A Silken Seduction

by Yvonne Lindsay

She could feel herself missing him already.

  “I do, but I was hoping you’d come with me. I hope you don’t mind but I asked Lynette if she could book us both on the 10:00 a.m. flight out of Heathrow tomorrow morning. That way we’ll be landing at J.F.K. around one and that’ll give us some time to rest before the party. What do you say?”

  What did she say? She loved the idea. As far as she knew she had no pressing engagements to keep her here in London over the next few days. But first and foremost in her mind was that she didn’t have to say goodbye to him just yet. It warmed her to her soul that he wanted her to come with him. Even that he wanted her to attend the party with him tomorrow night.

  “That sounds great,” she replied with a smile. “I can pack this afternoon.”

  “Good,” Marcus said. “Make sure you pack for a week or so, if you can spare being away that long. I’m expecting the collection to come in next weekend and I’d like to be there when it’s inventoried. Then we can think about when we can put it in the schedule and organize the presale exhibition.”

  “Wow, you’re moving fast on this,” she commented.

  “No reason to delay, is there?”

  “No, not at all.” She heard the edge in his voice. “Don’t worry, Marcus, I haven’t changed my mind about selling.”

  “Are you sure? There’s still time to include her.” He gestured to Lovely Woman.

  “I meant I am not about to withdraw those paintings I’ve agreed to sell.” She shook her head slightly. Maybe it was time to nail down why he was so stubborn about including her great-great-uncle’s painting. “Look, you keep going on about it, how about you tell me exactly why you’re so persistent about including her.”

  * * *

  If he told her the truth, would she give in? He doubted it. He opted for a vague version of the truth.

  “I know of at least one potential buyer who would pay handsomely for the painting.”

  “Well, your buyer is set to be sadly disappointed, then, aren’t they,” she said adamantly. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d drop the subject. I’m not budging, Marcus.”

  He bit back the frustration that threatened to verbalize on his tongue. He owed her more than that. She’d been amazing these past couple of weeks and he needed to respect her decision about Lovely Woman no matter how much it killed him inside to do so. Still, he hadn’t given up hope that she might change her mind. She’d changed her mind about the rest of the Cullen Collection, after all. Unfortunately, time was running out.

  “Tenacity is my middle name,” he said with a self-deprecating smile, “but okay, I’ll drop the subject.”

  “Promise me, Marcus. You forget, I’ve seen just how tenacious you can be,” Avery said, smiling in return and giving him a playful push.

  In response he caught her hand and dragged her up against his body. Arousal came hot and fast. “Are you complaining, Miss Cullen?”

  She rolled her hips against his erection. “What do you think?” she murmured against his lips.

  “I think that perhaps I need to show you just how tenacious I can be. Just as a reminder for future reference.”

  His hands gripped the edge of her T-shirt and lifted it high, dragging the soft well-washed fabric over her head and dropping it to the ground. With the back of his knuckle he brushed the tops of her breasts, delighting in how the skin tautened beneath his touch. He bent to kiss her, his tongue tracing the enticing scalloped lace edge of her bra, dipping in past the demi-cup to stroke against her nipples.

  Avery shuddered beneath his touch, her knees buckling a little and her breath audibly catching in her throat. She hummed a long sound of satisfaction when his hand crept around her back to unfasten her bra and then slid the shoulder straps down her arms until the garment joined her top on the floor.

  Her nipples were tight pink puckered buttons and he laved first one, then the other. She laced her fingers at the back of his head, holding him to her, silently encouraging him to give more. And give more he did. He cupped her breasts in both hands, burying his face in their fullness, massaging them gently in response to her moan of pleasure. When he took one nipple in his mouth and suckled she gripped his hair tight. He suckled again, the fingers of his other hand teasing and tweaking her other nipple at the same time.

  “Marcus, you’re driving me crazy.”

  “That was my plan,” he said, smiling against her creamy skin, tracing a blue vein with the tip of his tongue before straightening and scooping her up into his arms.

  She squealed in surprise, flinging her hands around his neck. “Put me down, I’m too heavy,” she protested.

  If only she knew, he thought. Wanting her gave him a strength that made carrying her a pleasure, not a burden. He walked across the studio to the daybed and quickly stripped her of the rest of her clothes.

  “You have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Price,” Avery said from beneath lowered lids. Her gaze was an alluring come-on.

  “I find myself wanting to paint you,” he replied, reaching for one of her watercolor brushes from the stack on the table nearby.

  He’d loved the way she’d organized her studio. She was a little neat freak about the way she put things in their places and he found that trait endearing in the extreme.

  “Paint me? I thought you said painting wasn’t your forte.”

  “It’s not, but I think I can do this,” he said with a smile, filling a jar with water and making his way back to her side. “Now lie completely still, like a good model, and let me work. You know how temperamental we artists can get when we’re disturbed.”

  She had a small smile on her face, as if she was indulging him, but when he moistened the brush and brought it down in a sensual sweep along her collarbone the smile fled.

