One Night Scandal

“And I could read your emotions all over that letter. You have read that note so many times I could not begin to count. You keep the letter with you in your pocket. Even now, when you come to me looking for a woman you slept with in Venice, the note is on you.”

She turned away and almost tripped over her chair. He reached out to keep her from falling.

“Don’t touch me,” she cried, pounding her fist on the table.

“I can’t seem to stop,” he admitted. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

She kept her back turned away from him. “Why did it have to be you?” she mumbled.

He spun her around to face him. He was certain he’d heard her correctly but wanted confirmation. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” She looked away from him.

He didn’t quite believe all this medium nonsense. People couldn’t read other’s future or thoughts. It was a mad idea.

Staring down at her forlorn face, frustration grew inside of him. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, comfort her and make love to her. But he couldn’t do any of those things. She knew the secret he’d been keeping from everyone. Nevertheless, his hands cupped her cheeks, his thumbs caressed her cheekbones, and with only a moment of hesitation, his lips touched hers.

What was wrong with him? He loved Jennette, and yet, he could not stop thinking about Sophie. Maybe she was the key to forgetting Jennette.

He felt her resistance and almost smiled. She seemed to be trying not to respond to his persuasion, but as her lips parted, she failed. He should walk away from her, leave before things went too far, but as her velvety tongue touched his, he was lost. Drowning in the passion that flared when she was near, he drew his hand down her back and cupped her derrière.

She moaned as he brought her roughly against his hard erection. He brought his fingers up the length of her back until he found the small buttons on her gown. Quickly unbuttoning her dress, he started to slide the silk down her body.

“What are you doing?” she whispered frantically. “What are we doing?”

Nicholas stared down at her trying to catch his breath. “Christ, what the hell is wrong with me?” he muttered, stepping away from her.

Sophie stared at his strong back, silhouetted by the fire. She shoved the sleeves of her silk dress back up. “It wasn’t just you,” she whispered.

“I realize that,” he said. “But I started it.”

“This time.” Her heart still pounded in her chest. “I believe last time was all me.”

“Well, Miss Matchmaker, what exactly does it mean when two people cannot seem to keep their hands off each other?” He moved to sit in the wingback chair by the fireplace.

“Lust,” she whispered with a little shrug. “My mother was an actress and a mistress to several men. She told me all about lust and how both dangerous and powerful it can be.”

“Powerful?” he said with a laugh.

“You don’t believe me?” She strolled toward him intent on teaching him the power of lust. Placing her arms on his chair, she leaned over until her dress gaped. His gaze went to her breasts. His eyes darkened as he stared at her.

“Perhaps I was wrong,” he said softly.

“Oh?”

His lips lifted in a large smile revealing deep dimples. “I would give just about anything to make love with you again.”

“Would you?”

“I would. But tell me,” he said, skimming a finger across the top of her breasts, “does this power work in both directions?”

“What do you mean?” She attempted to ignore the shiver of desire that went directly toward her belly.

He glided his hands lower until he cupped her breasts. His thumbs gently caressing them until they ached to be touched with his bare hands or better yet, his mouth. “Would I possess such power over you?”

She should tell him that he would not, but as his hands slid behind her and brought her down to straddle his lap, she could only nod.

His smile widened again. “So we appear to be exactly where we were five minutes ago.”