Rachel Gibson - I’m In No Mood For Love

Outside the closed door, someone turned on the sink faucet. “I think it’s Leo,” she whispered.

His grasp on her back tightened as he heard the muffled voice of his father through the door. The last thing he wanted was to stop, but he didn’t want his father to walk in on him and Clare either. “Come to the carriage house with me,” he said next to her ear.

She shook her head and pulled out of his embrace. The sound of the water stopped and he recognized his father’s footsteps, fading in the direction of the dining room.

He ran his fingers through his hair as sexual frustration smashed into him. “You have a big house. I’m sure there are plenty of rooms to finish this.”

Again she shook her head as she reached for the cups of her bra and closed the red lace over her breasts. Her dark ponytail brushed her shoulders. “I should have known you’d take things too far.”

His frustration beat at his brain and pounded his groin and he wanted to damn well finish what they’d started. In the carriage house. Her house. The back of a car. He didn’t give a shit. “Less than a minute ago you weren’t complaining.”

She glanced up, then back down, as she hooked the bow between her breasts. “Who had time? You move too fast.”

Now she was making him angry. Just as she had the morning at the Double Tree. “You were into everything I was doing to you, and if Leo hadn’t walked into the kitchen, you’d still be moaning and holding onto my ears. In another few minutes I would have had you completely naked.”

“I wasn’t moaning.” She pulled the edges of her sweater together. “And don’t fool yourself. I wouldn’t have let you take off any more of my clothing.”

“And don’t lie to yourself. You would have let me do anything I wanted.” He fought the urge to grab her and kiss her until she begged him for more. “The next time you let me undress you, I’m going all the way.”

“There won’t be a next time.” Her hands shook as she buttoned her sweater. “This got out of control before I could stop it.”

“Right. You’re not a girl with only a vague idea where this was leading. The next time, I’m going to finish the job that your old fiancé couldn’t quite get done.”

She sucked in a breath and looked up at him. Her eyes narrowed and she was once again the old Clare. Perfectly groomed and in control. “That was cruel.”

He felt cruel.

“You don’t know anything about my life with Lonny.”

No, but he could guess. The sound of footsteps returned to the kitchen once more, and he leaned forward and said just above a whisper, “I’m giving you fair warning right now. If I ever have my face buried in your breasts again, I’m going to give you what you need so damn bad.”

“You have no idea what I need. Stay away from me,” she said, and stormed out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

He would have loved to storm out too, but he had a painful problem residing in his pants and pressing against his zipper.

Through the door he heard his father’s voice. “Have you seen Sebastian?” Leo asked.

Sebastian waited for her to rat him out. Just as she had years ago when she’d been angry with him. He looked around for something to shield his obvious erection.

“No,” Clare answered. “No, I haven’t seen him. Have you checked the carriage house?”

“Yes. He’s not there.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”

Fiona Winters was quite positive she was not the sort of woman to attract the notice of a man such as Vashion Elliot, Duke of Rathstone. She was his daughter’s governess. A nobody. An orphan with a few farthings to her name. She liked to think she was a good governess to Annabella, but she was hardly pretty. Or at least not in the fashion of opera singers or ballerinas, as was the Duke’s well-known preference.

“I beg your pardon, your grace?”

He took a step back and tilted his head to one side. His gaze moved across her face. “I think the fresh air of the Italian countryside has added a nice glow to your cheeks.” He raised a hand and captured a stray wisp of her hair dancing on the breeze before her eye. His fingers brushed her face as he tucked it behind her ear. “You look much improved in the past three months.”

She held her breath and managed a strangled, “Thank you.” She was sure a steady diet had more to do with her health than fresh air. Just as she was sure the Duke of Rathstone meant nothing by his comment on her appearance. “If you’ll excuse me, your grace,” she said. “I must get Annabella ready for the Earl and Countess Diberto’s visit.”

Clare reached for a research book on peerage and cracked it open. She was about to introduce two new characters and had to make sure she knew the correct titles of the Italian aristocracy. Just as she’d flipped to a page in the middle of the book, the doorbell rang and “Paperback Writer” played throughout the house. It was Saturday morning and she wasn’t expecting anyone.

Clare rose from her chair and moved to one of the dormer windows that overlooked the driveway in front. Leo’s Lincoln was parked below, but she had a feeling Leo wasn’t the driver. She pushed open the window and a blast of cold December air hit her face and seeped through the tight cotton weave of her black turtleneck.

“Leo?”

“Nope.” Sebastian stepped out from beneath her porch and looked up at her. He wore his black parka and a pair of black-rimmed sunglasses.

She hadn’t seen him since the day before, when she’d run out of her mother’s pantry. She could feel her cheeks heat up despite the cold. She’d hoped that she wouldn’t have to see him for a while. Maybe a year. “Why are you here?”

“This is where you live.”

Looking down at him made her stomach feel a little light. The kind of light that had nothing to do with any sort of deep emotion and everything to do with desire. The kind of desire any woman would feel for a man whose looks combined with his smile were an overkill. “Why?”

“Let me in and I’ll tell you why.”

Let him in her house? Was he crazy? Just yesterday he’d warned her that he was going to give her what he thought she needed. Of course, that had all been predicated on her finding herself half naked with him again. And she wasn’t altogether sure she could swear-

“Come on, Clare. Open the door.”

– it wouldn’t happen again. And while she’d love to blame the whole thing on him, he’d been right. She was old enough to know where an unbuttoned sweater would lead.

“I’m freezing my ass off out here,” he called up to her, interrupting her thoughts, not that they were cohesive anyway.

Clare stuck her head farther out the window and looked at the neighbors on both sides. Thank goodness no one heard him. “Quit yelling.”

“If you’re worried I’m going to try and jump your bones again, don’t,” he yelled louder. “I can’t take another rejection so soon after the last. I had to stay in that damn pantry for a good half hour.”

“Shhh.” She shut the windows with a snap and moved from her office. If she hadn’t been afraid of what he might holler next, she wouldn’t let him in, but she suspected he knew that. She moved down the stairs and through the kitchen to the entry. “What?” she said as she stuck her head out the front door.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned. “Is that how you greet all your guests? No wonder everyone thinks you’re such a nice sweet girl.”

“You’re not a guest.” He laughed, and she sighed with resignation. “Fine.” She swung the door open and he stepped inside. “Five minutes.”