Chapter 11
Blaise crawled up Iris’ long, languid body as she squirmed underneath him. Her body felt feverish against his, and her back arched as he felt her smooth legs wrap around his waist. She lifted her head and grazed his ear with her soft, inviting lips.
“Blaise.” Iris’s voice echoed as he awoke from the sweet dream.
He sat up sharply. The clock on the mantel showed it was barely half past six. He had slightly overslept because he was dreaming of her.
“Bloody hell,” he cursed lowly as he threw back the covers and rose.
Blaise moved with purpose, quickly pulling on a shirt and trousers. He crossed to the door and yanked it open, only to freeze at the sight before him.
The entire corridor outside his bedchamber was littered with flowers.
Vases upon vases of the very same roses and daisies he had ordered removed from the study the day before now lined the floor in neat, mocking rows.
Petals had been scattered like a bridal path leading straight to his door. The sweet scent assaulted him again.
Blaise’s jaw ticked violently. His scar pulled tight as his expression darkened.
“That bloody woman!” he growled under his breath.
“Your Grace?” Kennedy’s soft voice interrupted the silence.
“What is it, Kennedy?” Blaise asked him impatiently.
The young man cleared his throat and looked at him nervously. “Your breakfast is ready…”
Blaise groaned and cupped his face in frustration.
“Leave me be!” His voice boomed in the corridor, and he heard a clattering sound coming from Iris’s chamber.
The footman rushed off as Blaise strode toward the viscountess’s chamber. Without bothering to knock, he pushed the door open.
Iris stood near the center of the room in nothing but a thin, damp robe; her hair was loose and wet from a recent bath.
Droplets of water still clung to her neck and collarbone, slowly soaking into the fabric.
The robe clung scandalously to her full breasts and the curve of her hips, the wet material leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
The outline of her body, her pert nipples hardened by the cool air, the soft swell of her stomach, and the shadow between her thighs were all clearly visible, and Blaise stood in awe of her.
“Blaise!” she gasped, spinning away from him. “What are you—? Get out!”
Blaise remained still, filling the doorway with his arms crossed over his broad chest as he took in her sight. Heat rushed through him, causing his manhood to press against his thigh.
“Iris,” he said, dangerously low as he shut the door behind him. “I am warning you to behave. And to make your servants behave as well!”
“I have done nothing! Now get out!” Her voice rose.
Blaise laughed humorlessly. “You have done nothing? And yet this morning I woke to find every damn flower I removed from my study now decorating the hallway outside my door like some deranged offering.”
Iris turned back toward him and lifted her chin, attempting to look composed despite the blush creeping up her neck and the way her fingers tightened on the edges of her robe.
God help me, she looks magnificent.
“I have no idea what you are talking about. The servants must have misunderstood your instructions again. And that is very unfortunate for you, as they are all your servants.” Her innocent tone only fueled his irritation and his desire.
She was playing the perfect lady while she and her household waged war on him.
Blaise stepped up to her, and she slowly backed away until her legs hit the side of the bed. “You are pushing me, Little Blossom. I suggest you stop before I decide our month-long bargain begins today instead of in three weeks.”
Iris’s cheeks burned brighter, but she held her ground. “Everything is proceeding as agreed. The house is being renovated the way you want. I will help you find a bride for your nephew. And at the end of the month…” Her voice faltered slightly.
Blaise’s dark eyes gleamed. He moved closer, deliberately crowding her space.
“Perhaps I need a taste of what is to come,” he murmured huskily. “Just a small preview to ensure you understand exactly what you offered me.”
“Do you think that I was lying?” She frowned up at him.
“Yes, in fact, I do think you were lying,” Blaise admitted as he watched a droplet fall gracefully between her heaving bosom.
Before he could anticipate it, Iris surged forward.
She grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and pulled him down into a fierce kiss.
It was bold and almost desperate. Her lips pressed hot and insistent against his, proving she was serious about their deal.
Blaise growled in surprise, then took control instantly.
His large hands seized her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body. One hand slid down to grip her hip possessively while the other tangled in her damp hair, tilting her head back so he could deepen the kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her with ruthless skill.
