Chapter 15
“May I have this dance?” Only one man spoke in such low and lovely tones.
“Of course.”
Hank had finally asked her to dance. Rory was starting to worry he would keep his distance all night, which would put a significant crimp in her plans.
It wasn’t as if she could approach him, but it had been torture wondering if he would avoid her all night because of the risks of getting close with her father in the room.
Hank had to fight his way through several utterly dull society gents to get to her, but he outmaneuvered them with ease and staked his claim.
Charles Willoughby slunk off sulking. Anthony Harding glared. She didn’t care.
Hank’s hand touched hers, and it was electric. Everything else in the room disappeared.
By luck, the band started a slow, lugubrious foxtrot.
His hand kissed her bare back right beneath her shoulder blades, and she shivered in pleasure.
As her chest brushed against his in the intimate embrace the dance required, her nipples stiffened, and warmth coiled between her legs.
She could hardly wait until she had him all to herself.
In his arms, she could lose herself and maybe even forget her father’s little speech.
How could the man forget to mention her birthday in the middle of her birthday party?
Not that he was ever enthusiastic about her birthday.
He usually avoided her celebrations entirely.
But coming to her party and then not making one mention of her had to be deliberate.
Maybe it was Papa’s revenge for her breaking things off with Edward.
He’d certainly wasted no time inviting every high-society low-life in search of an heiress to her party.
She wished it didn’t sting as much as it did.
But she wasn’t going to waste another thought on her father, not when she was finally in Hank’s arms where she belonged.
As they began to move, their bodies pressed close, his inner thigh brushed against her own through layers of fabric, tantalizing and tempting her, so close to where she wanted him.
She bit her lip, needing the pain to bring her back to the present.
Her father was in the room, watching all that transpired, plotting how to marry her off to the first fortune hunter he could find with a family name that he found acceptable.
She couldn’t surrender to the dance, not yet.
Later tonight, she would be his, but not now. It was only a dance.
The music built, and Hank pulled her closer. “Happy birthday, princess,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. She felt the words resonating in her core.
“You can make it happier still,” she murmured back. “Ask the front desk for the key to room 512. Tell them your name is Albert Jones. I’ll be there at midnight.”
He pulled her closer still, the steady rhythm of the music carrying them along as it built toward a climax. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t. You’re risking too much.”
She adjusted her leg’s position to brush against his front on the next step. Sure enough, there was a bulge. “No reluctance where it matters,” she observed.
“Dammit, Rory,” he exclaimed in a whispered hiss. “I’m trying to do the right thing by you.”
“Then stop. I’m perfectly capable of deciding what risks I wish to take.”
He was silent, his smoldering eyes burning into her as they moved across the dance floor.
“I’ve taken significant precautions to ensure we won’t be discovered. No one will ever know I’ve been in your room.”
Still, he said nothing.
“Will you come?”
He closed his eyes and breathed out. “I shouldn’t.” But he sounded less certain.
“You’ll come. You wouldn’t dare disappoint the birthday girl,” she said with a confident smile.
The dance was coming to an end. “Goodbye, Rory, and best wishes. I’m leaving after this dance.”
“I’ll see you tonight, Hank. Don’t fail me.”
He released her slowly as Aunt Alva strode toward her with a frown, calling out, “Rory dear, I’m afraid I must be going. Come say goodbye.”
“I’ll be there in a moment,” Rory called out, then whispered in his ear. “I’ll see you shortly.” She didn’t wait for an answer before turning away to speak with her aunt.
“Who was that young man?” Aunt Alva asked, narrowing her eyes.
Oh dear. The last thing she wanted right now was for Aunt Alva to draw attention to Hank.
“I have no idea. Just one of the legion of eligible bachelors Papa seems to have invited,” Rory answered quickly. “When is the next march? Do you need me to come by to paint signs later this week?”
Aunt Alva pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. But when she opened her mouth, all she said was, “Come by Sunday afternoon around two. Enjoy the rest of your birthday, my dear.”
Rory didn’t see Hank leave, but she felt his absence as soon as he was gone.
