit on the tabletop, arranged in a long row with a few feet between them. Overhead, a crystal chandelier features…light bulbs. They look like LEDs. Okay, our host isn't a Luddite after all.
The table has been set for three.
Ilsa invites us to sit down, making sure we take the chairs on either side of the one at the head of the table. Then she excuses herself and leaves.
"This place is like a museum," I tell Richard, who's skimming his fingers over the myriad silverware. I've never seen so many utensils, and I have no idea what to do with most of them.
Ilsa reappears in the doorway, holding a small silver bell. She rings it.
A man shuffles past her into the room.
"Sir Dexter Armstrong-Hill," Ilsa says like she's announcing the arrival of a guest at a Victorian ball. "Dinner will be served in ten minutes."
The man shuffles down the length of the table to take the seat at the head, where Richard and I are sitting at either side. Sir Dexter Armstrong-Hill has shoulder-length gray hair that's curly and wild, as well as bushy sideburns. He wears an old-timey suit, but it's a bit rumpled. Our host aims his brown eyes at Richard.
"We meet at last," Dexter says, beaming at us. His accent is British, but a little different from Richard's. "So, you're the man who wants to seduce me."
Richard's lips tighten, but otherwise, he keeps his cool. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Dexter. Let me introduce my companion, Dr. Madeleine Solberg."
Dexter swings his gaze to me. His lips gradually curve into a smile of unmistakable interest. The sexual kind. He glances at my cleavage, and his smile gets even warmer. "Well, it's a true pleasure to meet you, my darling."
"Thank you. I'm honored to be your guest, Sir Dexter."
"Just call me Dexter. That goes for both of you. We don't need to be formal, do we?"
"I guess not. You can call me Maddie if you want."
"Maddie." He says my name slowly, almost like he's savoring the syllables. "I could go mad for you, Maddie."
"Uh, thanks." What am I supposed to say? I've never before been hit on by a famously reclusive, famously eccentric author. "I read your books when I was in high school. You're a wonderful writer."
"High school?" He rakes his gaze over me again, paying special attention to my bosom. "That must have been last year."
"She's an adult, Dexter," Richard says.
"Is she?" the recluse asks. "Well, she's exquisite no matter how old she is. What sort of doctor are you, Maddie?"
"Epidemiologist. I have a PhD, not an MD."
"Fascinating." He rests his elbows on the table, leaning toward me. "Tell me all about yourself, pet."
My mouth falls open, clearly expecting me to produce words, but I can't. This is the strangest dinner party I've ever attended. The only other dinner parties I've been to were held by the Dixons. Those were informal, family-friendly occasions.
I get the feeling Sir Dexter will make a lot of bawdy jokes.
Richard clears his throat. "Could we discuss the contract first? That is why I'm here, after all."
"Yes, but you brought a delectable female with you. How can I concentrate on business?" He keeps looking at me even when he's speaking to Richard. "Are you sleeping with her?"
I doubt Dexter can see it because he's laser-focused on me, but Richard's eyes narrow and his lips crimp a teeny bit. He could wreck his chances of signing Dexter if he gets annoyed with the man's overt interest in me and his impertinent questions. Maybe I can defuse the situation.
Slanting toward Dexter, I pat his hand. "A lady never discusses her liaisons, does she? But Richard is my companion for the evening, so for my sake, maybe you could dial it back a notch or two."
"But you are enchanting, pet."
"You're quite a character, Dexter, and I think we could be friends. But I don't date or sleep with men who are older than my grandfather."
He stares at me for a few seconds, his expression inscrutable. Just when I decide I must've offended him, he busts out laughing. "You have spectacular taste in women, Richard. Madeleine is delightful, especially when she insults me. Maybe I am older than your grandfather, Maddie, but I am exceptionally good in bed. Just ask any woman on Elusion Island. You're sure to find one who's gotten a leg over with me since I've enjoyed at least half of the female population."
My mouth doesn't gape this time, but I seem to have lost the ability to blink. My eyes start to burn from
the lack of moisture.
Dexter grins at me, and the many wrinkles on his face deepen. "I've shocked you, haven't I? God, I love doing that. Women are delightful when they're stunned."
I can't help laughing. He's obviously teasing me, and I decide he's not a horrible lech after all. He's just a lonely man who hasn't had much company, so he made up a ridiculous lie for fun.
