“No, I won’t.” She folded her hands together, afraid if she touched him she might cling. “Why did you buy me this car, Grayson?”
“Because you needed it,” he tossed out, then steadied himself. “Because I needed to do something for you. It’s not that big a deal, Brie. The money’s nothing to me.”
Her brow quirked. “Oh, I know it. You’re rolling in pound notes, aren’t you? Do you think all your fine money matters to me, Grayson? That I care for you because you can buy me new cars?”
He opened his mouth, closed it again, oddly humbled. “No, I don’t. I don’t think it matters to you in the least.”
“Well, then, we understand that.” He was so needy, she thought, and didn’t even know. The gift had been as much for himself as it was for her. And that, she could accept. She turned around to take another look at the car. “This was a kind thing you did, and I haven’t been properly grateful—not for the thought or the deed.”
He felt oddly like a small boy about to be forgiven for some careless bit of mischief. “So, you’ll keep it.”
“Aye.” She turned back, kissed him. “And thank you.”
His grin broke out. “Murphy owes me five pounds.”
“Wagered on me, did you?” Amusement colored her voice. It was so typical.
“His idea.”
“Mmm. Well, why don’t I go in and see if my guests are happy, then we can go for a little drive.”
He came to her that night, as she’d hoped he would. and again the night after, as guests slept peacefully upstairs. Her inn was full, as she liked it best. When she sat down with her accounts, it was with a light heart. She was nearly ready to buy her material for the greenhouse.
He found her at her little desk, bundled in her robe, tapping a pen against her lips, her eyes dreamy.
“Are you thinking of me?” he murmured, bending down to nuzzle her neck.
“Actually, I was thinking of southern exposure and treated glass.”
“Second place to a greenhouse.” He’d worked his way around to her jaw when his gaze skimmed over a letter she had spread open. “What’s this? An answer from that mining company.”
“Yes, at last. They’ve gotten their bookkeeping together. We’ll get a thousand pounds when we turn in the stock.”
He drew back frowning. “A thousand? For ten thousand shares? That doesn’t seem right.”
She only smiled and rose to take down her hair. Normally it was a ritual he enjoyed, but this time he only continued to stare at the papers on her desk.
“You didn’t know Da,” she told him. “It’s a great deal more than I expected. A fortune really, as his schemes usually cost much more than they ever gained.”
“A tenth of a pound per share.” He picked up the letter himself. “What do they say he paid for it?”
“Half of that, as you can see. I can’t remember anything he ever did that earned as well. I’ve only to tell Rogan to send them the certificate.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t?” She paused, the brush in her hand. “Why shouldn’t we?”
“Has Rogan looked into the company?”
“No, he’s enough on his mind with Maggie and the gallery opening next week. I only asked him to hold the certificate.”
“Let me call my broker. Look, it can’t hurt to get a prospectus on the company, a little information. A few days won’t matter to you, will they?”
“No. But it seems a lot of bother for you.”
“A phone call. My broker loves to bother.” Setting the letter down again, he crossed to her and took the brush. “Let me do that.” He turned her to face the mirror and began to draw the brush through her hair. “Just like a Titian painting,” he murmured. “All these shades within shades.”
She stood very still, watching him in the glass. It shocked her to realize how intimate it was, how arousing, to have him tend to her hair. The way his fingers combed through after the brush. Much more than her scalp began to tingle.
Then his eyes lifted, met hers in the glass. Excitement arrowed into her when she saw the flare of need in his.
“No, not yet.” He held her as she was when she started to turn to him. He set the brush down, then drew her hair away from her face.
“Watch,” he murmured, then slid his fingers down her to the belt of her robe. “Do you ever wonder how we look together?”
The idea was so shocking, so thrilling, she couldn’t speak. His eyes stayed on hers as he unbelted the robe, drew it away. “I can see it in my head. Sometimes it gets in the way of my work, but it’s hard to mind.”
His hands trailed up lightly over her br**sts, making her shiver before he began to unbutton the high-necked gown.
Speechless, helpless, she watched his hands move over her, felt the heat spread under her skin, over it. Her legs seemed to melt away so that she had no choice but to lean back against him. As if in a dream she saw him tug the gown from her shoulder, press his lips to the bared skin.
A jolt of pleasure, a flash of heat.
Her breath came out on a little purr of agreement as the tip of his tongue teased the curve of her neck.
It was so stunning to see as well as to feel. Though her eyes went wide when he slipped the gown up, over her head and away, she didn’t protest. Couldn’t.
She stared in amazement at the woman in the glass. At herself, she thought hazily. It was herself she watched, for she could feel that light, devastating touch as his hands curved up to take her br**sts.
“So pale,” he said in a voice that had roughened. “Like ivory, tipped with rose petals.” Eyes dark and intense, he rubbed his thumbs over her ni**les, felt her tremble, heard her moan.
It was beautifully erotic to watch her body curve back, to feel the soft, yielding weight of her sag against him as she went pliant with pleasure. Almost experimentally he took his hand down her torso, feeling each muscle quiver under his palm. The scent of her hair streamed through his senses, the silk of those long white limbs, and the sight of them trembling in the glass.
He wanted to give, to give to her as he’d never wanted to give to anyone before. To soothe and excite, to protect and inflame. And she, he thought, pressing his lips to her throat again, was so perfect, so outrageously generous.
