The Value of Vulnerability (19 page)

Nodding mutely, she turned her head, seeking a kiss of reassurance. His mobile mouth moved over hers, but he did not deepen the kiss, and moved away far too soon, taking the seat kitty corner to her at the head of the table.

Dinner was delicious, what she tasted of it. Nerves were too highly strung and food was not what she desired.

They might as well have been in a restaurant. Two servers—one for each of them—brought and removed virtually untouched plates without comment while Barton stood by as overseer. She lost track of the number of courses. But she smiled and thanked her server each time her plate was exchanged, her water glass filled, her wine topped up or exchanged for something course appropriate.

Ford did not acknowledge his employees at all
, but conversation with him was excellent. They talked of inconsequential things, like movies and books, and movies based on books—which he knew little of. The economy—of which she knew little. Guesses about the Next Big Thing in technology. A little of art. She asked about the Klimt (pleased to have got the name right), he provided information, and spoke of other pieces he owned or had seen, which led to stories of places he had travelled.

H
e proved an excellent raconteur, though his stories lacked details of a personal nature.

“Have you travelled much, Erin?”

She shook her head. “New York City, once. Florida for a couple of reading weeks in university. Buffalo several times,” she said. “Cross-border shopping with a usual group of friends and catching the odd Bills’ or Sabres’ game. We always do Black Friday, which is a shi—the nuttiest thing ever,” she narrowly corrected
shit show
. “Um, Montreal—very fond of that—and went on a trip down east with my parents once when I was a kid.”

“Would you like to travel more?”

“Hells, yeah!” She shot a mortified look in Barton’s direction, but there was no discernible reaction in that quarter.

But
Ford chuckled.

“I mean,” she spoke more softly, “who wouldn’t? Sometimes my universe gets a little small. It’s good to open it up with new things—even an overnight trip to Buffalo stretches things out nicely,” she grinned. “But to
really go places for vacations—I would love to do that. Steph and I have been talking about a trip to Italy—this summer, maybe.”

“Why Italy?”

She shrugged. “Why not Italy? Adventures have to start somewhere. And I’ve always wanted to see the Pantheon.”

“Why?”

She sipped some water. “I heard a story about when the Vandals or Goths or some horde of something or other sacked Rome, they didn’t touch the Pantheon because it was so beautiful. That they went in, set to destroy, and were,” she sought a word, “bewitched by it. Anything that powerful, I have to see. Do you think that’s a true story?”

“I’ve heard renditions of
it. Quite possibly it’s true. For yes, the Pantheon is breathtaking.”

She stifled a laugh at the matter-of-fact tone
—trying to imagine him so impressed—and continued. “In any case, about travelling—the places don’t matter as much as the company. Steph is a great travel companion and awesome friend. All my friends are.” Smiling somewhat shyly, as what she wanted to say to him embarrassed her a little, “I need to thank you for something.”

A cynical brow shot up and the look to which he subjected her was crystalline.

Now she really
was
nervous as she wondered what terrible thing she had said. But she couldn’t stop now.

“It wasn’t anything you did directly,” she hastened to say. “More of an inspiration. When you
asked me about Anth—” she glanced at Barton, “—well, that a year was a long time, I realised that in the aftermath of that I had made bad habits while I buried myself in work, neglecting friends and family—not horribly, but letting things drift. Obliquely, you made me see that, and over the last few days, because of you, I’ve actually reconnected with a number of old friends. . .” Her voice drifted away as Ford stared at her in surprised amusement. “What’s so funny? You looked like murder when I started that bizarre little spiel.”

He clasped her hand. “No one has ever thanked me for doing, well, nothing.”

Leaning towards him, she insisted: “It was not
nothing
. It was an objective voice pointing out a—a behavioural issue.” Diplomatically, she didn’t add that inspiration also arose from the fear of turning into such a distant person as he.

“All right,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You haven’t eaten much
.”

“You haven’t either. Not very hungry. You?”

“Maybe later. Like a two a.m. snack,” he suggested, his mouth curling at the corners.

Her private parts squeaked with happiness
, and a flush of instant arousal stained her cheekbones.

The air was thick between them.

Nothing said. Nothing needing to be said. Not about this. Not now.

Holding her gaze,
he spoke to Barton. “That will be all.”

“Very good, sir,” the man said, and
just like that, the staff melted away, Barton silently closing the pocket door to the butler’s pantry behind him.

Twisting in his chair, Ford tugged gently on
Erin’s hand, urging her to her feet and inexorably drawing her towards him. Hands settling lightly on her waist, he gazed up at her as she stood between his knees, the look he bestowed intimate, intense, imperative.

Eyes wide, lips parted, she nodded as if he had asked her a question.

In a smooth motion, he pushed plates and debris away, clearing the corner of the table. Deliberately brushing his body against hers as he stood, he cradled her head in his hands. Mouths met, sensuous and hot, drinking in each other with lush voracity, slow and deep.

Hands slid under her dress, bringing the skirt up as he cupped her
butt, lifting her slightly to settle her on the cool, smooth wood of the dining table. Hands sliding down her thighs, lifting her legs, pulling her against him as his deep kisses became ravenous.

She wrapped herself around him, the backs of her upper arms riding high on his shoulders as her forearms curved up behind his head, her
fingers slicing through his hair.

At first, she didn’t realise . . . and then, as
his insinuating fingers hooked around the gusset of her panties, touching her with almost cool—no, clinical—brazenness while his other hand removed a condom from his pocket . . . He intended to take her here, on the table, fully clothed, the staff a few feet away—albeit behind closed doors.

