Three Rich Men: House of Midnight Fantasies / Forced to the Altar / The Millionaire's Pregnant Mistress. Michelle Celmer
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Selene spun to her right to find a dark figure seated in a wicker settee at the end of the veranda a few feet away. She released a ragged breath, one hand resting on her chest above the gown’s scooped neck, the other gripping the rail tighter for support. “You startled me.”
“Obviously.” His tone dripped with sarcasm.
Wonderful. A midnight encounter with a jerk. She was so looking forward to this. “I take it you’re Mr. Morrell.”
“Correct.”
That relieved Selene somewhat, even if his attitude needed adjusting. At least he was a real man, not some ghostly apparition.
What now? She could bid him good-night and return to her room. Or she could get the official introduction out of the way then go back to bed. With that in mind, she shored up her courage and moved closer, the moonlight providing enough illumination for her to make out a few details. Details such as he couldn’t be much beyond his mid-thirties and not the curmudgeon she’d envisioned.
His slightly wavy dark hair fell below his chin and his lips formed a line as hard and unyielding as his jaw that was covered in evening whiskers. Then her gaze came to rest on his eyes. She suspected the same eyes that had flashed in her mind upon her arrival. Unearthly blue, predatory eyes.
She could also see he wasn’t wearing a shirt, while she was wearing a cotton gown that provided little cover. Not necessarily the proper attire for her first encounter with her boss, but she might as well get it over with.
Selene finally gathered enough wherewithal to step forward and offer her hand along with a forced smile. “I’m your new employee, Selene Winston.”
“I know who you are.” His gaze tracked down her body slowly in a blatant size-up before he centered it on her extended hand. After a slight hesitation, he took her palm into his grasp and curled his fingers around hers. Selene reeled from the bolt of sensation, the abject pain emanating from him. A deep, wounding pain.
She quickly dropped her hand and took a step back, as if she’d suffered an electrical shock. In reality, she had. She’d lived with the “gift” for as long as she could remember, keeping it concealed from the world. Well-bred Southern girls didn’t read minds; they read the society page. But in all her years, never before had she been empathetic. She’d been able to discern others thoughts through imagery and occasionally words, but she’d never been able to channel feelings. Until him.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she murmured once she again had control over her voice.
He didn’t return the greeting, yet he did continue to stare at her, making her want to twitch where she stood. Making her want to run from him even though she felt oddly drawn to him. Drawn to his aura. His pain.
She struggled for something casual to say despite the uncomfortable situation. “I’d appreciate your input on how you want the restorations handled. Not right now, of course, since I need something to write with. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day, if you prefer.” Heaven help her, she was rambling like an idiot.
He failed to respond for a few moments until he finally said, “Only one thing you need to know. I expect perfection.”
Selene knew all about perfection. She’d lived the perfect life with the perfect family. Had gone to perfect schools and had married the perfect man. The perfect lying bastard, she corrected. “I’ll do my best to please you.”
He laced his hands atop his bare belly. “That remains to be seen. I’m not easy to please.”
That certainly didn’t surprise Selene considering Ella’s assessment that Adrien Morrell was a “hard case.” She would have to concur. And after her reaction to him when they’d touched, she sensed that perhaps he had his reasons. “Do you have any particular preferences?”
He inclined his head and surveyed her face from forehead to chin, settling his gaze on her mouth. “In reference to what?”
Another image filtered into her mind, regardless of her attempts to stop it. She only caught a glimpse of his thoughts, but enough to realize those thoughts involved questionable considerations involving naked bodies. Her naked body.
Selene couldn’t fathom why her well-honed ability to block this kind of thing failed her now. Couldn’t understand why he would be fantasizing about her, a woman he’d just met. More disturbing, she couldn’t comprehend why that excited her.
“I’m referring to how you would like the restoration handled,” she said once the images dissolved.
He shifted slightly in the chair. “I prefer not to be involved at all. Unless you have no idea what you’re doing.”
That made her bristle, her defenses on high alert. “Any reason why you believe I wouldn’t know what I’m doing?”
“You’ve given me no evidence to believe that you do.”
How was she going to answer? Easy. By telling only a partial truth. “I have an interior-design degree. I’ve also supervised staffs and redecorated my own house in the past. I’ve even refinished furniture with my own two hands.”
“Was that before or after your tennis game with the ladies down at the club?”
She resented his condescending tone. Resented even more that he was right about her former life. “Actually, I believe that was the day I had tea with the Daughters of the Confederacy,” she said in her sweetest drawl. “Right before I went to my lessons on how to be genteel and polite even when confronted by ill-mannered jackasses. Those lessons seem to be escaping me now.”
He looked as if he might actually smile, but it didn’t quite form. “Are you calling me a jackass, Ms. Winston?”
If the moniker fits. She laid a dramatic hand above her breast. “Why, no, Mr. Morrell. That would be totally improper.”
Again he raked his gaze down her body and back up again. Slowly. “Nothing wrong with impropriety now and then, Selene.”
And no doubt he had that impropriety market cornered. He’d been brazen enough to call her by her given name. Bold enough to fantasize about her. And he hadn’t even bothered to stand … until that moment.
He came to his feet slowly and, as she’d guessed, he was an inch or two over six feet. His chest was lean, well defined and dusted with a layer of dark hair, his flat abdomen sporting a sequence of ridges above the waistband of his black slacks. His proximity alone jumbled her mind, hindered her breathing, as did his scent. A subtle clean scent that seemed perfectly in sync with the summer night, as if he were an integral part of the atmosphere. Mystifying, intoxicating, forbidden.
If he’d meant to intimidate her, it was working. But Selene wasn’t going to let that happen. Not anymore. Not by any man. Especially not a man like him, even if he was absolutely awe-inspiring—in a threatening kind of way.
But instead of backing up, she turned her attention to a pair of dark vines circling his solid bicep, a grouping of letters centered in the middle that spelled out the word Imperium. “Interesting tattoo. My Latin’s a little rusty. What does it mean?”
She lifted her eyes to find his gaze boring into her. “Absolute power.”
Both his declaration and his overwhelming presence paralyzed her, even though she knew what he was about to do. The way he studied her mouth again gave her the first indication. His musings that broke through her mental haze served as confirmation. If she didn’t leave now, he was going to kiss her. And she might actually let him.
Forcing herself back into reality, Selene folded her arms tightly around herself, as if that might offer some protection, and stepped back to regain her resolve. “I don’t believe power is absolute, Mr. Morrell.”
With the last of her shredding strength, Selene turned away from him and headed back to the safety of the bedroom. But she’d only managed a few steps before he said, “Some