Seduce Me (10 page)

Esme felt a pang of guilt. Poor Thea and Mr. and Mrs. Craddock. It was not their fault that suddenly Esme found herself embroiled
in some strange circumstances involving a secretive man named the Raven and cursed bracelets. It at least gave Esme some peace
knowing that she’d be able to bring her aunt with her to wherever it was Mr. Grey was taking them.

Esme slipped back into her office and found Mr. Grey perusing the shelves full of books.

“You have an impressive collection,” he said.

Pride swelled within her as she followed his gaze to her vast array of bound volumes. No doubt a man like Fielding—one trusted
by Solomon’s—would appreciate such an extensive library. Even if he didn’t appreciate the woman in possession of it. “I don’t
suppose we can take all of them,” she said, more to herself than him.

“We have neither the room nor the time.”

“I can’t imagine what’s made you so prickly,” she said. “Now, let’s see what we can discover about removing this infernal
band.” Knowing it was utterly futile, but unable to stop herself, she tugged on the gold encircling her wrist. It did not
budge. “I seem to remember,” she said as she climbed onto the ladder, “there was mention of the bands in one of these.” She
traced her finger along the row of green leather books. “Professor MacAdo is rather eccentric in his views.”

“Do you want me to help you with that?” Fielding asked.

“I believe I can manage.” She stretched, and with the tip of her finger managed to work the last book on the row out of its
place. She held it out behind her, and when he didn’t immediately take it from her, she shook it impatiently.

He pulled the book from her hand, their fingers brushing during the exchange. Heat coursed up her arm, and for a moment she
closed her eyes to revel in the sensation. He cleared his throat. She jerked her hand back, yet the heated sensation remained.

“There are others, though,” she continued. “One more recent, perhaps one of those journals on the desk.” She continued pulling
books and handing them to him, careful not to touch his hand again. One after another she collected books until he finally
spoke.

“Enough. You have selected a quarter of the books in this entire library.” His tone was fierce, but Esme felt no fear.

After retrieving three more books, she began descending the ladder. “Oh, and this one might have some tidbits.” She pulled
a small brown book from its shelf.

He eyed the stack in her arms. “You can’t bring all of them with us. Go through them and select only the essentials.” With
his arms crossed over his chest, he seemed forbidding, but all Esme could think about was the sensual line of his jaw.

Unable to withstand the temptation any longer, she reached over and, with one hand, ran her fingers across the stubble that
covered his chin. Bristly, yet not all together an unpleasant feeling. His jaw seemed to clench under her fingers, but when
he had no other response, she forced herself to step away from him.

She smothered her disappointment. After all, it was she who was affected by the curse of the bracelet. She couldn’t expect
him to feel the same rising passions for her that she felt growing within for him.

“We can examine the books over here,” she said, pointing to the large table by the windows.

Men didn’t choose women with brains; he’d said so himself earlier—books were a waste of time. And he thought her to be a dreamer.
She had no business tempting herself like this. Not unless she was content to live as someone she was not for the rest of
her days, to stifle her intelligence and play the part of an addle-brained female.

“It is most bothersome to be wearing this cursed band. Under any other circumstances, I would find you unpleasant and rude,”
she said.

He cocked one eyebrow. “And instead?”

She released a short puff of a breath and dropped the books onto the table. They scattered in an uneven rainbow. “Instead
I should like nothing better than to kiss you, Mr. Grey.”

“I can assure you, Miss Worthington, that whatever romantic notions you are having are completely misguided.” He leaned forward.
“Kissing me will not”—he paused for a moment, letting his eyes roam the length of her—“cure what is ailing you.”

Warmth spread through her like the richest of chocolate. She didn’t believe him. Surely, kissing him would prove to be the
most perfect of cures.

As if he’d read her mind, he said, “If you wish to flirt with temptation, I will not stop you.” He held his hands up as if
he were defenseless.

Taking a cleansing breath, she turned away from Mr. Grey and focused her attention on the books in front of them. “Yes, thank
you for that reminder. I assure you, I am trying to keep my attention on our current predicament and not my”—her voice dropped
to a whisper—“
lustful
feelings for you.”

Merely saying the word
lust
seemed to stir the feeling within her. It seemed such a forbidden word. She doubted she’d ever even said it aloud before
now.

Since such thoughts were hardly helpful, she pushed them aside and said, “Let us start digging. I don’t suppose we have much
time to select which books to bring with us.”

Once they were both seated, she tried to focus on the words on the page, but from the corner of her eye she could see his
long fingers make delicate work of turning the pages in the book he perused. The masculine scent of sandalwood soap seemed
to waft toward her like candle smoke.
Oh, for mercy’s sake
.

Several moments passed, and she finally forced herself to stare at the words until she’d managed to read, and comprehend,
the paragraph before her. But her mind would not still. He was sitting so close to her she could feel the warmth pour off
his body. She closed her eyes and instantly became aware of his steady breathing, the sound of his hands stroking through
the pages of the book before him.

In her mind she saw him turn to her, his eyes darkened with passion as he lifted her to the table. He said nothing, but bent
forward to kiss her throat. Shivers of desire scattered across her arms and down her chest. Then his mouth made quick work
of the skin at her shoulders before he finally kissed her full on the mouth.

A chair scuffed against the wood floor, jarring her out of her fantasy and back to the book in front of her.

She slammed the book closed and reached for another one, flipping it open. After scanning a few pages and reading only more
of the same, her eyes lit on an illustration.

“Mr. Grey, look at this.”

