“Yes. But after my sister’s death, they, well, they’re not the same.” She blinked rapidly.
Damn and blast, why had he started this conversation. He didn’t need to know all of the woman’s private details. Though the loss of her sister could explain why Miss Moore, Cassie, had come seeking employment. If her father’s grief prevented him from looking after the family he had remaining, she might have had no choice but to attempt to take care of herself.
“You know my father owns several shops.” He pressed his palms to the table. His hand was inches from her own, and the strangest urge to take her hand, squeeze it, came over him. He didn’t do sympathetic gestures. Tup, marry, or ignore. That’s what he did with women. And now he had the other classification, the Cassie-sized box for pupils. Affectionate hand squeezes didn’t belong in any of them.
“Yes.” She took a sip of wine and lifted her chin, doing an admirable job of regaining her composure.
“I can get you a position there. Something more fitting. And it will pay well.” The shops only had male clerks, but he was certain his father could find something for her when he explained the situation. His father had a soft heart where bad luck cases were concerned.
“No!” She reached out and grabbed his arm. “No,” she said more quietly. “I like working at the Bond Agency.”
He stared down at her fingers. They looked so small, so breakable against his dark wool coat. “Why? Why do you want this position so badly?”
She looked up at him. It was like all the walls that hid her every expression fell away at once. The pain in her luminous, wide-set eyes pierced his heart. Determination was writ in the firm set of her lips, the tilt of her chin.
How had he ever thought her face average, her personality nondescript? She was a tight bundle of emotions, just waiting to burst.
“Charles, I need this position because I…. Well, I….” Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip.
His gaze followed the path of that tongue. “Yes?”
Her shoulders rounded, and the smile he had become accustomed to slid onto her face. The one that was all pleasantry and politeness and told him fuck all what was actually going on inside her head. “I like puzzles. This position, learning under you, suits me.”
He wanted to shake her. Take the infuriating woman over his knee and demand she reveal herself. More than anything, he wanted to turn her unwitting words into reality. He knew of the perfect position for her under him, and he could guarantee she would learn more than she ever knew possible.
The back of his neck flared with heat. His brain tried to direct his thoughts to their proper place. Protégé. Business associate. She was just like any investigator at the agency. She was just….
Sod it all to hell. He needed to leave. He jerked to his feet, the bench behind him crashing to the floor. His hip hit the table and both glasses swayed. He reached for hers just as it tipped over, and spilled its wine onto Cassie.
She hopped up, wiping at the mess.
“Damn it.” He grabbed his own napkin and blotted at the liquid. His hand pressed against her belly, and she stilled.
So did he. They stood together in a hushed silence. She slowly tipped her head back. Her breath ghosted across his lips. “Charles,” she whispered.
Reason dripped from his mind like the wine did from the knocked-over glass. He throbbed behind his smallclothes. He grabbed her hips and pulled her into his body, letting her warmth soothe his aching cock.
“Oh my,” she breathed.
He gripped the back of her head and crashed his mouth onto hers, devouring her like a starving dog a bone.
He knew it was a mistake. He knew there would be consequences for allowing Cassie to slide into the wrong category.
And in this moment, he cared sod all about the repercussions. Her mouth was hot and eager beneath his, and that was enough.
Chapter Sixteen
Cassie gripped his arms, uncertainty holding her rigid. Charles Strait was kissing her. No, kissing was too bland a word for what the man was doing to her. She’d shared a few illicit kisses with the son of the local vicar back in her youth. Those soft presses of lips against lips had no relation to the breath-stealing caress Mr. Strait inflicted upon her now.
His teeth tugged on her bottom lip, nipping the aching flesh before soothing the hurt with his tongue. When she gave him the smallest opening, he took advantage, plundering her mouth like she was his to take.
When he suckled the tip of her tongue, any hesitancy on her part melted away. She fisted the wool of his coat and pulled him closer. Her breasts felt heavy, tender, and when the buttons of her coat brushed against their sensitive tips, she moaned.
“Tell me you don’t want this.” Charles scraped his teeth down her throat, setting her skin on fire wherever he touched. “Tell me you don’t want my mouth on you, or my hands to learn every God-damned curve of your body and I’ll stop.”
She shook her head. Not only couldn’t she lie and tell him no, her mouth had lost its ability to form any words at all.
He gripped her waist and with one quick move, plopped her onto the table and nudged his way between her knees. The top of her gown loosened, and Charles dragged his stubbled jaw down her chest, pushing her bodice down over her chemise with his chin.
