Taste of Temptation (11 page)

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Authors: Cheryl Holt

Tags: #Romance - Historical, #American Light Romantic Fiction, #General, #Romance, #Fiction, #Fiction - Romance, #Love stories, #Romance: Historical, #Historical, #American Historical Fiction, #Regency novels, #Regency fiction

BOOK: Taste of Temptation
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“Have you?”
“Yes. I’ve become a slave, eager to do your bidding.”
At that, he snorted. “Come here.”
He downed his liquor and set the glass on the floor, and he held out his hand as if she should walk over and grab it.
“Why?”
“Don’t argue with me. Just do as I say.”
“Tell me what you want first”
“When you get over here, I’ll show you.”
Was he planning to force himself on her? She didn’t think so. He wasn’t the type, yet he definitely had a purpose in mind, and she was certain the result would not be to her benefit.
“Come!” he commanded, growing adamant, and she was torn as to whether she should.
He was her employer. Did she have a
right
to say no? What if she did? Would he fire her? Would he toss her and her sisters out on the street?
She knew he wouldn’t. Though he pretended otherwise, he was too kind. She’d learned his secret. He was practically brimming with chivalry, and he couldn’t conceal his gallant nature.
She sighed with resignation. Truth be told, she didn’t want to refuse him. She was intrigued by him, more than a bit smitten and insanely attracted, and she was anxious to ascertain his intent.
Hesitantly, she took a few steps, and the moment she neared, he pulled her onto his lap. Her bottom rested on his thigh, and she was off balance, leaned forward, her breasts pressed to his broad chest.
The position was thrilling and shocking, but she didn’t try to move away. He was all male, and she was assailed by his masculine scents: horses, brandy, tobacco.
“Have you been drinking, Captain?”
“Not enough to keep me from sneaking in here.”
“Why did you?”
“Why are you hiding from me?”
“Hiding? I haven’t been.”
“I never see you anywhere.”
“Have you been looking for me?”
“Yes.” He seemed irked by the admission. “You’re never around when I need you.”
“That’s because I’m always busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Taking care of Rose, you oaf. Isn’t that why you hired me?”
“You never come to supper.”
It was the strangest comment ever, intimating that he’d been expecting her to and that he’d been angry when she’d failed to arrive.
“Was I supposed to join you for supper?”
“Yes, and you will accommodate me every night from now on. You and your sister Jane. At eight o’clock. I dine with Lord Hastings, as well as Miss and Mrs. Seymour. You and Jane are to be seated at the table with them. You are guests, not servants.”
“Technically, I am a servant. I work for you, remember?”
“You’re a guest. Lord Hastings decreed it.”
“But... but...”
“What?” he asked when she couldn’t finish.
“Mrs. Seymour informed me that we were to eat with the servants, so you’re placing me in a terrible bind.”
He grumbled low in his throat. “You are not to listen to a word that woman says, do you hear?”
“Yes, I hear.”
“If you’re confused as to how you are to behave and what you’re allowed, you’re to come straight to me.”
Compliance was easier said than done. Mrs. Seymour had ruled the house for years, but Captain Odell had burst on the scene and usurped her authority.
The staff members liked him very much and didn’t like Maud Seymour at all. They were in general agreement that things were much better since he’d taken over, but there was no denying that he’d stirred a pot of bitter feelings in Seymour.
Helen was no fool. It was dangerous to antagonize Mrs. Seymour, and with Odell pulling her in one direction and Mrs. Seymour pushing her in the other, Helen had to be cautious. The captain would be obeyed and Mrs. Seymour ignored. What an impossible tangle!
She was so immersed in thoughts of Mrs. Seymour that she was completely caught off guard when Odell dipped under her chin to nuzzle her nape. He nipped at the soft skin on her neck. She yelped with surprise and struggled to escape, but he merely tightened his grip.
“You smell good.” His warm breath tickled her ear. “Why is that?”
“Because I wash frequently?”
He barked out a laugh. “Yes, I imagine that’s it. You bathe. How refreshing.”
“Are you feeling all right?”
“No, I’m quite drunk.” He assessed her, and he scowled. “I don’t like having whole days go by where I don’t speak with you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. So you’ll attend me every afternoon at four, to discuss Rose’s progress.”
“I’d like that; I think it’s very wise.”
“You’ll meet with me in the morning, too.”
“For what purpose?”
“Do I need a
purpose
, Miss Hamilton? As you mentioned, you work for me, so I don’t believe I’m required to state a reason.”
“No, you’re not.”
Helen was awhirl with excitement. Ten, four, and eight. Every day! She’d see him constantly, and at the prospect, she was ecstatic.
She couldn’t explain why, but with his having rescued her, she felt bound to him in a powerful fashion, as if they were meant to be together, as if they
had
to be friends.
He appeared to sense it, too. They couldn’t carry on as employer and employee. He was her knight in shining armor, while she was his damsel in distress. A personal relationship had been formed. They couldn’t fight it, and it was futile for them to try.
“So ... we’re to have regular appointments,” she mused.
“Yes.”
“Now that we have your business out of the way, what else did you want? Have you another matter you wish to address?”
She was still perched on his lap, her chest crushed to his, an arm flung over his shoulder.
He was very close—too close!—and she could see the blue of his eyes, the tiny black flecks in the irises. He’d cut himself shaving, and there was a nick from the razor under his chin. His pirate’s earring dangled from his ear, and she would have liked to flick at it with her finger.
His intent focus was on her mouth, their lips only inches apart, and his torrid concentration was thrilling.
“Yes,” he said, “there is a topic I’m interested in reviewing.”