He leaned over and glanced at the image.

Her cheeks flamed as she realized what she had just shown him. A drawing of a nude woman reclining with nothing but a scrap
of fabric draped over the apex between her thighs. Her breasts, however, were quite bare, the nipples pronounced. One hand
was placed on a vase, and dangling from her wrist were four small bracelets.

“It says here”—she cleared her throat—“the gods wanted to curse her for her beauty…”

Heat from his body engulfed her as he rose to stand behind her chair. He’d bent forward, placing his head a mere breath away
from her own. She stopped reading and swallowed.

“Continue,” he said, his deep voice caressing the wisps of hair that dangled around her face.

“Can you not see the text yourself?” she asked, her voice airy.

His breath whispered against her ear. She met his gaze and nearly forgot her name or where she was. This close, she could
see gold flecks swimming in the brown depths of his eyes. Her mouth went dry. A sensual smile curved his lips, and he looked
as if he was prepared to devour her. Not in a lecherous fashion, but rather in a way she instinctively knew would be incredibly
pleasurable. She wiped her palms against her skirt.

Without a second thought she leaned in and pressed her lips against his. With a gasp she pulled away, appalled at her behavior.
After sitting back she eyed his reaction. He said nothing, merely gazed at her with silent amusement. Which, frankly, was
rather annoying.

“Miss Worthington, if you’re going to kiss me, you must do so with more passion than that. It is lust you have on your wrist,
is it not?”

She looked down at the gold band, then back at him.

He smiled.

She frowned.

Then he placed one hand beneath her chin and nudged her forward. She kept her eyes open and watched as he leaned toward her;
she didn’t want to miss anything. But once his soft lips feathered across hers, she lost herself in the sensation, and her
eyes fluttered closed.

Absently, she realized that his other hand had found its way to the back of her neck and was kneading the flesh there. But
his mouth demanded most of her attention as it moved elegantly, seductively across her own.

This was kissing
.

There was no time to consider how much of a fool he must have thought her with her schoolyard kiss. There was only pleasure.
Radiating from her lips and sliding over every inch of her flesh like the lushest of silks.

His tongue ran across her bottom lip, and she gripped the arms of the chair to keep from sinking to the floor. Infinitely
better than her imaginings, his lips teased and coaxed her own. Gracious, but this man knew how to kiss. Then, as quickly
as it had started, the kiss ended.

She opened her eyes and undoubtedly gave him a wistful smile. “Well, you certainly are much better at that than I am,” she
said.

He cleared his throat. “I suspect you could catch on rather quickly,” he said, his voice tense.

For a moment neither said anything, then without warning, Fielding fell back into his chair and pointed at the book she’d
been studying. “Does it say anything about the bracelets or a curse?”

Esme glanced back at the book and skimmed the pages surrounding the drawing of the woman. She shook her head. “It doesn’t
even mention the bracelets, other than to say they are part of yet another theory surrounding Pandora’s box.” With one fluid
motion, she rose to her feet. “I’m going to check and see how my aunt is faring with the packing.”

The truth of the matter was, she needed some space. Some distance from the increasingly attractive Mr. Grey. Resisting him
had been hard enough before she’d known his skill at kissing.

The hall outside her study was quiet as she made her way up the stairs. Why had he kissed her? Well, why wouldn’t he when
she’d practically crawled into his lap? Perhaps willing women were more difficult to come by than one might think.

But oh, that kiss. The memory of his warm lips on hers sent gooseflesh popping up all over her body. Fielding Grey was a man
of the world. He was an experienced lover. She could tell by his expert kissing. True, she had no means of comparison, but
still, a woman could tell when a kiss would have curled the toes of a seasoned mistress.

She knew one thing for certain: she would kiss Fielding again. And for a bit longer. There was something in the way he’d moved
his tongue against her bottom lip that promised more. She desperately wanted to know what that more was. And she couldn’t
help it. Not really. The curse was far too strong and Mr. Grey far too tempting.

Besides, kissing was harmless. And in any case, she was a woman without a name, without any prospects for marriage. She’d
given up that opportunity years ago.

So there was no need for great concern regarding her reputation. She only hoped this blessed curse would stop before she ruined
herself altogether.

F
ielding watched Esme slip out of the office. He leaned back in the straight-backed wooden chair and rubbed his hand down his
face.

He’d never believed in foolish curses. Esme fancied him only because he’d rescued her. The kidnapping and subsequent hanging
from manacles would have been an ordeal for anyone, but for a genteel lady such as Esme, it was too much. It was no wonder
he had become the object of her affection.

Oh, perhaps she was attracted to him to some degree. He supposed there was no way she could act so beguiling were she not.
But Esme didn’t want him, specifically; he was merely convenient.

She was a grown woman, though, and who was he to deny her something she wanted? He’d certainly played into her charms and
kissed her when he ought to have kept his hands to himself.

But when she’d pressed her lips against his in that innocent way, he’d been unable to think of anything else but kissing her
properly. Although propriety had been the furthest thing from his mind when he’d pulled her into his arms. He’d done it to
teach her a lesson, show her that toying with him would not benefit her in the end. Yet it seemed that he was the one who
had learned a lesson—that touching and kissing Esme would only whet a desire he knew he’d never be able to quench.

He’d told her from the beginning he was no gentleman, and he’d meant it. If she wanted to play with fire, he’d hand her matches.
Yet, as sweet as seducing Esme sounded, he had more pressing matters to handle. Namely, protecting her until he could get
the blasted bracelets back into the box.