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 ofyourpianos. 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.