“What is it?”
“Have you ever been kissed?”
“Kissed?” Her shocked tone was prim and prudish.
“Yes—kissing. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s when a man and a woman—”
“I know what it is, Captain. I’m twenty-four years old. I’m hardly a young maiden just out of the schoolroom.”
“Then what is your answer?”
“I’ve been kissed dozens of times,” she lied.
She recalled her fussy, pedantic neighbor, Wesley Smythewaite, an erstwhile suitor who’d briefly courted her when she was eighteen.
It was back when she actually thought the world might proceed as it was supposed to, that she might eventually marry and have a home and family of her own.
Wesley had bestowed exactly two kisses, cool, dry pecks on the lips that had been totally unsatisfactory and had guaranteed little in the way of future passion. As luck would have it, fate had intervened, so the romance was ended.
Her father had gotten himself involved in one of his peccadilloes, and Wesley’s parents had severed all ties with Helen. Wesley hadn’t had the courage to stand up to them, to insist that he would wed Helen anyway, and Helen had learned a brutal lesson about the treachery of men.
They were all spineless cads—although Captain Odell certainly seemed as if he might be different. She suspected that if he made a promise, wild horses couldn’t force him to renege.
“You expect me to believe”—he looked extremely dubious—“that you’ve been kissed
dozens
of times?”
“When I resided in the country,” she lied again, “I was rather popular.”
She’d been too busy raising her sisters—with a deceased mother and an absent, unreliable father—to engage in any amour. She’d lived like a nun in a convent.
“All the boys mooned over you?”
“Of course.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“I’m not a flirt, though,” she added, “despite how it sounds.”
“Oh, no, not a flirt, but pardon me if I say that I’m not going to request permission.”
“Permission for what?”
“I wish to be next in line. I can’t figure out why, and it annoys the hell out of me, but I can’t help myself.”
In a quick motion, he stood, coming to his feet with her cradled in his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather.
He marched over to her bed and dumped her onto it. Before she could gather her wits to protest or squirm away, he followed her down and stretched out atop her, his body covering hers, so that she was pinned to the mattress.
He was very large, much larger than she, so he should have been crushing her, but he didn’t feel heavy. Her torso welcomed the naughty positioning, rippling with a wicked joy that he was so intimately placed.
She shifted under him, his legs dropping between her widened thighs. He was wedged tight, and no amount of wrestling could have dislodged him, which was fine by her.
“What are you doing?” she demanded to know.
“If you’ve been kissed as many times as you claim, you shouldn’t have to ask.”
He reached behind her head, and with a flick of his wrist, he’d extracted a comb from her hair so that it was loosened enough to fall around her shoulders.
“Captain!” she scolded. “You can’t just ... just ... take down my hair.”
“Why not?”
“Well ... because.”
He grabbed a fistful and pressed it to his nose, inhaling deeply of the auburn strands.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a whole week.”
“You have?”
“Yes. I love red hair on a woman. Whenever we’re alone, you’ll take it down for me. Or I’ll take it down for you.”
He talked as if he’d be popping in constantly, and the notion was as exciting as it was dangerous.
It was foolish to encourage him, but the imprudent part of her—the one she’d inherited from her scandalous father—would be delighted to attempt any rash behavior he suggested.
Fortunately, she possessed traits from her cautious, sensible mother, too, so she comprehended that they were courting trouble, and she said, “Captain, you’re assuming that I’ll let you visit again.”
“I’m not
assuming.
I’m merely notifying you of how it will be between us. You’re the one who drank that stupid potion. Deal with it.”
“The potion! Are you telling me that you think it was—”
“Helen?”
“Yes?”
“Be silent.”
At hearing him refer to her by her Christian name, she was too elated to object. She was sequestered with him, in the middle of the night, sprawled on her bed, and he’d just called her
Helen
!
Perhaps that blasted potion had been magic. Since she’d ingested it, she’d definitely changed, and if she went through much more of a transformation, there’d be nothing left of the person she’d been before they’d met.
Ordinary, pragmatic Helen Hamilton would be replaced by a licentious vixen who would do whatever he asked, who would be unconcerned over any fall from grace.
He dipped down and kissed her as he’d threatened he would, and she didn’t try to stop him.
If he thought she was a chaste young lady, he certainly didn’t show it. He trapped her in a viselike grip, while his mouth captured hers in a torrid embrace that made her pulse gallop and her senses soar.
He gave no quarter, took no care to ensure that she was amenable or content with his level of ardor. He simply leapt into the fray, intent on a demonstration of passion that was far beyond her limited understanding of how such encounters were carried out, but she wasn’t about to complain.
He seemed thoroughly smitten, and when he was such a dashing, handsome man, she couldn’t help but be flattered. She was eager to prove herself worthy of his attention, and she appeared to be skillfully participating.
For a female with no prior experience, she had an instinctual knack for carnal endeavor. She knew precisely what he wanted and how he planned to achieve it. Without restraint, she threw herself into the venture, and she was amazed to discover that the more enthusiastic her response, the more ardent he became.
His hands were everywhere, roaming across her face, her shoulders, her arms. Everything happened so rapidly, and with such a reckless abandon, that as she realized he was caressing one spot, he’d already moved on to another.

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