Applause came from downstairs. She was lucky that both of the men had gone to check the cameras. She wouldn’t have even gotten past “mmm.” Her pleasure was all fucking mine, even the noises she made.
“Enough,” I said.
She kept her eyes closed, a bigger smile on her face. “Yes! Yes!Yes!”
Before she opened her eyes, I swooped her up and carried her upstairs.
“Someone bring me my needles!” she shouted. “The beast has me and is dragging me to his lair!” Then she went limp with uncontrolled laughter.
Her laughter died when I brought her into our room and showed her how serious I was. By the time we returned to the first floor again, the house had been emptied of women. All of the men had gone to their rooms.
We got comfortable on the sofa.
“You were serious,” she said, staring at me. It was an afterthought, something on her mind.
“I proved my point.” I used the remote to turn on some music, something slow and romantic. The beginning reminded me of the tinkling of bells.
“You did. You are so old-fashioned sometimes, when it comes to romance.”
“Give me a problem with that.”
“Not one.” She faced my front, coming in closer, sniffing. After she inhaled, she exhaled on a sigh. “Just stating a fact.”
“I’m a gentleman. You're my lady. What goes on in our bedroom, or behind closed doors, dirty or otherwise, is for the two of us. Don't ever make those sounds again—out in public. They're just for me.”
“That didn't even sound like me. I was faking.”
“Not the point.”
“I don't talk… about us. Not in that way.” She sighed. “You should know me better.”
“I do. But I needed you anyway.”
I didn't tell her that tonight almost felt like an imposition on our time. For the last couple of weeks it had been she and I, even when it wasn't. I didn't want the magic of the last few weeks to fade. We seemed to exist in our own glass globe, the world around us full of people and hard winter, not able to penetrate our lines.
She used her nails to scratch my scalp, and then she ran her hands through my hair; I watched her as she did, kissing her every so often. Her breathing slowed, her eyes closed, her mouth parted, and she was lost to sleep. Her hand rested against my cheek.
The blanket was wedged between my back and the sofa, and I yanked it forward to cover her. I stared at her lashes until a jingle alerted me that someone was home.
Eunice.
“Oh!” she said, her voice low. “I don’t—I mean, it’s so soon.”
“How much longer do we have, darlin’? At our age, we know what we want.”
My eyes had been hooded, on the verge of sleep, and at this, they sprang open. Eunice and O’Sullivan had no idea we were on the sofa, right in hearing distance.
The player was attempting to seduce her like the enlisted men had done during times of war, but instead of claiming that he might die on the battlefield, he was trying to get her in the sack with the old-age scare.
Well fucking played, Burgess.
“Well.” Eunice dallied, clearly torn. “I’ve never been—I mean, I haven’t done it before! And at my age!”
He cleared the thickness from his throat. “That’s no trouble, darlin’. I’ll be there with you—right there beside you. It takes two to make this work. All you have to do is say yes.”
I almost groaned. Scarlett let out a puff of air and then went back to silent breathing.
“But—” Eunice’s voice dipped much lower. “I might not be good at it.”