Iris whimpered, melting against him, her body responding vividly to every touch. Her nipples pressed against his chest through the thin robe, and she shivered when his hand boldly cupped one wet breast. Blaise brushed a thumb over her hardened peak and devoured the sound that escaped her lips.
He pulled back just enough to speak roughly with lust. “You are not prepared for what is coming, Iris. Not even close.”
She was breathing hard, her lips were swollen, and her eyes were dazed. “What… what do you mean?”
Blaise grazed his thumb over her nipple again, and she shuddered against him, proving his point.
“You will need to be trained before you enter my red room.” Her eyes filled with hurt, and he regretted his words, but it was the truth.
She would not survive the ropes, lashings, and pleasures that awaited her. She would fall into a shivering heap of pleasure before he even began.
Blaise stepped back, releasing her. “Wait here.”
He strode out of her chamber and into his own, opening every cabinet until he found it. When he returned, Iris was still standing exactly where he had left her; her robe was even more damp, outlining her body like an offering.
Blaise’s gaze raked over her slowly and possessively until the door clicked shut behind him again.
“Lie down.” It was an order.
* * *
“What?” Iris’s mind went completely blank the moment the words left Blaise’s lips.
She did not know what had overcome her, but she had been tired of playing it safe and tired of being dismissed as a liar in her own home.
Although she did not plan to follow through with her idea of entering his red room, Blaise pushed her to her limits when he entered her chamber and stood before her, disheveled, groggy, and, oh, so very tempting.
Iris’s body immediately reacted, and with so little material between them, she was ready to risk it all.
“Lie down,” he repeated; his voice sounded cold and distant.
Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out every rational thought. She had kissed him only moments ago, but now, standing before him in almost nothing, Iris realized just how far she had pushed herself.
“Blaise, I—”
“I am not going to do anything you do not want to.”
Iris swallowed hard; her cheeks burned fiercely. “On… on the bed?”
“Yes,” Blaise said, his eyes never leaving hers. “On the bed, Little Blossom.”
Her legs felt unsteady as she moved toward the bed. She perched on the edge first, then slowly lay back against the pillows, her robe still wrapped tightly around her. The sheets were cool beneath her heated skin, a stark contrast that made her shiver.
Blaise did not immediately follow her, and she felt a tinge of disappointment.
Perhaps I do not look tempting enough.
Instead, he crossed to the small sofa beside the bed, settling into it with casual grace. He reached into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew a familiar leather-bound sketchbook and a piece of charcoal. Iris’s breath caught.
“Are you going to sketch me?” she asked curiously.
“Yes. Now remove your robe,” he ordered her softly, opening the book to a fresh page.
Humiliation crashed over her like a wave.
This was mortifying. She was not some model in his wicked red room; she was a respectable widow, or at least she had been until this infuriating man had upended her world.
Yet even as shame burned through her, a darker, slicker heat gathered between her thighs; her body was betraying her, aching for his touch, for the very things he had promised in their deal.
“I…” Her voice wavered as she gulped and looked down at her body.
She was not particularly proud of her body, and no one had ever seen her naked before. It was all new to her, and Iris did not know if she felt ashamed or thrilled.
“You are free to walk away from our deal anytime you want, Iris,” Blaise said, his tone deceptively gentle as he watched her. “Say the word, and I will leave this chamber right now. No consequences. The house and the renovations can proceed—”
“No!” She sat up.
She had come too far, sacrificed too much pride to back down now.
With trembling fingers, Iris loosened the belt of her robe and let it fall open, revealing the soft curves of her body, but she did not shrug it off entirely.
The damp fabric still draped over her shoulders and pooled at her sides, offering the barest veil of modesty.
“Is this all right?”
Blaise’s lips curved, but his expression was unreadable.
Iris knew that all the women he drew were fully naked, but she could not do it.
She waited for his disappointment or for him to get up and leave, but when he looked at her exposed breast and thigh, his eyes darkened.
Blaise did not insist that she remove it completely.
Instead, he studied her for a long moment, charcoal poised above the paper.
“You are too stiff,” he murmured.
He rose from the sofa, and she noticed the outline of his shaft pressing against the thin material of his trousers.
