Clare followed after the young woman and entered the room through the doorway. And stopped two steps into it.
If the lobby and the staircase and even the retiring room had been stylish and luxurious, this chamber or suite of rooms took her breath away.
As soft as the colors of the retiring room were, this was completely the opposite—darker, more masculine tones and shades. The tables, chairs and trim along the walls and the doors were all intricately carved mahogany. Deep burgundies, dark golds and forest greens filled the upholstery, draperies and cushions around the room. Several hearths were set into the longer wall and braces of candles set between those added to the light and warmth in the chamber.
Two seating areas covered the space between where she stood and the beautiful dining table where at least ten people would be able to eat together. In spite of the sheer rudeness of wandering through someone else’s rooms, Clare could not stop herself from exploring it. Or from walking further now to have a closer look at such a beautiful place. Only as she reached the dining area did she notice two settings along with plates filled with what could only be the desserts and sweets described by the waiter before they ordered. Pots of what must be coffee and tea, a small bowl of some fruit and a plate of biscuits finished out the table.
“I thought we might finish our meal here.”
Clare gasped and turned, finding Iain standing only a few paces from her near another door. The maid left, fled really, at his nod and they were alone. Torn between following the maid out of the suite or remaining here, with him, alone, she wanted to do both.
“I did not mean to startle you, my lady,” he said. He walked around her and pulled the chair out for her to sit. “Welcome to the owner’s suite.”
“How convenient then that you are one of the owners here.”
“Aye, convenient and expensive,” he said with a laugh. “I use it for guests or dignitaries or important visitors to the city. Or for private meetings and such.”
“And such?” Only then did look past him and notice the open double doors that exposed a large, four-poster bed and chamber. “And such,” she repeated. Meetings that included a bed? She did not ask.
“The true reason is that I saw your reaction to the waiter’s description of the sweets and did not want you to miss trying them. The dining room was getting crowded, so I thought we might enjoy the privacy of this suite in which to try all the delights the highly paid French pastry chef has made.”
“You are trying to turn me into a hedonist,” she said. His smile, tempting and wicked and somehow innocent all at once, confirmed it to her.
“Epicurean might be the better word for you, considering the rest of your life’s endeavors, my lady.” He nodded down at the chair he yet held waiting for her to sit. “And I am too busy a man to devote all my time to pleasure.” A retort and an obvious question sat side by side on the tip of her tongue—about pleasure, about how much—but she refused to allow them out.
Should she remain here with him? Nay. Clearly nay.
Could she allow herself to, was the more accurate question.
“Will you not be late for the ball if you tarry here with me?” she asked. Her feet moved towards the chair, but she did not accept his offer of it.
“Let me think,” he said. He glanced at the clock in the corner of the room, an ornately carved one of the best quality, and shrugged. “To stay here with you, continuing our informative discussions, or go to a pretentious gathering of supplicants begging for favors while I drink tepid punch and fend off those not too offended by my wealth to offer their daughters? Hmmmm.”
“It sounds like the same challenges faced by noblemen every day,” she said, laughing softly. His expression filled with hunger as she did. Hunger, but not for food.
“’Tis half-past nine, my lady. Plenty of time to indulge here with you and still make an appearance there well before it becomes both impolite and impolitic to the hosts.” He leaned towards the table and lifted a glass filled with layers of what looked like cream mixed with fruit and bits of nuts. Studying it, he dipped his finger into it and licked the concoction off in long, slow strokes of his tongue.
Clare forgot how to breathe. Her nipples tightened instantly, and her thighs clenched against the arousal she felt.
“Cream.” Lick. “Raspberries.” Lick. Her mouth went dry. “Oats.” Another lick. A trickle of sweat traced a path down her back. “Whisky.” The final stroke of his tongue removed the last of it from his finger. “And honey.”
So why did she ache to lick it, to taste the flavor of it? Her body wanted to taste the sweetness of the dessert and his mouth. Clare recognized the reaction of her body. She was no blushing virgin who did not understand the pleasure he offered or whose body did not remember how passion could be enjoyed.
“A taste?” he asked, lifting his hand provocatively towards her. Her mouth dropped open, shocking her, but his mouth on hers surprised her more. He moved quickly, pulling her closer and touching his lips to hers. After a brief touch there, he leaned up and smiled. “Taste,” he said, in a tone that was nothing less than an order.
His tongue thrust into her mouth, and she did what he’d demanded, stroking his with hers and savoring all the flavors of the sweet decadence he’d sampled. Sucking his tongue, she could indeed taste the cream, the berries, the whisky and oats and honey... and him. He lifted his head from hers and only the sounds of the shallow breaths could be heard.
And, damn her weakness, she wanted more. She wanted him.
She would swear he’d heard her thoughts before and when he leaned over and dipped his fingers into the creamy layers, Clare decided it must be a secret power of his. She clutched the front of his evening jacket to stave off falling to her knees as they gave out at the sight of his cream-covered fingers.
“Close your eyes, Clare. And open your mouth.” The words were uttered so softly, but they were yet another order given. Her body shuddered, aroused and aching, as she did exactly what he’d said, unable or unwilling to resist him.
His fingers slid inside her mouth, moving, thrusting, slipping in and out as her tongue hungrily licked and sucked the delicious cream from them. His other hand moved up her spine and his fingers invaded her hair, rubbing and tugging her scalp in time with the fingers in her mouth.
“Open your eyes and clean off the rest.”
His other hand gently but irresistibly held her head in place as he eased the cream-coated fingers apart and held them against her mouth, awaiting her compliance. Her gaze fell on his eyes as she licked each long finger clean. Heat poured off his body and he pressed his hips against hers as she continued her ministrations. Hard male flesh rose between them, and he pumped against her as she finished the task. They panted as their gazes met and she saw desire burning in his.
