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The floor creaked. He stepped nearer. She smiled as she felt his hand touch the rounded, smooth skin of her bottom.
One of his knees leaned against the bed, an arm propped alongside hers. He leaned close and whispered, sending a shard of excitement down her neck and spine.
“Sweet, you are beyond temptation.”
One strong arm wrapped around her stomach. He lifted and tossed her on her backside. She bounced in the center of the bed, her hands outspread as she fought to regain her perfected pose.
Dorian hovered over her, his body pressing her into the soft mattress. So he would be a brute, she thought. She’d heard he had finesse and style in bed. He clasped one of her wrists and lifted upward.
Isabelle forced her best do-as-you-please smile. What choice did she have? She’d sold herself. She was at Dorian’s mercy, as she had been for all the others.
The cool silkiness of a cord around her wrist interrupted her thoughts. In a state of panic, she jerked her hand and found it tied to her headboard. Her chest heaved in desperation. Dorian worked at her other wrist, using the cords that held back the canopy curtains. She pulled. “Don’t please… I… I don’t…”
“Shhh, my sweet. You may like two-minute couplings. I do not. You’re my mistress. We play my games. While I’m gone, I want you to think very seriously about what you want from me. And then you are going to ask me for it.”
* * * * *
Dorian left her struggling on the bed. Finally, she displayed some of the spark he knew her capable of.
He had to get some air before he ravished the woman. His body made demands he did not want to fill at her tempo. Pacing had always been his strength. The longer he could go, the more pleasure he got. Of course, his women never complained either.
Only Isabelle knew how to use a man’s weaknesses against him. He’d lit up—hot and hard—ready to plunge into her expensive and seemingly magical cunt. If he hadn’t known her game, he’d have given in without a second thought. But he wouldn’t be just another lover.
He wouldn’t be like them either. He hadn’t paid eleven thousand pounds to have her control their liaison. He wanted to use her thoroughly, deeply and passionately.
He strolled naked across the room. With a last backward glance, he sought Isabelle’s face. Her wild-eyed gaze shot through him. He’d roused her anger completely.
“Don’t struggle so fiercely, Isabelle. I do not want you to be too exhausted for what’s coming.”
Her nostrils flared. She bit back whatever response she wanted to hurl at him.
Inside the adjoining chamber, her two servants were carting away the water and the tub. Upon closer inspection, he could see they were brothers. Dorian stopped in front of them, uncaring and unashamed. Their mistress was a paid whore who bathed in front of her male servants. Doubtless, they’d seen things more shocking than a naked man. Naked and without boots, he still stood two inches taller than either of them.
“I want this house empty. If I see or hear either of you gentlemen over the next thirty days, I will find a way to make your lives very uncomfortable.”
“But the mistress says we stay, so we stay. No matter what,” said one of the servants. They glanced at each other, hoping for reinforcement.
“Be gone after dinner this evening. Oh, and I’ll make it worth your while.” He took the few steps toward his jacket and his pocket change. He lifted out a roll of cash and counted out the approximate equivalent of one year’s salary. They didn’t budge. He doubled the amount before he caught their attention. They glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes.
“I won’t hurt her,” he said with utter sincerity. He wasn’t a man to abuse a woman, especially when he intended to enjoy her so completely, but men like Dane weren’t to be trusted. He agreed with her decision to have protection though the guards were inconvenient for what he had in mind.
He saw the moment they gave in—he had paid them a ridiculous amount. Even Isabelle’s servants weren’t cheap.
“We’ll stay out of sight, but we won’t be far away,” one of them said as he tucked the money in his jacket.
“That seems only fair,” Dorian answered. He just did not want them in the way. They were both bobbing and yes sir-ing by the time they left the room. Undoubtedly, Isabelle would be furious when she found out. He’d just have to keep her busy so she didn’t notice.
At the door, one of them stopped. “The cook and her maid are here in the morning, sir.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Dorian said. He couldn’t get rid of everyone, but they would know to do their duty and leave the mistress and her new lover to themselves. He’d see to it. Isabelle would not be bothered with the running of her household while she was on his payroll.
A pitcher of water stood on the bureau. He filled the matching bowl then cupped his palms and doused himself thoroughly in the cool, cleansing moisture. It brought some clarity back to his Isabelle-fogged brain.
The wild stirring of his physical needs also dampened a bit. Breathing deeply, he calmed the erratic beating of his heart.
Planning for this moment over the past three years had produced some vivid and startling images in his mind. He hoped to act out every one of them, but only to Isabelle’s level of comfort.
He returned to the door between their rooms. Isabelle St. Hillaire was tied to her bed waiting for him. Finally.