"Not stunned," I say. "It takes a lot more than you've got to shock me."
"Really?"
"Yes, Dexter, really."
"Please, call me Dex." He scoots his chair to the side, moving closer to me. "Now, do tell me everything about yourself. Have you been sunbathing in the nude? I love to do that, and if you're sweet to me, I might take you down to my beach so we can swim together in the nude."
"Will I be invited?" Richard asks. He doesn't sound annoyed anymore. Instead, he looks and sounds amused.
"Everyone is welcome," Dexter says. "Maddie, I'm positive you'd look smashing in a thong bikini."
While Dexter keeps flirting shamelessly, and I keep replying with sassy comebacks, Richard watches me. His lips curl up at the corners. He tips his head to the side just a touch, and faint lines fan out from his eyes.
I've got two men under my spell. Who knew I could do that?
Chapter Twelve
Richard
Sir Dexter Armstrong-Hill is nothing like I expected. Based on our phone conversations, I suppose I should've guessed. But somehow, I'd expected to meet a doddering old man who walks with a cane and talks about how much his arse itches. I loved his books when I was at university but meeting the man has proved…confusing. I have no idea what sort of story he might write these days but signing him could save my company from what Danisha Davies has done to it.
Maddie laughs at something Dexter said. Her eyes sparkle, and her face lights up.
She has a surprising talent for handling Dexter. He makes suggestive remarks, and she blithely replies, not giving a toss if she's insulting him. Most surprising of all, he doesn't take offense. Not ever. Even when she suggests that his "equipment" might be "a little rusty" and then asks if he can still "rev that engine these days," he just laughs and calls her "pet" again.
What an amazing woman she is.
Dinner arrives, and Maddie and I both tell Dexter how wonderful the food is. It seems like restaurant quality. We share a bottle of red wine too, while Dexter and Maddie exchange more banter. I should probably interject myself into the conversation to gently steer it toward business, but I love watching Maddie spar with the man who lives like a recluse but acts like a game-show host.
The more I listen to them, the more I like them both. I'd already become fond of Maddie, but I'm starting to appreciate Dexter's sense of humor too. He's made wooing him, in the business sense, a difficult and frustrating process. But here in his home, he's very personable, even charming.
Once dessert is served, Maddie surprises me yet again by bringing up the topic I've avoided throughout dinner. "Dex, you really should listen to Rick's offer. I'm sure he'll make you a great deal. He's very smart and business savvy, and also very ethical and upfront."
Dexter raises his brows at me. "Are you all of that, Rick?"
He emphasizes my name, probably because I've never told him he could call me Rick. I've always introduced myself as Richard.
"Yes, he is," Maddie says. "That and much more. He won't schmooze you into signing a crummy deal, then turn around and stab you in the back. Richard Hunter is a good man."
And she knows this after less than two days with me? I suspect she's the one schmoozing Dexter, but I appreciate her efforts to help me.
Dexter wags his eyebrows. "All right, Rick. You've got one hour to convince me. Let's take our dessert into the sitting room and enjoy a good cognac to go along with it. Then you can tell me all about what your company can do for me."
He pushes his chair back and stands.
I get up too. "I hope you'll also share with me what your new book will be about."
"Oh, you'll love the story," he says. "It's crackerjack."
We troop across the hall into the sitting room, a cozy space with padded leather chairs, a small sofa, and a fireplace. It's summer, in the Caribbean, and he has a fire flickering in the hearth. I study the flames and realize why they look odd.
"Is that an electric fireplace?" I ask. "It doesn't seem to be giving off any heat, though."
"Of course not," Dexter says like I'm a fool. "It's too hot here in the tropics for a fire. It's there to look pretty."
"The flames are very realistic. About your new book—"
"Dessert first, then business." Dexter smiles. "Dessert and cognac, that is."
He drank enough wine at dinner to make most people tipsy, but he doesn't act like he's overindulged. Maddie consumed less wine than he did, but I'm the teetotaler in the group. I had one glass, no more. Getting pissed when I'm here to negotiate a publishing deal doesn't seem wise, though I have a feeling Dexter wouldn't care. I could strip naked and jump on the coffee table to dance a jig, and our host would probably cheer me on.
Maddie is laughing at something Dexter said. They both look at me with curious expressions.
