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I was kidding, but Eleanor’s question is deadly serious.
“I try not to be, but I guess there are times when I assert my authority.” I scoop up some of my ice cream and drop it into her bowl. “But I’m not a tyrant when it comes to sweets.”
“Well, thank goodness for that,” Eleanor says, “because I don’t think I could live with a man who hoards the sugar.”
“Oh, believe me, sweetheart, I’ll give you all the sugar you can handle.”
Eleanor snorts with laughter. There’s nothing delicate about the sound. She pours every ounce of mirth she feels into it.
“That was the worst line I’ve ever heard,” she grumbles.
“Give it time. I’m sure I can come up with much worse.”
Eleanor smiles and turns her attention to the contents of her bowl. As I eat my own dessert, I watch her licking chocolate ice cream from her spoon.
A deep satisfaction washes over me. Though the way it happened was not what I would have chosen, I’m pleased this woman is mine now. I am never letting her go.
“You want some coffee?” I ask as she finishes her dessert and drops the spoon into the bowl.
“No, thanks.”
“You want to go upstairs?”
She lowers her gaze, suddenly shy. Or is she? Eleanor peeks up at me from beneath thick eyelashes and I see the wicked gleam in her emerald eyes. It seems she wants to play. After all she’s been through today, I can give her that.
“Run,” I tell her.
“Huh?” she sounds surprised.
“Run.”
Catching on, she gets to her feet, gathers her skirts, and runs from the room. Her dress is cumbersome, so I give her a decent head start. It’s a mistake. She’s faster than I thought and makes it all the way to the front door. She’s trying to unlock it when I catch up with her.
Ignoring the twinge in my thigh, I swing her up off her feet and drop her over my shoulder. Taking the stairs two at a time, I carry her to my bedroom, where I set her down in the middle of the floor.
“So this is your lair,” she says, taking in the décor.
My room here, like the one in the London house, is decorated in earthy tones. I like a neutral palette.
“It is,” I confirm, “and you’re trapped here now.”
Her eyes gleam. As I suspected, she likes the idea of having her choices taken away.
“Strip,” I command. I can’t wait to see her gorgeous body.
She reaches behind her and then drops her hands to her sides.
“I said, strip.”
She purses her lips. “I can’t.”
Shit, that’s right. She has all those fucking buttons. I go to my nightstand and take a switchblade from the top drawer. Eleanor’s eyes widen. The pulse at the base of her throat flickers, perhaps from arousal, definitely from fear. She gasps as I spin her around, pulling her back against me.
“Don’t move,” I whisper in her ear. “I wouldn’t want to cut you by accident.”
She doesn’t move, barely breathes as I run the blade beneath the top of her dress. I carefully slice down under the buttons until I’ve opened it enough to be able to tear it off her.
She’s left standing there in nothing but those virginal white stockings with the pale pink ribbons securing them in place. Fuck. She looks amazing.
