Her Secret Lover (Aphrodite's Club 2)

Her shocked stillness was more to do with the realization of who he was than obedience to his order. But he didn’t know that. He took his hand away, slowly, ending with a fingertip caress. As he loosened his hold on her waist, she slid down his body until her bare feet rested upon the toes of his boots, but he didn’t release her completely.

“What are you doing here?” She turned her head up toward him, her voice sharp as she struggled to regain her calm.

“I’ve always wanted to see a rich man’s house,” he said.

“You’re trespassing on another man’s property.”

She felt him shake in laughter.

Suddenly he stepped away from her, leaving her cold and alone. She swayed, disoriented, and reached to steady herself against the wall. She saw now that it wasn’t completely dark; there was a faint light coming through the drapes, enough to show her the shape of the furnishings. She recognized her surroundings now; they were in the parlor.

“I wanted to see you again.”

His voice was to her left and she turned toward it, every sense focusing on him. She could make out his moving form, large and tall. There was a clink of crystal as a stopper was removed from a decanter, and then the gurgle of liquid being poured into a glass. He was helping himself to Lord Appleby’s brandy. Well, what did she expect? Loyalty to his employer? He was an arrogant thief.

“Why did you want to see me again?” she said, more as a distraction than because she wanted to know. Now she’d had time to reconstruct the layout of the room in her mind’s eye, and she realized the door was close by. With luck she could escape and give the alarm.

But it was too late. He moved back beside her, standing so clos

e that the warmth of his body made her skin prickle. He reached out, and she felt him touch her hair where it lay loose about her shoulders. He caught up a handful of the soft strands and tugged her closer, not cruelly but hard enough so that she didn’t fight him.

“Let me go,” she said icily.

“Why? Aren’t you curious? I’m much younger than Lord Appleby. You might enjoy having a younger man in your bed for a change.”

Antoinette’s first impulse was to deny it. The world might believe her to be Lord Appleby’s mistress, but she knew the truth. But this was Appleby’s man, and she needed to use caution in her dealings with him. She contented herself with “If I wanted another man I wouldn’t choose a penniless thief who molests women.”

He ignored her; his voice dropped seductively. “A woman like you deserves the best.”

“And you are the best?” she mocked.

“Oh yes. I am.”

His arrogance knew no bounds. Her heart was beating very hard now, but luckily he couldn’t know that, or see her face. “I suggest you go back to wherever you came from, and I will pretend this never happened.”

“Come with me. I have my Black Bess outside. Ride with me and the wind.”

“So now you are Dick Turpin?”

“Don’t you find Dick romantic, little sparrow? I thought all the ladies swooned at the thought of that dashing rogue.”

“I am not like all the ladies,” she retorted.

“So if Dick Turpin doesn’t please you, what does? What do you long for when you are lying awake in the night and there is no one there to see those longings in your face? Who does your body ache for?” He was closer now, his voice soft and insidious, as if he wanted to get inside her head. She turned and took a sideways step toward the door, meaning to escape him, but he came up behind her and his arm slid over her shoulder, diagonally across her chest, and he held her captive again.

Once more the heat of his body was pressed against hers. She could feel him, every inch of him, from his heavy arm squashing her breasts to his long legs nudging hers through the thin stuff of her nightgown.

“I want you,” he groaned, and she felt something substantial prod her lower back.

Was that…? Could that be…? She froze. Antoinette might be a spinster and an innocent, but she thought she knew what that was. Her breath caught in her throat; she tried to find her voice and protest, but only a squeak came out. He brushed the pulse in her throat with his fingers, pausing briefly, before running his hand downward over the bodice of her nightgown.

Antoinette knew he was searching her again, looking for the letter. But that didn’t explain the evidence of his passion, still hard against her. Perhaps he couldn’t help that. Perhaps it was an automatic reaction? She knew so little about men and their ways.

The two top buttons of her nightdress were undone. He slipped his hand inside and cupped her breast, caressing her in a way that seemed to imply he meant business.

“Let me show you what you’re missing,” he rasped.

Later she knew this was when she should have stopped him. A scream, a slap, anything to drive him away. That she didn’t was a confusing mystery. Instead she heard herself say, “You know nothing about me.”