The rest of the party was a whirlwind. She danced almost without pause for three hours straight before things began to wind down. Her father was among the first to depart.
“Will I see you at home?”
“No, Papa. I took a room here. I knew I’d be too spent to head back uptown.”
“Very well. I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast,” he said and left. Not so much as a happy birthday, not that she should be surprised after all these years.
Next, Evelyn left on the arm of the self-absorbed shipping magnate her parents kept trying to set her up with.
Poor Evelyn! “Goodnight. Have fun,” she said with a wink as she headed out.
Rory had no doubt Evelyn guessed exactly what she was up to.
Thankfully, Rory knew Evelyn would keep her secrets.
“You were marvelous tonight, Evelyn. I couldn’t have a better friend. Thank you for everything!”
Evelyn smiled and took her leave. One by one, her dance partners made their excuses and left. One or two persistent ones tried to persuade her to go out with them, but she pleaded exhaustion and headed up to room 511…the one adjoining Hank’s.
She’d only done this once before—with Archie.
Not that she wanted to think about him with Hank (hopefully!) waiting for her in the next room.
But this little adventure was twice as dangerous.
A scandal with a man from the same social strata was one thing, but with Hank?
The gossip rags would feast on her and her family forever.
Her heart thudded in her chest as she contemplated the risks that they were both taking for this one chance to grasp a bit of heaven.
This had to end. They both knew it. After tonight, they would have to go their separate ways.
But she needed one perfect night with him to escape the confines of her life for a few hours and get him out of her system once and for all.
Slipping off her shoes, she tiptoed to the door connecting the two rooms and unfastened the lock on her side. She knocked. There was no answer. Did he leave? She was so sure he wouldn’t.
She knocked again and pressed her ear to the door, desperately hoping for some sign that she hadn’t misjudged. At long last, a bolt clicked. The door opened, and she fell into Hank’s waiting arms. Warmth flooded through her body.
He pulled her into his room and kissed her, hard and demanding, with almost bruising force.
She answered in kind, her lips and tongue consuming him hungrily.
For weeks, she’d been dreaming of this. Ever since that night on the Flatiron, she’d been drowning in desire for this man.
No, it started before that. Was it when he took her flying near Washington D.C. ?
She needed one last encounter with him to get him out of her system. The intensity of her need was too much to bear. If she could get what she wanted just this once, she could make the memories last a lifetime. They couldn’t be together, but they could have this one night to remember always.
Then all thoughts flew from her head as he began kissing down her neck.
Her desire became something tangible. It pressed her closer to him, binding them together in a hot, sultry dance.
He backed her against the wall so that his entire length pressed against her.
The effect of his heat and touch was immediate and overwhelming.
She wanted to bite and claw until his clothes lay shredded on the floor.
She wanted to lick and suck every inch of exposed flesh.
She wanted to feel him everywhere but especially in one particular place that was pulsing with need.
Tugging at the belt around his uniform, she slipped it through the clasp, unbuckling it. Her fingers fumbled at his buttons as his hands drove her mad, travelling up and down her body, caressing her breasts and grasping her buttocks.
He groaned as he slid his hand beneath the fabric of her dress to caress her bare nipple. “No chemise,” he murmured as he nipped at her shoulder.
“The cut of the dress wouldn’t allow it.”
“Good God.”
When she tore the last button free, she yanked his jacket down, discarding it on the floor as she started on the buttons of his shirt.
He turned her and backed her into the side of a writing desk, shoving a lamp aside to make room for her to sit with her legs spread to accommodate him.
The front panel of her skirt hung between her legs, and the side panels slid down, leaving her exposed up to the thighs where her garters peeked through.
Wrapping her legs around his waist, she welcomed his firm, grasping hands, caressing and squeezing her thighs until he reached her garters. He unclipped her silk stockings with ease, tracing the seams at the back with his fingers as he slid them down.
As he knelt at her feet, he reached up and found the part in her sleek, silk undergarments, pressing her open with his hands. Cool air touched her wet folds, and then white heat blinded her as he sucked her into his mouth, torturing her most sensitive place with his devilish tongue.
“Fuck yes,” he moaned after taking his first taste.