Night Pleasures. Jule Mcbride
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about her bespoke the tension of contradictions, he decided. She wasn’t noticeably pretty, but she was sexy as hell. Her eyes had remained unconsciously seductive, even as her obviously intelligent mind assessed him. He said, “What if I’m doing the watching?”
She smirked, those tantalizing lips twisting again, almost petulantly. “Then cameras would make me feel safer.”
“You don’t like men to provide your feelings of safety?”
“Men are hardly safe,” she retorted. In the wake of a revealing blush that followed, she quickly added, “What? Do women always ask you to play the role of Great Protector?”
“Do you distrust men in general,” he pressed trying not to sound too curious, “or did some specific male hurt you?”
Now she didn’t look the least perturbed. “I asked first.”
“Do woman ask me to protect them?” he repeated. “Never. I think they find me too dangerous.”
“Or commitment shy.”
Hearing the truth from her tasty-looking lips was more annoying than it should have been. This was supposed to be his game. His turf. His rules. He was here to watch her, and decipher her diary, which he felt more sure than ever wasn’t in secret code. He fought the urge to tell her their sparring was getting a little too personal. Mostly because he had a suspicion that everything about him and Selena Silverwood was about to get personal. “I commit to plenty of things,” he said, running a palm over his jet hair, loosening the waves as he brushed them back. “I’ve made a fledgling commitment to a dog named M, for instance.”
The truth was, he’d never stayed with a woman longer than six months. That was his rule of thumb. Leave them before they leave you. Suddenly feeling edgy, Edison considered telling Eleanor she’d have to send down one of the other guys. Tom. Steve. Gary Hughes. Anybody. Selena Silverwood was going to be a royal pain in the butt. In her pictures, she’d looked unattractive. In person, she was more physically alluring than she knew. But her presumptive air was now threatening to bring out the worst in him. “You know so much about me,” he continued, chiding. “What? Did somebody send over my dossier?”
When she grinned, now seemingly enjoying this, the way her face lit up made his heart stutter. “Does the idea make you nervous?” she teased. “What are you hiding? Six ex-wives? Arrests for unspeakable acts?”
“You’ve got a vivid imagination.”
She released a soft, musical chuckle. “So I’m told.”
His eyes fixed on hers. “I like imagination in a woman.”
She surveyed him curiously. “Really?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I like a sharp tongue, too. Do you always flirt with temporaries?”
“Flirting?” Her voice turned mild. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“Definitely. And it’s starting to sound like an invitation.”
“Then I’d better quit. IBI might fire us.”
His eyes lingered on her mouth a second too long, and in that second, he knew he’d happily take his pink slip if it meant heading for a bedroom with her. “If you need anything, let me know,” she suddenly said. “And you really should read the employee manual. It’s in the top, right-hand drawer of the desk. Our rules differ from other departments’.”
“A man can’t break rules unless he knows them,” he conceded.
“I wouldn’t know,” she assured him. “I never break rules.”
Raw lust made him want to believe it. He’d never fall for a traitor, which was what she’d be if her diary really was written in code. While she busied herself with work, he leaned down, drew the black-bound diary from his briefcase and surreptitiously inserted it between the open pages of the employee manual. Even if she noticed the book, she wouldn’t recognize it as her own diary. Lifting both books to desk level, he tipped the cover of the manual in her direction. “The employee manual. Thanks for recommending it. It looks interesting.”
She merely rolled eyes that glinted with amusement and began working again. Relaxing, Edison glanced down and realized the diary had a title: Night Pleasures. Not exactly what he’d expected. Frowning, he drew a sharp breath as his eye caught a sentence fragment in midparagraph: “…she panted softly, breathlessly, as she ran through the near dark.” His body tensed. What was going on here? His heartbeat quickened as he scanned the rest of the page.
…her body ached, swelling with awareness and burning with fire as her eyes flitted over the floor-to-ceiling mirrored walls. Long-handled torches lined the smoky, scented passageway, and sensuous tongues of flame licked the mirrors. That same fire stroked inside her, but she knew the burning heat was nothing compared to what she’d experience when she felt the warm, sometimes gentle, hands of the man she sought, the Marquis de Lancroix.
Where was he?
She’d been in this otherworldly place for so long, suppressing shudders of anticipation, struggling for a glimpse of his long, wild raven mane and sleek, muscled body. Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she prayed her heart would stop racing, but it only beat faster, because she was about to be seduced in this pleasure palace. Only the wealthiest man in France could afford such a sensual private playhouse, with its maze of mirrored halls and air scented with incense….
She gasped. There he was! Pressing a hand to her heart, she whirled and stared into a room. But he’d vanished! What was happening? she wondered in confusion, her mind reeling. Was the marquis playing tricks on her? Had he drugged her with a potion at the masked ball? Was that why she felt so lost? So aroused? So disoriented?
And hadn’t she just seen him? She could swear he’d been reflected in the mirrors in one of the rooms, reclining on a bed, everything about him bespeaking excess: his bold, unapologetic nakedness, the thrust of his sex, the fiery flames prancing on a body that looked like sculpted bronze. She spun around again. And again. She spun until she swore she saw him everywhere. Then she moved forward, inhaling sharply as she skated her fingertips along the mirrors.
“There!” Her voice suddenly hitched as she passed another room. “I’ve found you!” But when she reached out, her palm hit a mirror, and she found herself peering into yet another sensuous room, staring at where crystal-blue waters tumbled into a pool, gushing around the mural painted on the bottom. Her eyes became riveted on nude sea nymphs and mermaids pleasuring proudly aroused men, and she suddenly admitted she shouldn’t have sneaked away from the ball to meet Lancroix. She’d allowed the marquis to love her body before now, of course, but never in his private playhouse made for sin. Tonight she’d lied to her mama and attendants, and now she’d be wise to find her way out of this place. A footstep sounded! Had Lancroix followed her, after all?
“Lancroix?”
She gasped, suddenly startled by her own reflection. Tugging the glittering silver mask from her dark eyes, she threw it to the stone floor. There. Let him find her clothes scattered in the hallway. It would serve him right for not meeting her as he’d promised. Yes, she should leave. He’d find scraps of costume—the chain around her waist, her mask. He’d be so frustrated, filled with want for a naked woman—for her—but she’d be gone.
And yet it was a shame. She had dressed for him tonight—in sensual, near-transparent silver silk scarves that draped over her breasts and lower body, but left her belly bare. She’d already felt his hands…already knew that a flick of his practiced wrist could send the fabric flying. “Marquis de Lancroix?” she called abruptly. “Is that you, sir?”
She never knew, because the man came too quickly, grabbing her from behind, his strong arms seizing her waist without warning. The hard, heated impact of his naked body took her breath away, just as a wind gusted down the passageway, extinguishing the torches.
His breath came then, warm on her cheeks, his low, seductive growl eliciting shivers from the deepest