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “Emphasizing the play of light on your body is indeed the most important part of this work of art. The way your skin is radiant here, yet changes here—” he stroked his brush lower, across the outside edge of the fullness of one breast and then along the underside “—is quite entrancing. It entices a man to want to touch, to taste and feel.”

  “W-why don’t you do that?” she stammered.

  He smiled back in return. A flush of desire had lit bright spots on her cheeks, her upper chest now a blush of pink. “Eventually, I have to finish my painting first.”

  She began to tremble as he applied the same technique to her other breast, a tiny cry falling from her lips as he swirled the brush across her nipples, leaving them wet and glistening in the early afternoon sun that streamed in through the windows. It was all he could do not to rip his clothes off, and sheath himself in her body. To give her what every touch, every caress promised. But he forced himself to hold back, to remain in rigid control. Rigid being the operative word, he thought as he paused in his work to adjust himself. It was useless though, his desire for her had him raging hard. There was only one thing that would assuage this fire.

  Avery was shaking by the time his brush traced the shadowed lines at the tops of her thighs that led to her innermost femininity. Her body jumped as his brush swept across her clitoris, her hands suddenly reaching for his. “Please, Marcus.”

  “When you ask so nicely, how can I refuse,” he said softly, bending down to follow the wet trail of the brush with his tongue. “There, is that better?” he said, pausing to look up at her face.

  Her eyes glittered like shards of blue ice. “You like making me suffer?” she gasped.

  “Suffer? No. Suffering is touching you, and not having you touch me.”

  She sat upright, her hands flying to his belt and hastily dragging his zipper down. The rasp of the tongue over the teeth of the zipper was nearly his undoing but then in an instant she’d freed him from his confines, her delicate fingers wrapping around the smoothness of his shaft and squeezing—at first gentle, then with more
grip. It was all he could do not to lose control.

  “Give me a second,” he demanded and pulled free of her before standing and tearing away his clothes. He paused only long enough to grab a small packet from his trouser pocket and to rip it open and protect them both.

  Then, thank God, he was nestled between her beautiful long legs. Legs that curled up and around his hips, holding him steady as with a shaking hand he held himself poised at her entrance. He could feel the heat of her body, could see how wet and ready she was for him. He slowly slid inside, all the way, and stopped there, taking a moment to relish the delicious sensation of her holding him like a custom-made glove. Then primal instinct took control and he began to pump his hips. He was already close, so very close.

  He bent his head to press a hot wet kiss to her lips, trying to slow his actions for just long enough to regain control. He traced the cord of her neck with the tip of his tongue, down across her collarbone and in a line toward one tightly beaded nipple. He drew her into his mouth, his teeth abrading her sensitive skin before suckling against her. Her body went stiff and he felt the ripples begin inside her. Ripples that strengthened and spread until she called out his name on a wrenching cry. Ripples that dragged him into blissful oblivion that seemed to come from the soles of his feet and spread throughout his body with an intensity that almost brought tears to his eyes.

  He collapsed on top of her, barely able to breathe let alone think. But one surety echoed in his mind. He didn’t want to let Avery Cullen go—ever.

  * * *

  The early start to get to the airport in time to check in for their flight left Avery feeling strangely drained the next morning and she slept for most of the journey across the Atlantic. After they’d cleared customs and immigration at J.F.K. Marcus hailed a cab, which whisked them into the city and his apartment. Avery was curious to see how he lived. He seemed to fit so well in her world, she was intrigued to find out if she’d be as comfortable in his.

  She’d picked him for a brownstone kind of guy so she was surprised when they pulled up outside an anonymous-looking apartment building in Chelsea. Marcus paid the cabdriver and rolled their suitcases to the entrance where a liveried doorman held the door open for him.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Price. I trust your trip to London was successful and you had a good flight home?”

  “Thanks, Buck, it was great. This is my guest, Miss Cullen. She’ll be staying with me so I hope you’ll look after her.”

  “I will indeed, sir. Welcome to New York, Miss Cullen.”

  “Thank you,” Avery said with an inclination of her head. It was nice to know that Marcus wasn’t faceless where he lived. “It’s always good to be here.”

  A short elevator ride took them to the eighth floor where Marcus led her to his apartment. He pushed open the door and held it for her.

  “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said. “It’s a bit smaller than you’re used to but I think you’ll be comfortable.”

  “It looks great,” Avery said as she looked around while Marcus took their cases through to the master bedroom.

  She followed him down the hall, noting here and there the occasional framed pen and ink drawing on the wall.

  Marcus hefted her case onto the bed and turned to open the sliding door to the wardrobe, shoving aside some of his suits to make space for her. “You can hang your things here, if you like, or in the spare room. There’s room in the dresser, too, just put all my stuff in the lower drawers.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, unsure of the etiquette in a situation like this. Somehow it was something neither her father nor any of her nannies had ever covered.

  “Yeah, you don’t want to be living out of a suitcase. I’ll go get us something to eat while you unpack.”

  “Thanks, I’m starved.” It had been way too early for her to eat breakfast when they’d left London and she’d slept through most of the meal service on the flight.

  “I thought you might be. Omelet okay?”

  She faked a swoon of delight.

  “I’ll get on to it, then,” he said, leaving her alone.

