Relief more profound than he wanted to acknowledge washed over him. “In that case, I fail to see the trouble. You want me to complete your list with you. I am here. You are here. Mayhap we ought to cross off another number right now.”
“It is the midst of the day, your Scotsman likely has his ear pressed to the door, and my lady’s maid is awaiting me in the carriage,” she said, quite dashing his fantasies of fucking her on his desk.
Yes, he knew those fantasies were just that. Fantasies. But a man could dream, could he not?
“My enthusiasm has not waned.” He lowered his forehead to hers. If she were not enshrouded in so many damned layers, she would know firsthand how hard he was for her, how ready, even now. “I was merely giving you time. You told me you were concerned about feigning another illness so soon, that it would have been suspicious to your brother.”
Indeed, she had in the last missive she had sent him. But her admission had not been his sole reason for avoiding her. Of course not. He had hoped some distance and time would lessen the effect she had upon him. He had hoped he would break free of whatever spell she had cast.
Thus far?
Bloody unsuccessful.
Her face softened, and he noted for the first time that she possessed a smattering of freckles on the dainty bridge of her nose. How had he failed to miss them? Now, they riveted him, fascinated him.
“I have been thinking, Decker,” she said.
Grievous words, those, especially coming from a female he wanted to bed. What he wanted usually required more action, less thought.
His hands coasted up her lower back, drawing her more firmly against him. “What are you thinking about, bijou?”
“About you,” she said.
Excellent.
She was all he had been thinking about as well. Not that he would admit it.
“Not a damned thing wrong with that,” he said, pleased.
“Do you know that yesterday, I was visiting an orphanage with my sister and my sister-in-law, and I saw the most interesting thing?” she asked.
Damn.
He suspected he knew what she had seen.
But he feigned ignorance anyway. “An orphanage, you say? Did you see children? Wretched little creatures.”
In truth, children both perplexed and terrified him. Thanks to his estrangement with his mother, he had not seen his younger half sister, Lila, in years. But he felt quite keenly for the plight of little beggars who, unlike himself, had not the fortune to at least be born the bastard of an inordinately wealthy earl.
“No, Decker,” Jo told him, her gaze searching his. “I saw a piano. One of your pianos. The newest model, the piano of which there are only a handful in existence. The proprietress of the orphanage said it had been recently donated, along with cases of books for the children and tutors to aide them in learning to read. Do you know which publisher printed those books?”
His.
Caught.
“Before you begin to think me a saint, my dear Josephine, have you ever considered a man may have made those gifts with a wish to make the proprietress sweet so he could seduce her?” he asked, though it was furthest from the truth.
Never mind that Mrs. Chisholm was twice his age and produced a most disconcerting swishing sound when she walked.
But Jo was not fooled.
She raised a brow. “You expect me to believe you want to seduce Mrs. Chisholm?”
He sighed. “No, and you damned well know I do not. The only woman I want to seduce is right here in my arms, and she is talking to me about bloody pianos and orphans. Have you any idea how wilting that is for a man?”
Also a lie. Nothing could tame his raging cockstand now that she was here, close enough to kiss. And he was touching her. And her scent, floral and exotic, was punishing his senses.
“Do you know what I think, Mr. Elijah Decker?” she asked, tilting her head and studying him in a fashion that was far too thorough for his liking. “I think you did not want anyone to discover your secret.”
His ears were hot once more. Blast the woman, was she making him flush? He refused to countenance it. Elijah Decker, collector of erotic art and literature that would embarrass the most seasoned bawd, had not been put to the blush in years. And now, twice in one day?
“What secret is that?” he returned, attempting to distract her by dipping his head and bringing their mouths closer to touching. “That I want to kiss you?”
“Yes.” She blinked. “No. That you are not as coldhearted as you would have the world believe.”
“On the contrary, bijou. I do not have a heart.” He could not wait another second without tasting her lips.
If he did not kiss her, he was reasonably certain he would die. That was what it felt like, this need for her, coursing through his veins, consuming his every thought. She was all he desired. All he needed.
Decker’s mouth settled on hers. Each time he kissed her was a revelation, a discovery. He had never so thoroughly enjoyed the mere act of kissing a woman in the way he did with Jo. He could kiss her all day, worship her lips, and never grow weary of it. For her, he possessed endless patience. Endless wanting.
She responded instantly, her lips moving beneath his, opening. His sweet tyro was learning. When his tongue slid into her mouth, she sucked. Ah, fuck. His ballocks drew tighter. She was so hot and wet, and he could not keep himself from thinking what it would be like to have her mouth on his cock—to know that slick, demanding heat, to slide past those lush lips and down her throat.
He rewarded her by nipping her lower lip. By God, she was more delicious than the finest confection. Decker kissed the corners of her mouth, the delectable Cupid’s bow. His fingers slipped into her hair, and if he was plucking pins faster than a Whitechapel pickpocket relieved his victims of their coin, it could hardly be helped. He was insatiable where Lady Jo Danvers was concerned. He wanted to thieve everything she had, all of her.
