Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“Let’s not make things more complicated than they need to be.
” Mavis blinked her eyes open, though she didn’t look at him.
Instead, she kept her gaze fixed just over his shoulder, her expression shuttered in a way that made him feel feral, desperate to shake off the layer of ice she’d wrapped herself in.
“What happened that night on the beach was a mistake, Arden—”
“Don’t,” he snapped. She looked at him then, shocked.
Arden couldn’t blame her—even he barely recognized the sound of his own voice, like the word was wrenched from his chest. “What happened that night on the beach was ill advised, impulsive, reckless, and potentially calamitous had we been discovered, but it was not a mistake. Not to me.”
She didn’t respond, but she didn’t look away either, and for just a moment he caught a glimpse past her mask of indifference, to the part of her that was as wounded and wanting as he was.
“Do you regret it?” It would wreck him if she said yes, but he wanted the truth.
“No,” she whispered. “I don’t regret it.”
The air in the room felt heavier. The tension that had wedged between them as soon as he stepped into the suite burned hotter.
Just now, Arden didn’t care about the life he was born for.
He didn’t care about the house that had been in his family for twelve generations.
He didn’t care about the old friends who shunned him or the balls he’d been snubbed at.
Arden didn’t care about Oriana Mayles or his aunt’s inheritance, or the dwindling funds in his bank account.
Arden didn’t care about anything outside of this room, and he cared for only one thing within it.
He moved slowly, lifting his hand to her cheek at a glacier’s pace, giving her time to stop him, relieved when she didn’t. Her skin was soft, and when he angled her face toward his, her lips parted on a sigh that had him going harder than he’d ever been in his life.
“You’ll regret this,” she warned, but the words didn’t match the hitch in her voice.
“I could never.” He lowered his mouth until he felt the soft gust of her breath against his lips. He held still, careful not to close the last bit of distance between them even as doing so threatened to drive him mad. “Tell me to stop now and I will, I swear it.”
He waited, breath bated, for her to say the word.
The rise and fall of her chest brushed against his, her pebbled nipples evident through the crisp blue cotton of her dress.
Each inhale she took threatened to drive him mad with the desire to tear the garment from her body so he could see every inch of her, but he held still as a stone statue.
He braced himself for rejection, readied for her to pull away.
It would take every last ounce of willpower he possessed, but there was nothing she could ask of him that he wouldn’t give her—not even this.
Instead, she tipped her forehead to rest against his and closed her eyes. “Damn it all,” she murmured, and then she was kissing him, her mouth soft and warm and inviting as it moved against his, her freckled arms twining around his neck to pull him closer.
In a single move, he lifted Mavis up, groaning against her mouth when she wrapped her legs around his hips, the skirt of her dress rucking up to her thighs. Arden gripped her leg with one hand, sliding it up her calf and past her knee and letting out a low curse when his hand found only bare skin.
He pulled back just enough to see her face. “No stockings?”
Mavis’s wicked smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “No petticoats, either. I wasn’t planning on entertaining polite company.”
Arden kissed her again, deeper this time. “Good,” he said against her lips, the word coming out rough edged. “Because there is nothing polite about the company I intend to provide.”
“Gods of Old, I hope not.” Mavis tunneled her fingers through his hair and tightened her legs around his waist in a way that had Arden seeing stars.
He spun them around, setting her on the credenza and knocking over a pile of books that thudded to the floor.
He turned his head to look down at the scattered tomes, knowing he should care about it even as Mavis nipped at his earlobe and made caring about anything else a nearly impossible feat.
“I don’t want to make a mess.” He glanced at the glasses and bottles of liquor perched behind her on the credenza that were mercifully still in place. “But if you don’t direct me to your bedroom in the next few seconds, I may not have a choice.”
Those few seconds shrunk even further when he felt Mavis’s hands at his chest, reaching for the buttons of his shirt and slipping one from its mooring, then another.
“Down the hall,” she said, low in his ear. “The last room, all the way back.”
