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“Vixen,” he mouthed.
“Rake,” I mouthed back.
That smirk turned to an outright grin as his fingers continued their relentless work.
Imogene continued to rattle on about seating arrangements at the party, or hors d’oeuvres, which Xavier alternately agreed with or asked for small changes. I honestly couldn’t tell you what they were talking about. I was too entranced by the movements of his thumb and the subtle thrusts of his fingers, too focused on trying desperately not to give into the tension building all over my body.
It was no good. He pressed harder on my clit, and the knowledge that he was doing this to me, on top of his desk, in front of this woman in particular, proved my undoing. I came right there on the desk, choking down a scream while Xavier gripped my ankle in his other hand and continued to talk pleasantries about cocktails and guest lists.
“Right, then,” Imogene said. “I’m off. Fran—cesca,” she caught herself before misnaming me yet again. “I hope your ankle is better for tomorrow. Shame if you can’t dance.”
“I—uh-huh, yes,” I half-gasped, unable even to turn around for fear she would see exactly what was happening written all over my face.
“She’ll be fine,” Xavier told her as he stood. The hand between my legs stayed where it was, but his erection pressed into my thigh, hidden behind my skirts from Imogene’s view. “See you tomorrow.”
The minute the door closed, however, his composure evaporated. In a single harsh movement, Xavier practically ripped open his pants and shoved into me with a movement violent with blind, animal need.
“Fuck,” he hissed as he seated himself deep. “You naughty, naughty girl, teasing me like that. You little minx.”
“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stuttered, barely able to form words as he started pounding into me. “Th-that was all you. T-total rogue. Do what-tever you want, whenever y-you want.”
“And don’t you fucking forget it.”
He thrust mercilessly, finding a rhythm that had my heels knocking against his desk drawers and a moan erupting from my chest that was louder than any music he’d been playing earlier.
Then he paused, took my chin firmly with one hand, and forced me to look at him.
“Wear red tomorrow,” he ordered before delivering a long, flaming-hot kiss that left me breathless. “For me.”
He thrust one final time with a groan, and we both shattered together, falling back onto the centuries-old desk, covered in sweat and desire.
His tongue ran over my shoulder, licking up my own mild glow until he found my face again and kissed me, softer this time.
“Please,” he whispered as he worshiped my mouth. “I want to see you in red.”
Of course, I couldn’t say no. Not while he was dousing me in kisses and laying me flat on the desk for round two.
Maybe that was really the problem. When it came to Xavier, I had a hard time refusing him anything.
PART3
THE GENTLEMAN
INTERLUDE II
ELEVEN YEARS EARLIER
Xavier
“Itold you, I’m not fucking going back.”
“Watch your mouth, boy, or I’ll watch it for you.”
“I’d like to see you try, gnarly old git,” I retorted, turning to pick up the dough I had been weaving into a plait.
Gavin, the village baker, had given me a bit of his starter last month, and I’d finally trained it in the kitchen to the point where I thought I could get a decent rise. I’d wanted to try a plaited sourdough for a while. Even if Gavin swore up and down it wouldn’t work in the cool Lakeland humidity. I thought that Corbray Hall had enough elevation that it just might make the difference.
Before I could make it through a third weave, a cast iron pan clanged into the wall above my head.