The master and the village wench.

Part of her was really,
really
turned on by that. All of it. Which came as a shock.

Maybe not so shocking, considering how his clinical—no, precise, she corrected yet again—strokes had her panting and squirming.

But.
But . . .

M
aybe if it had been a game that they were playing, sometime further along in their relationship, she would have gone for it. Could have played saucy village wench to the hilt.

But for their first time together?
It was a power play that didn’t sit right.

“Ford
, no. Please. Not here.”

Amber eyes glittered
calculation at her. But his breathing was ragged, just in case she thought he was not invested in the moment. “Is this not romantic enough for you?”

“It’s pretty hot,” she admitted. “But . . . Seriously. I know
we’re crazy turned on, but at least show a new girl to your bed.” She attempted to tease. “Or at least a guest room if the master is sacrosanct. We can have sex on the table next time.”

That little spiel
apparently caught him off guard. Surprisingly, both dimples made an appearance.

H
e tugged her off the table. “Come with me.”

She
straightened her skirt with her free hand, hastening to keep up as led her from the dining room. He slowed his pace, sending her a wry little smile, and they mounted stairs to the second floor, side-by-side.

Double doors opened on the master suite.

“Don’t be scared,” he implored.

“I’m not. R
eally, I’m not.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m a little overwhelmed. If we were at my place, I’d be fine, in my own comfort zone. This is a lot to take in.”

“Would you prefer to go home? With me,” he added with a smile, so there would be no misunderstanding.
“And would we have sex on your dining room table there?”

“Maybe.”
She kissed his cheek. “But here is fine. Your bed looks comfortable.”

“Let me show you.” He swung the doors shut behind them.

It was magical, the closing of the doors, and like a switch, the edginess and butterflies that had plagued her all evening—all day, in fact—faded into nothingness. When Ford took her in his arms, he filled her universe and was all she thought about as she surrendered to his lush kisses.

Slower now.

Ford made a concerted effort to slow down. Not quite admitting that she had impressed him with her refusal in the dining room, he still made the effort for her.

His fingers splayed between her shoulder blades, stroking ever so slightly before releasing the long zip of her dress. Fingertips caressed a tingling trail up and back down again, bumping over the fastening of her bra, but not stopping there. Insinuating his hand into the deep V created by the opened zipper, he pressed against the base of her spine, over her firm ass, over the lace-and-silk panties she wore, bringing her closer.

She sighed softly into his mouth as his arousal quickened and she parted her legs slightly, as much as the narrow skirt of her dress would allow, endeavouring to get him closer to the surging heat between her thighs. A tremor ran through her.

“Easy,” he soothed and stepped back. With a smooth motion, he removed her dress, allowing it to slither down her body and legs in a river of amber, pooling at her feet. She flushed deeply as amber eyes covered her more completely than the dress had done, taking in the pale golden lace-and-silk bra and panties, with a matching garter belt that held her stockings.

“Is this for me?” he demanded unevenly
, hating that his control was slipping even that little.

“Yes. Bought specially, yesterday.”
She giggled. He disliked gigglers. But from her it was sweet—and fortunately rare. “Is it terrible that I did anticipatory lingerie shopping? Though I’m loving your reaction to the lingerie treats!”

“Is that true?
You bought this specially? Yesterday?”

“I think I still have the receipt,” she teased.
“Why would I lie about such a thing? It’s kind of embarrassing, actually. Do you approve, Ford?”

He nodded slowly
. “You would have looked amazing on the table,” he chuckled roughly as he took her hand. “Come to the bed. Careful,” he murmured as she stepped out of the circle of her dress. As she made to remove her shoes, he stopped her. “Leave everything to me. For me.”

Seating her on the side of the huge bed, he stood before her, seeing lust mingling with wide-eyed trust in her uplifted face.

Her expression shot a longing ache through him.

Touching a fingertip to her lips, a heavy breath left his body as she took it in tender suckle.

“Erin.” He bent to kiss her, his hand slipping away into the waves of golden hair.

Her mouth opened beneath his as she lay back on the bed
. Her fingers made quick work of the buttons on his dress shirt, tugging the tails from the waistband of his trousers, the silky silver hanging open around her golden-clad body. Curious hands explored the taut smoothness of his hard flesh, running over his chest and abdomen as he hovered.

Tiny muscles under his skin shivered at her touch and he lifted his mouth from hers, pinning her softly dazed eyes with his impassioned gaze. Bracing himself on one arm, he dragged the back of his knuckles from the sensitive flesh below her ear all the way down—over a breast, her belly, her hip—to her thigh. One garter clip was released, then the other. Switching the arm that braced, he repeated the entire process down the other side of her body.

After another long, languorous kiss, he straightened, hooking a hand behind her calf to lift her leg. Peeling the stocking down (
up
, his slightly fogged brain thought nonsensically, for her leg was raised, the calf resting against his shoulder), his mouth created a moist path where sheer hose gave way to bared flesh. Shoe and stocking removed, he repeated the process for the other leg, virtually identical.

A method to prevent madness . . .
He was still thinking, but barely.

*

Propped up slightly on her elbows, she watched through hooded eyes, fascinated by her own seduction. It was hard to breathe. She focused on filling her lungs, but it became too much effort when effort was better spent elsewhere, and she let her body fall into automation. As he lowered her leg, his hand slid along the soft flesh of her inner thigh, pausing at the juncture, her heated core pulsing, begging for him.