He never wanted to let her go. He wanted to keep her with him, all the time. In his bed. In his house, which had never seemed so empty until the hours following her visit…
What the hell?
He would have to let her go, he reminded himself as he kissed her harder, punishing her with his lips, claiming her as his. He would have to let her go sooner than he wanted.
It was the midst of the damned day, he reminded himself. There were witnesses.
Macfie, for instance.
As if on cue, the undeniable sound of the massive Scotsman’s knuckles abusing the closed door split the moment in two. Jo pushed away from him, and Decker allowed her to go. Her eyes were wide, wild, her hair in disarray, her mouth swollen and glistening. Anyone would take a look at her and know exactly what had passed between them.
Damn.
“Mr. Decker, Mr. Levi Storm has arrived for his meeting with ye, one quarter hour early,” Macfie called.
“Damnation,” Decker muttered, raking his fingers through his hair. Of all the times for a business associate to be early…
“I… I must go,” Jo said lamely, her eyes still wide, her pupils huge obsidian discs in her honey-brown gaze.
“I will be finished here shortly,” he called to Macfie, his eyes never leaving Jo’s. To her alone, quietly, he continued. “This is not finished between us, Josie.”
“Why are you calling me Josie?” she whispered.
“Because it suits you, and I like it.”
He did not know where the diminutive of her name had emerged from earlier, but having spoken it once, he could not deny how right it felt on his tongue. The idea of having another name for her that was his alone appealed. He would fret over that perplexing development later.
Her fingers were flying over her coiffure, assessing the damage. “Oh, heavens. This is dreadful.”
“Allow me,” he said, spinning her around without awaiting her response.
Mr. Levi Storm was a hideously wealthy, brilliant American businessman and inventor whose forays into electricity held incr
edible promise. He was not a man one kept waiting. Bloody hell, who did Decker think he was fooling? The real reason for hurrying Jo from his office was to save her reputation—and innocence—from a hasty deflowering. The first time he took her, he wanted it to be private, in a bed. He wanted to have all damned night long. No interruptions.
How the hell he was going to manage such a feat when thus far, he had only managed to steal her for too-brief chunks of time, was a puzzle he had yet to decipher.
Decker managed to right her coiffure. At least to a passable state. When he had finished, he could not keep himself from settling his hands back on her waist and leaning into her. The crush of her skirts against his trousers taunted his aching cock. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply, and then he kissed her ear, the side of her neck.
“I will send a note to you,” he muttered against her skin, before sucking.
She was so silken, so divine. Even her throat drove him to the edge of control. It was soft and creamy, smooth as velvet. He did not want to let her go.
But he had to.
Reluctantly, he released her.
She spun around, her expression as dazed as he felt. “I will await your note, but do not think I have forgotten, Decker. This conversation will continue.”
Of course she had not forgotten. And of course she wanted to further discuss it. Quite like a female, her persistence, her desire to find the best in him when he knew damn well there was none. Somehow, he found it adorable in this particular woman rather than an irritant.
“There is nothing to continue,” he said.
“Oh, yes there is,” she returned.
He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and carry her away.
“Await my note,” he told her tersely instead.
“You are a good man, Mr. Elijah Decker,” she shot back. “But never fear, your secret is safe with me.”
With those parting words, she turned and swept from his office. The door closed before he could argue or disabuse her of her misguided fancies.
Because he was not a good man, especially not where Jo was concerned. And sooner or later, she would learn that undeniable truth herself.
The hard way.
Chapter Nine
Just when Jo had begun to fear she would have to go another night without seeing Decker, the note arrived. It was after tea, and the missive was hidden within a letter from his publishing company concerning the publication of the last pamphlet she had delivered for the Lady’s Suffrage Society.
Tonight.
Half past eight.
D.
From the moment she had read those scant words and seen his beautiful, masculine scrawl, her heart had been pounding with exuberant anticipation. Decker haunted her every thought. She had spent the entirety of the day preoccupied with thoughts of him. Of his kisses. She had been on edge, laden with anticipation, wondering when his next note would arrive. Until, at long last, it had.
And now, she was on her way back to him.
This evening’s escape had proven more treacherous than the previous two occasions upon which she had made her way out of her brother’s townhome in the night. Julian and Clara were in residence this evening. She had shared dinner with them and then professed she was tired and in need of some additional rest.
Although it was perhaps down to her inner anxiety at sneaking out with the two of them at home, Jo had sworn her sister-in-law had frowned and that her gaze had not been merely understanding but searching as well. Julian, who had eyes only for his wife, had scarcely seemed to take note of her premature exit.
As Jo slipped into the mews at the appointed hour, it occurred to her that she may have inadvertently left Decker’s note behind, nestled amongst her other correspondence. But his carriage was in sight, awaiting her, and she did not dare take the chance of returning and risk being observed. If someone caught her now, she would lose her chance of spending more time with Decker alone.
What were the odds anyone would enter her chamber whilst she was gone? She had dismissed her lady’s maid for the evening. Her lights were lowered. As far as the entire household was concerned, she was abed.