Arden didn’t think it was possible for him to move any quicker than he did, carrying her to the hallway she’d indicated. He fumbled with the doorknob before Mavis helped him, turning it herself and pushing the door open.
Arden had only a vague impression of the room—lavender walls trimmed with sage green moldings, an open window with sheer white curtains rippling in the evening breeze, and a large bed piled with half a dozen silk pillows and covered in a satin quilted duvet.
When he eased Mavis down at the foot of the bed, she didn’t release him fully, keeping her legs loosely clasped around his hips, her hands still working at his buttons and a small smile playing on her lips that he might call shy if he didn’t know any better.
“Last time, you said you wished there were time to unwrap me layer by layer like a gift.” She shoved his shirt off his shoulders.
He shrugged it the rest of the way off, letting it fall to the floor in a wrinkled heap.
Her eyes danced over his chest, and when her tongue darted out to lick her lips, Arden nearly lost what little control he had left.
When she met his gaze again, her smile turned wry and she leaned back on her hands, a challenge in her eyes. “Do you think we have enough time now?”
No, Arden thought as he let himself drink in the sight of her, skin flushed and copper hair mussed, her breasts straining against the neckline of her dress with every breath. No, he would never have enough time, but he would greedily take every second he could get.
He guided her further back onto her bed until she could lean against the plethora of pillows before he joined her, shucking off his shoes and bracing his knees on either side of her hips, his hands bracketing her head.
He was hard already, desperate to sink into her, but he urged himself to go slowly.
Five years ago, he had taken their intimacies for granted, oblivious to what it felt like to starve for her. Now, he was determined to savor every touch, to make up for all he’d missed, to stow away memories in case he was forced to face another drought.
He wouldn’t, he decided suddenly, looking down at her.
Copper hair was spread out over the silk pillows like tendrils of fire, her swollen mouth parted, the pupils of her eyes blown wide with lust. It didn’t matter what else he had to give up—his money, his family’s legacy, his place among the Lusters—he’d sacrifice it all if it meant he could keep her forever.
Just one night, Mavis thought as Arden loomed over her, his body pressed against hers, her fingers skating over the ridges and muscles of his bare back.
She was allowing herself just tonight, just a few hours to sate her hunger for him—a ludicrous idea.
She could spend an eternity in bed with him and still crave more, but tonight would have to be enough.
Unlike on the beach, this time she had the freedom to explore him properly, feeling the topography of his back and the corded muscle of his biceps, the planes of his chest and the hard ridge of his stomach.
When her wandering fingers brushed over the front of his trousers and the hardness straining against the material, his hand encircled her wrist, pressing it to the pillow beside her head and lowering his mouth to hers again, his kiss an intoxicating blend of lips, tongue, and teeth that left her breathless and hot.
When he dragged his lips along her jaw, she squirmed beneath him, desperate to relieve the aching want that had taken over her body, singing out for his touch, but he seemed more than content to tease her, trailing his mouth down her throat, dipping his tongue into the hollow of her clavicle, and peppering featherlight kisses over the swath of skin above the neckline of her dress that she belatedly realized followed the pattern of her freckles.
“This one’s new,” Arden murmured between kisses. “And this one. Ah, but here, this one is an old friend.”
“If you’re planning on documenting every freckle on my body, we’ll be here for the next week,” Mavis told him, but as soon as she uttered the words, she felt his hand at the row of pearl buttons at the front of her bodice, toying with the lowest one but not yet slipping it from its mooring.
“I do enjoy a challenge,” Arden replied.
Before Mavis could respond, his mouth closed over her nipple, his tongue tracing her through the thin cotton.
She cried out, bringing her free hand to dig into his hair, holding him fast to her even as he kept his grip on her other hand, pressing her wrist into the pillow beside her, reminding her that for once, she was not in control.
That knowledge thrilled her more than she expected it to, but she couldn’t resist lifting her hips, enjoying the feeling of Arden’s hard arousal against the softness of her lower belly almost as much as she enjoyed the hiss he let out.