He seemed to know every sensitive point on my body; the skin branded where his magic fingers had been. As my hands wandered over his chest, I felt him quiver beneath my touch, and heard his breathing grow rough and deep. His eyes squeezed shut, either in pain or pleasure. By the look on his face, I wasn’t certain. His fingers hooked over my bra cup and pulled it down, popping my small breast out so smoothly I barely noticed my state of undress. He grazed my painfully sensitive nipple with his hot palm and teased it between his fingers, tugging rhythmically until the tide of pleasure building had me squirming and panting, and made me completely forget that we could’ve been discovered at any moment.
And he was equally lost in this thing that had ignited between us. In a primitive act of ownership, I felt him sink his teeth into my trapezius muscle, his hand skate between my thighs. His other palm caressed my rear end, squeezing, urging me closer. Not needing any encouragement, my hips hitched up, my body molding itself to his perfectly. The feel of him, hot and hard against me, demolished the tattered remnants of my self-control. I needed more of him, a lot more. And I wasn’t about to stop until I got it.
Then we both heard it, the other servants moving around outside. We broke apart panting loudly. In a panic, I covered myself up and raced out of the closet without sparing him another glance. When I caught my reflection in the massive Regency mirror in the hall, my mouth practically fell open in shock. I didn’t recognize the person staring back.
My pale skin was flushed. My hair was a teased mess. My full lips were an unseemly red from the bruising kiss. I looked like a teenager that had been thoroughly shagged in the back of a car––except I wasn’t. I was a grown woman that didn’t know how to resist the proverbial forbidden fruit. After quickly gathering my hair in a messy ponytail, I rushed back to the safety of my room to regroup. But as I was taking the stairs by two, I looked up and found Isabelle staring at me with a lethal look in her eyes. Her scrutiny made me uneasy.
“Vera––”
“Can’t talk.” I walked around her with my head down in an effort to avoid eye contact. If she suspected anything she could cause me a world of trouble, if not outright disaster. The one thing I had going for me was that she had personally witnessed the skirmishes. She was aware of the antipathy Sebastian and I had, or seemingly had, for each other.
I locked my door and fell face first on the bed, moaning in despair. For whatever reason, this man awakened something in me that I scarcely recognized. Desire. Having to scrape by for so long had worn me down, obliterating any need for intimacy. It was an after-thought. Except it hadn’t entirely vanished. It was just buried deeply, waiting for him to come along and play archeologist.
I was way out of my depth. I wasn’t about to fool myself about that. You could fill a teaspoon with what I knew about carrying on an affair, and the risk incalculable. One bite of the apple could certainly ruin me. I wondered whether once the physical need was satisfied, sanity would return and life could resume as usual. The little voice of reason insisted there was a flaw somewhere in that theory. This seemed more than a passing curiosity. It already felt like a full-blown addiction. At least, it did to me.
Chapter Eleven
The estate was buzzing with nervous energy. The gardeners were in a state of frenzy over the pruning of the rose garden, Mrs. Arnaud was arguing with the butcher over the size of the lambs she had ordered, and the cleaning wasn’t even close to being done even though the guests were due to arrive in a couple of days.
I was bestowed the privilege of wiping down all one thousand of the crystal glasses and goblets. Needless to say, I never wanted to see another piece of stemware for the rest of my life. And Charlotte, after her fingernails had turned black from polishing the silver, felt equally disgusted about flatware.
I was grateful for Charlotte. She was a good friend to me. I felt unbearably disloyal keeping what had happened with Sebastian a secret from her. But I couldn’t risk it and I still couldn’t explain it––even to myself.
I hadn’t seen him in three days. He had slept at the apartment. Maybe he regretted it, thought twice and found me lacking. How depressing. Now that I’d had a taste of it, I wanted him with an urgency that was shameful. In any case, I would know soon enough where we stood. There was no avoiding each other once the guests arrived.