Her heart was already lighter. The pent-up excitement tangled in knots in her belly ever since she had gone to his offices earlier could no longer be contained. Her every sense was heightened. The night smelled like imminent rain and the promise of summer. The air was damp and humid. Darkness had never seemed more inviting. In the distance, a low roll of thunder sounded above the ordinary din of the city.
Jo’s heart was aflutter by the time his servant gave her a hand into the vehicle.
She entered to find him awaiting her as usual, his long legs on display in black trousers, his eyes almost cobalt in the low light. Their gazes clashed and held as she entered, and suddenly, everything else fell away. She forgot about the note, about the possibility of detection. She scarcely heard the door close at her back. All Jo could do was drink in the sight of Decker, so big and powerful and handsome.
“Josie.” He grinned.
There was his sobriquet for her. It suits you, and I like it, he had said. And she liked it, too. And, as she had told Decker, she liked him.
Too much.
Far too much.
Her heart plummeted somewhere into the vicinity of the soles of her handsome boots. All the rage, finest leather, crafted just for her, thanks to her sister-in-law Clara’s immeasurable wealth. They pinched Jo’s toes, but she had worn them because she wanted to look her best for him.
“Decker,” she greeted him in return.
His hands clamped on her waist and he hauled her toward him. She let out an embarrassing squeal of surprise, her hands finding his broad shoulders, as she landed sideways in his lap.
“Finally,” he muttered.
She inhaled, worrying her lower lip with her teeth, for she felt the same way, as if an interminable eternity had passed between when she had last seen him in his offices and this moment. “You saw me this afternoon.”
“And yet, waiting for this evening was torture.” He grimaced, but the action did not abate his allure one bit.
As for torture? Jo knew the feeling. Wrong or not, part of her was pleased to know he had been thinking of her and suffering. Perhaps even longing for her in the way she longed for him.
“I have not forgotten about the piano and the orphanage,” she reminded him.
“Of course you have not,” he said. “But I have not forgotten about something else. You owe me, and I intend to collect your debt.”
And then, his mouth was on hers, ending further discussion. She would think about it later, she told herself. She would question him. Get him to admit that he was the source of the piano, that he had sent those crates of books to the orphans, that he actually possessed a tender heart when it came to those who were not as fortunate as him. She would…
Oh.
She would…
Forget everything but the play of his mouth over hers. It was sinful, forbidden, delicious, knowing. So very knowing. He kissed her as if it were the last kiss he would ever give, the last she would ever receive. As if he were ravenous for her.
And her mind became a blank canvas.
All thought was banished by Decker’s kiss. His lips were smooth, soft, yet demanding on hers. She was helpless to resist. Not that she wanted to resist. Because of course, she did not. His tongue slid against hers. His teeth were on her lower lip, biting. Delicious.
She moaned into his mouth.
Her bustle was askew, which meant that beneath her bottom, she felt quite vividly the full, thick length of him. His manhood. How intense. How illicit.
How delightful. How delicious.
Jo kissed him harder at the thought. Kissed him back with all the ardor that had been waiting every second since she had seen him last. Since that precipitate knock at his office door from Macfie. Since his business interests had interrupted their interlude.
His hand was on her breast.
Separated by layers, so many layers, including the most forbidding of all, her corset. Still, her nipple pebbled. Her body hungered for him. She was alive and so very aware of everything. So very aware of him.
Jo sucked on his tongue, kissing him harder, trying to match the way Decker’s lips moved over hers with so much expertise. She was melting, she was sure of it. Her insides were liquid. She was nothing but a quivering lump of need in his arms.
Some distant part of her mind warned her against her attachment to the man upon whose lap she sat. Still, nothing could dim the calamitous, exciting sensations he aroused in her.
His lips left hers to coast down her throat. He kissed, nipped, and sucked a delicious path. She tilted her head back to grant him greater access.
“Decker,” she whispered, her fingers sinking into the thick, wavy strands of his hair. “What are you doing to me?”
“Showing you how much I missed you,” he murmured against her skin.
Innumerable, intelligent, coherent responses rose to her lips. And all she managed was, “Oh.”
Perhaps because his mouth was open, his teeth grazing over a particularly responsive cord in her throat. Perhaps because he was sucking on her flesh. Because his tongue was licking her, finding its way to the sensitive hollow behind her ear, then traveling over the shell. Because his teeth caught her earlobe.
“Yes,” he said into her ear. “I missed you more than you know. And now I shall have to show you just how much.”
He could show her anything as far as Jo was concerned.
“Show me?” she managed.
He sucked her throat again. “How do you feel, darling?”
Darling?
That word alone settled deep inside her, residing in a place she had not previously known existed. Jo swallowed hard.
“I am feeling restless,” she whispered, her arms twining around his neck for purchase as the carriage rattled over a bump in the road and nearly sent her sprawling.
His hands tightened on her waist.
“Mmm. Restless?” he asked. “Where?”
That delicious baritone of his made her feel weak. Made more heat pool between her thighs. Which was one of the places where she felt restless.
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