“Because you needed it,” he tossed out, then steadied himself. “Because I needed to do something for you. It’s not that big a deal, Brie. The money’s nothing to me.”
Her brow quirked. “Oh, I know it. You’re rolling in pound notes, aren’t you? Do you think all your fine money matters to me, Grayson? That I care for you because you can buy me new cars?”
He opened his mouth, closed it again, oddly humbled. “No, I don’t. I don’t think it matters to you in the least.”
“Well, then, we understand that.” He was so needy, she thought, and didn’t even know. The gift had been as much for himself as it was for her. And that, she could accept. She turned around to take another look at the car. “This was a kind thing you did, and I haven’t been properly grateful—not for the thought or the deed.”
He felt oddly like a small boy about to be forgiven for some careless bit of mischief. “So, you’ll keep it.”
“Aye.” She turned back, kissed him. “And thank you.”
His grin broke out. “Murphy owes me five pounds.”
“Wagered on me, did you?” Amusement colored her voice. It was so typical.
“His idea.”
“Mmm. Well, why don’t I go in and see if my guests are happy, then we can go for a little drive.”
He came to her that night, as she’d hoped he would. and again the night after, as guests slept peacefully upstairs. Her inn was full, as she liked it best. When she sat down with her accounts, it was with a light heart. She was nearly ready to buy her material for the greenhouse.
He found her at her little desk, bundled in her robe, tapping a pen against her lips, her eyes dreamy.
“Are you thinking of me?” he murmured, bending down to nuzzle her neck.
“Actually, I was thinking of southern exposure and treated glass.”
“Second place to a greenhouse.” He’d worked his way around to her jaw when his gaze skimmed over a letter she had spread open. “What’s this? An answer from that mining company.”
“Yes, at last. They’ve gotten their bookkeeping together. We’ll get a thousand pounds when we turn in the stock.”
He drew back frowning. “A thousand? For ten thousand shares? That doesn’t seem right.”
She only smiled and rose to take down her hair. Normally it was a ritual he enjoyed, but this time he only continued to stare at the papers on her desk.
“You didn’t know Da,” she told him. “It’s a great deal more than I expected. A fortune really, as his schemes usually cost much more than they ever gained.”
“A tenth of a pound per share.” He picked up the letter himself. “What do they say he paid for it?”
“Half of that, as you can see. I can’t remember anything he ever did that earned as well. I’ve only to tell Rogan to send them the certificate.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t?” She paused, the brush in her hand. “Why shouldn’t we?”
“Has Rogan looked into the company?”
“No, he’s enough on his mind with Maggie and the gallery opening next week. I only asked him to hold the certificate.”
“Let me call my broker. Look, it can’t hurt to get a prospectus on the company, a little information. A few days won’t matter to you, will they?”
“No. But it seems a lot of bother for you.”
“A phone call. My broker loves to bother.” Setting the letter down again, he crossed to her and took the brush. “Let me do that.” He turned her to face the mirror and began to draw the brush through her hair. “Just like a Titian painting,” he murmured. “All these shades within shades.”
She stood very still, watching him in the glass. It shocked her to realize how intimate it was, how arousing, to have him tend to her hair. The way his fingers combed through after the brush. Much more than her scalp began to tingle.
Then his eyes lifted, met hers in the glass. Excitement arrowed into her when she saw the flare of need in his.
“No, not yet.” He held her as she was when she started to turn to him. He set the brush down, then drew her hair away from her face.
“Watch,” he murmured, then slid his fingers down her to the belt of her robe. “Do you ever wonder how we look together?”
The idea was so shocking, so thrilling, she couldn’t speak. His eyes stayed on hers as he unbelted the robe, drew it away. “I can see it in my head. Sometimes it gets in the way of my work, but it’s hard to mind.”
His hands trailed up lightly over her br**sts, making her shiver before he began to unbutton the high-necked gown.
Speechless, helpless, she watched his hands move over her, felt the heat spread under her skin, over it. Her legs seemed to melt away so that she had no choice but to lean back against him. As if in a dream she saw him tug the gown from her shoulder, press his lips to the bared skin.
A jolt of pleasure, a flash of heat.
Her breath came out on a little purr of agreement as the tip of his tongue teased the curve of her neck.
It was so stunning to see as well as to feel. Though her eyes went wide when he slipped the gown up, over her head and away, she didn’t protest. Couldn’t.
She stared in amazement at the woman in the glass. At herself, she thought hazily. It was herself she watched, for she could feel that light, devastating touch as his hands curved up to take her br**sts.
“So pale,” he said in a voice that had roughened. “Like ivory, tipped with rose petals.” Eyes dark and intense, he rubbed his thumbs over her ni**les, felt her tremble, heard her moan.
It was beautifully erotic to watch her body curve back, to feel the soft, yielding weight of her sag against him as she went pliant with pleasure. Almost experimentally he took his hand down her torso, feeling each muscle quiver under his palm. The scent of her hair streamed through his senses, the silk of those long white limbs, and the sight of them trembling in the glass.
He wanted to give, to give to her as he’d never wanted to give to anyone before. To soothe and excite, to protect and inflame. And she, he thought, pressing his lips to her throat again, was so perfect, so outrageously generous.