  It felt odd to be hanging up her clothing alongside his in the wardrobe. Odd, yet at the same time right. Or was she just clinging to straws? No words of love had passed his lips and it wasn’t as if an invitation to share his wardrobe and dresser drawers was an invitation to share his life. She was just being more fanciful than usual.

  With businesslike efficiency she emptied the top drawer of his dresser, rearranged things for him in the lower drawers and put away the rest of her things into the top drawer. Her vanity bag she took through to the bathroom and propped it upon the almost-bare charcoal-gray marble top. Marcus’s apartment might be sparer than she’d anticipated, but everything was of excellent quality, which was nothing less than she’d expect from him.

  She went back down the short corridor to the open-plan living and kitchen area and the tasty aroma of fried vegetables and egg tweaked at her nostrils.

  “That smells great,” she said, settling onto one of the barstools at the granite countertop. “I had no idea you were a cook, as well.”

  Marcus slid a fluffy omelet from the pan and onto a warmed plate, passing it over to her with a smile. “Oh, I’m a man of many talents.”

  Avery forked up a mouthful of the omelet and gave a blissful sigh. “That’s delicious, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Where did you learn to cook like that?” she asked as she separated out the individual flavors on her tongue. This was definitely more than your run-of-the-mill bachelor omelet.

  Marcus shrugged. “It’s nothing special, I did a lot of different jobs when I was in college. One was working as a kitchen hand.” He named one of Boston’s top restaurants. “I picked up a few things while I was there.”

  Avery looked at her plate, stunned to realize she’d already eaten the entire omelet. “Well, they must have been the right few things,” she said with a slightly embarrassed laugh.

  “Here, have mine,” Marcus said, passing his plate, crowned with another perfectly executed omelet, over to her.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Avery, I’m sure. You know, you ask me that a lot, if I’m sure. I’m the kind of man who doesn’t do something unless he is absolutely certain it’s the right thing at the time.”

  “That’s good to know,” she said, eating the second serving more slowly and watching avidly as Marcus whisked up another mixture.

  When Marcus came to sit next to her and eat she asked, “Tell me about tonight. What’s the party for?”

  “We won the consignment of the notated final-draft manuscript written by D. B. Dunbar. Have you heard of him?”

  “I’m not a great fantasy reader but I know Mrs. Jackson’s grandkids are fans. I didn’t know there was another manuscript out there. I heard Dunbar was quite young when he died. Wasn’t it in a plane crash overseas somewhere?”

  “Yeah, in Indonesia. He was only thirty. Too young by any standard. Anyway, the draft is touted to be one of the most valuable pop-culture items currently on the market.”

  “So Waverly’s is celebrating winning the consignment. Is that something you usually do?” Avery asked as she slipped off her stool and took her plate around to the kitchen and rinsed it before putting it in the dishwasher.

  “Not usually, no. But I think tonight is a good move on Ann’s part. The staff needs a reason to party. We’ve been in the news a lot lately and not necessarily for good reasons.” Marcus’s voice was grim.

  “Smear campaign?”

  “What makes you ask that?” Marcus sat up straighter on his stool, his eyes narrowing as if assessing her.

  “I’m not a complete hermit,” she said lightly. “I know Waverly’s reputation. If I didn’t trust the company, let alone you, there is no way on eart
h you’d be handling Dad’s collection. Even I’ve read the news and there’s something about it all that seems a bit forced to me.”

  “You’re right,” Marcus said firmly. “Which is why it’s even more important that we be seen not to be letting the crap in the papers get to us.”

  “What time are we expected?”

  “Party starts at eight.”

  Avery flicked a glance at the diamond-studded face of her watch. “I’d say that leaves us a bit of time in hand, wouldn’t you?”

  Marcus smiled. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Avery walked back around the counter and reached for his hand, bringing it to her lips and sucking the tip of his index finger softly. “What do you think?”

  Eleven

  Avery was still bathed in a glow of residual pleasure when they arrived at the party. Marcus was clearly popular with senior and junior staff alike and she couldn’t help but notice the avaricious gaze of several of the unattached females alight on him during the course of the evening. He introduced her around as they circulated the room, the crush making the room hot and oppressive.

  After a couple of hours, she was grateful when he excused himself to go and speak with one of the newcomers and she took a moment to find an alcove where it was less busy. She was so tired. Maybe it was the air travel or their exertions of the afternoon, or maybe it was just the time difference between London and New York catching up with her but she was pretty much ready to call it a night. If tonight hadn’t so obviously been important to Marcus, and to the rest of the Waverly executives and staff, she would have given her apologies and headed back to his apartment.

  She went in search of one of the waitstaff circulating with trays of hors d’oeuvres. Maybe having something to eat would take the edge off her weariness.

  “You must be Avery Cullen, how lovely that Marcus brought you along tonight.” A tall, willowy blonde reached out a hand to warmly clasp Avery’s own. “Ann Richardson, CEO of Waverly’s. Marcus has told me a lot about you.”

  “Including how hard I was to convince about selling the Cullen Collection, I suppose?” Avery answered with a smile.