Max wrinkled his nose. “Leave it for the maid. This isn’t the manager’s job.”
“Mrs. Hudson’s back is ailing. I told her I’d finish the cleaning.” Mrs. Bonner scrubbed until a foot-wide circle of oak was stained dark from the soapy water. She tossed the rag back in the bucket. “Can we at least sand the floor down? I’m tired of wiping up blood.”
Grasping her hand, he pulled her to her feet. “Yes. But I guarantee we’ll get complaints.”
“I don’t understand you people.” She tightened her mouth, as though tasting spoilt milk. “Why do you do this?”
He stroked her skin with his thumb. Turning her hand over, he ran his fingers up and down her palm. Her hands weren’t the pampered ones of a lady. Small calluses marred the surface, badges of hard work. He traced a line up her palm to the vein in her wrist. Her pulse raced beneath his fingertips.
“Do you sincerely want to know?” Max asked. “Or are you merely expressing your disdain for what you don’t understand?”
“I …” She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and let it go with a pop. “I’m curious,” she whispered.
Max’s body tightened. It wasn’t smart engaging in bed sport with a business associate, but Max didn’t pretend to great intelligence.Cradling her hand, he lifted her wrist to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to the inside. He slid the tip of his tongue between his lips and tasted the salt of her skin. She hissed in a breath. Taking his lips away, he blew gently over the moistened flesh.
“You asked earlier what my personal predilection is.” He stared into her eyes. “May I show you?”
“Show me?” she asked, voice wobbling.
Blood raced to his groin. He’d known she was attracted to him. Seen it in the unconscious way she slightly parted her legs when he sat next to her at her desk. In the delightful flush that would cover the freckles on her face when they stood too close. But every time that attraction was confirmed, he went hard. Every damn time. “All your clothes will remain on,” he assured her. “Just a small taste to show you what I like.”
Hesitantly, she nodded. Her gaze followed his hand as he raised the candle above her wrist. She bit her lower lip, the plump flesh going pink around her white teeth, and Max’s budding erection went full-blown. Fuck, he loved the slight apprehension of a woman when she didn’t know what was coming. Her restless anticipation. He craved the way a woman tensed as she waited for the heat, and her shudder as the nip of pain slid into pleasure.
But apprehension could turn into fear given too much time. And that was an emotion he never wanted Mrs. Bonner to feel. With an efficiency he thought she’d appreciate, Max tipped the candle and dropped a neat splash of white wax on the spot he’d kissed.
Her hand jerked in his hold, and she hissed in a breath. Keeping their gazes locked, Max blew over the area again, soothing away any sting.
“You drip wax on women?”
“Yes.” He traced a line across her wrist. His fingertip slipped across the slick wax to her soft skin. “Wax, and I also play with fire.”
“How do you play with fire?” She tugged her hand free with a wary look at the candle flame.
He licked his thumb and forefinger and snuffed out the flame, enjoying the small hiss. “Don’t worry. The wax demonstration is as far as we go for now.” Wax was a good introduction into fire play. Gave a hint of the heat, the pleasure, that fire could produce. And Mrs. Bonner’s fair skin would look beautiful dripping with wax. He wondered if freckles covered more than just her face. If he could connect the dots of her body with strings of wax. His hips shifted closer to her of their own accord, his aching cock seeking her heat.
He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and let his hand rest at the nape of her neck. “But when we do play in earnest, I want you to know that the flame won’t hurt you. Not if I’m the one holding the torch. But it will make you feel more alive than you ever have in your life.”
Her breasts stilled and her eyes went dark. Max thought it was from desire, until he remembered her dead husband. And how he’d been killed. He cursed. “Forgive me, Mrs. Bonner. I’d forgotten.”
She blinked, and her forehead cleared. “Mr. Bonner. Yes, I dare say the fire didn’t make him feel so alive.” Bending, she grabbed the bucket’s handle. “A good reminder of my place. I’m a widow, and it’s best if we pretend such foolishness never happened.”
Max took the bucket, disappointment that their intimate moment had ended weighing against his chest. He stopped the door before she could open it fully. “You might be a widow, but you’re still a woman. With needs and desires.” He stepped close, and a hint of lavender teased his nose. “I want to be the man to satisfy your every need.” He ached to be that man.
A flicker of self-reproach tried to ignite in his heart but he stamped it out. His past misdeeds were of no consequence to a potential liaison with Mrs. Bonner.
She turned, her breasts brushing his chest, her abdomen achingly close to his need. They were like puzzle pieces, joining together. “Thinking about what can never happen only leads to disappointment,” she said.
“So, you were considering it?” The woman wasn’t as proper as she liked to think she was. What would it be like to peel off her high-necked shirt, strip her of her petticoats, uncover the real woman beneath all her protective layers? Max had a feeling she burned hotter that any fire he’d ever struck.
“We’ll never know.” Mrs. Bonner strode down the hall to the edge of the main room. She bent her head to speak to Lucy, a woman he’d painted with wax many times before. He should turn to her. She was a professional who enjoyed her work and had no inhibitions. His prick was throbbing behind his smallclothes, needing relief. Lucy was the easy choice. Anything between him and his manager would be too complicated. Yes, he would go to Lucy and see if she was available. The chit nodded at something Mrs. Bonner said and wandered off.
Resolved, he squared his shoulders and turned in the lady-bird’s direction. His feet had other ideas and padded after Mrs. Bonner, like a dog looking for a scrap from his master. Easy was overrated. And so were brains, apparently.
Mrs. Bonner drew up short and held up her hand. “You can’t take a bucket of dirty water into a room with our guests.” She pointed towards the end of the hallway, back the way he’d come. “Leave it around the bend. Lucy has gone for a footman to come collect it.”
He complied and returned to her side. This business with Zed needed to come to a quick conclusion. If he was to be near Mrs. Bonner so often and not be able to touch her, he—
“Are you listening?” She placed her hands on her hips. “Do you agree to give me that authority?”