"Sorry," I tell them. "My mind wandered. What did you say, Dexter?"
"Call me Dex. We're friends now, after all. Any man who brings a luscious woman like Maddie to my home has earned my friendship."
But that friendship doesn't extend to talking about his new book, which is the entire reason I came to the Caribbean. He insisted on it. "In-person negotiations only," he'd said.
I wonder if he'd be this gregarious if I had come alone.
None of the gossip about him mentioned that he's a brazen flirt.
"Sit down," Dexter says, dropping onto a Victorian-style, high-backed chair. He gestures toward the little sofa that's overflowing with throw pillows. "Give your bums a rest."
We've been sitting down all through dinner, so I don't feel like my bum needs rest. I'd rather stand for a bit, but indulging our host seems like the best way to soften him up for negotiations.
So I push a few pillows out of the way and settle onto the sofa.
Maddie sits down beside me and sinks into a pile of pillows. She slips her hand into mine while she offers me a sweetly encouraging smile.
I know she came with me to this so-called meeting because she wanted to meet the mysterious Dexter Armstrong-Hill. But why is she helping me by buttering him up? She hardly knows me. Yet here she is, laughing and drinking with Dexter, telling him I'm a good man.
Our dessert plates and cognac snifters are on the coffee table that separates us from Dexter's chair. He picks up his glass and plate, then Maddie and I do the same. She starts delicately pulling pieces off her little cake, or whatever these confections are, with the tines of her fork. I watch her slide a bite into her mouth and close her lips around the tines. As she withdraws the fork, she shuts her eyes and sighs like it's the most delicious food she's ever put in her mouth.
"Try the cognac," Dexter says. "It goes beautifully with the cakes."
She holds the snifter close to her nose, swirling it gently while she gazes into its depths. "Do I smell figs? Vanilla too, I think, and a whiff of leather. That's weird, but I'm game."
"Take a sip, darling," Dexter instructs, his voice deeper, almost like he's trying to seduce her. "You'll love the way it feels inside you."
Yes, now he's definitely trying to seduce my date. Cheeky old codger.
Maddie sips the cognac. Her eyes drift shut again, and her lips curl in a rapturous little smile. "Mm, yes. Sweet and decadent, but with a silky-smooth finish. It's wonderful. The warmth of it glides down my throat and makes me feel…tingly all over." She takes another sip, her smile getting bigger but no less sensual. "Oh my, it's even better the second time. It's like liquid sex."
Christ, her voice and the words she's saying… It sends blood rushing below my waist. Any second, I'll go hard—right here
in front of the world's most famous and reclusive author. What a brilliant way to start an important meeting. Well, with Dexter, who knows? He might think it's hilarious, or he might suggest we have a threesome right here in the sitting room.
I'm not sharing Maddie with this old goat. Not even if he promises to sign with my company if I agree to a small orgy. And if he suggests a threesome with him, Maddie, and Ilsa… I just might pummel the lecherous arse. I like Dexter, but not that much.
Liquid sex, Maddie said. She sounded like she might climax if she takes another sip of her cognac. Why did I tell her we shouldn't have sex again yet? If there was a reason, I've forgotten it. The way she looks in that old-fashioned dress, and the way she reacted to the cognac, all of it has me ready to throw her over my shoulder, drag her to the nearest unoccupied room, and shag her until she can't move anymore.
Except she's still sore from what I did to her last night. Maybe I'm the lecherous arse in this room.
Maddie slips another, larger bite of cake between her lips, then takes a drink of the cognac while she's still chewing.
Her eyes roll back in her head.
I'm not exaggerating. They do that. The look of unbridled ecstasy on her face has me flashing back to last night when I'd made her look that way while she'd begged me to never stop fucking her.
And now I'm hard. Bugger.
Grabbing a throw pillow, I hold it on my lap and set my plate on it. That way it sort of seems like I'm just worried about the plate falling off my thigh, not like I'm so aroused by Madeleine Solberg that I need to hide my raging erection.
Maddie consumes more cake while lacing each bite with cognac from her glass. She exhales a soft moan with every mouthful she swallows.
Dexter chuckles with all the lecherous intent of a randy old goat. "Maddie, you are the most fascinating woman I've ever met. If you get this excited about cognac, you must be the most bloody incredible shag on earth." He glances at me, smirking. "Can you confirm that, Richard?"