He approached the bed completely unashamed.
Iris’s heart hammered wildly as he leaned over her; she exhaled through her mouth and watched the gooseflesh form where her breath landed on his forearm.
“Keep your body loose, Little Blossom,” he cooed as his rough hands moved with surprising gentleness.
Blaise adjusted the angle of her arm, tilting her head slightly on the pillow, and brushing a damp curl away from her face.
Every touch felt like a fire burning across her skin.
She wished desperately that he would use those hands for something far more wicked than positioning her for a sketch.
Even these innocent adjustments were driving her insane, making her nipples ache and her core throb with empty need.
“Relax,” he whispered near her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Breathe, Iris.”
She let out a shuddering breath and clamped her thighs together while Blaise towered over her and smiled.
His hand snaked down her thigh, and he grabbed the flesh, raising it until her knee bent slightly.
His fingers slightly brushed against her core, and Iris pursed her lips, stopping herself from moaning.
“Perfect,” he said as he finally stepped back and returned to the sofa.
Iris felt as though she might combust. She lay there, exposed yet partially covered, while the scratch of charcoal against paper filled the room.
Blaise’s dark gaze flicked between her and the page with intense focus.
The silence stretched, thick with tension.
She could feel his eyes tracing every curve and flaw.
Blaise studied the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the length of her legs.
After what felt like an eternity, he tore the page from the sketchbook with a decisive rip, and shame flooded her. Iris sat up slightly, clutching the edges of her robe and covering herself desperately.
“Is it… not good enough to keep?” she asked in a small and embarrassed voice.
Blaise looked up, his scarred face softening with tenderness.
“On the contrary. This one I will gift to you.” He rolled the sketch loosely and set it on the small table beside her bed. “The one I plan to keep for myself will be of you with no clothes on at all. I would like to keep every exquisite inch of you, exactly as you were meant to be seen.”
Heat exploded across Iris’s entire body.
Before she could form a reply, Blaise rose, tucking the sketchbook under his arm.
He gave her one last lingering look filled with a dark promise of what was to come.
Iris longed to stop him from leaving, but she was not brave enough.
He turned and left the chamber, closing the door quietly behind him.
Iris remained frozen on the bed for several long moments, her robe still damp and her skin still flushed and tingling.
She had never felt more embarrassed in her entire life, nor more aroused.
Her body throbbed with unfulfilled desire, and the area between her thighs was slick and aching.
For a wild second, she thought about sliding her hand down and touching herself to ease the torment.
But she stopped. She did not want to do it while thinking of Blaise. He was arrogant and commanding, and he had just sketched her half-naked and left her trembling. It felt too much like a surrender to the enemy.
Her gaze drifted to the mirror across the room.
Perhaps I could look at myself instead?
Iris rose from the bed on shaky legs, clutching the robe around her body as she crossed to the full-length mirror. The rolled sketch lay on the small table beside it. With trembling fingers, she picked it up and unrolled the paper.
Her breath caught.
Blaise had captured her with breathtaking skill. The drawing was intimate and sensual. He had drawn her with a raw, hungry beauty she had never seen in herself. For one dizzying moment, heat flared again between her thighs.
She placed the sketch down gently on the table, almost reverently, and before she could lose her nerve, Iris untied the belt and opened the robe fully. The damp material slid from her shoulders and pooled at her feet, leaving her completely naked before the mirror.
She stared at her reflection. The woman looking back was flushed, full-breasted, with generous hips and a soft stomach.
It was a body that had never been truly seen or truly touched.
But instead of pride, she felt shame, crashing over her like cold water.
Her arousal slowly ebbed away, replaced by a deep, aching embarrassment.
This was her.
Plain, untouched, and foolish for playing dangerous games with a man like Blaise.
Her gaze dropped lower, and she noticed the slick sheen of wetness glistening between her thighs. She grazed her fingers lightly over it, shivering at the sensitive touch.
Unwillingly, Blaise filled her thoughts, and Iris cupped one full breast, squeezing gently, trying to chase the fading heat. Her nipple pebbled under her palm, but it felt wrong.
If only he was the one touching me...