Again and Again

Chapter 2

She was sleeping, but she heard the key turning in the lock as if she’d been waiting for it. As the door quietly opened and closed, she sat up in the large curtained bed in the fire-lit room. “You must have wakened the housekeeper for the key,” she said to the man leaning against the door.

“She didn’t mind.”

“Perhaps I do.”

“I thought I’d find out.”

“You haven’t changed.”

Who did? he thought, but he was on his best behavior. “Do you like the applewood fire? I told the housekeeper applewood was a requirement.”

“Thank you. Now, are we going to pretend you’re not here for all the obvious reasons? Are we going to discuss the weather too?”

“I thought we did that rather thoroughly at dinner.” His smile flashed white in the dimness. “But if you wish…”

“What I wish apparently makes no difference to you. I expressly said I’d be locking my door.”

“If you want me to leave, tell me.”

“I’m not sure you’d leave even if I wished it.”

“I see.” Neutral, noncommittal; a man who had no intention of leaving.

“No, you don’t Your focus, as usual-as always-is only on what you want,” she said sharply.

“I don’t want to fight.” He didn’t say he had no answer to such a blanket condemnation. “Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

His voice was deep and low, velvety with suggestion. Whether consciously or unconsciously, he was offering her what he offered every woman. And that was the crux of her dilemma. Whether she wished to requalify as one of his legion of lovers. She frowned. “How many times have you offered a woman carte blanche?”

“Lord, Caro, you’re prickly. Never. All right?”

“Liar.”

He shrugged. “Twice, then. How’s that?”

Or pick a number, she thought, half-rankled, half-enticed-and unfortunately-wavering. She wished he didn’t look the way he looked: too handsome, too available, too sure of himself.

And she wished she didn’t feel the way she did… hungry for him, or maybe for any handsome man offering her what he was offering.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Caro,” he murmured as the silence lengthened. “Tell me what you want.”

Problematic, dangerous words. She took a small breath, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Was he sincere? Maybe. Did it matter? “I haven’t had sex in a year,” she blurted out.

“Really,” he said, quelling his shock beneath the mildness of his tone. “A year.” He hadn’t had sex in forty-eight hours, but it might be counterproductive to mention it now. That’s a very long time,“ he said politely.

She couldn’t help but smile, not only at his tact but at his nonchalance. “So as long as you’re here, you’re thinking.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You have no idea what I’m thinking.”

“Well, I’m thinking I might as well make use of you.” There. No more flustered uncertainty.

His teeth gleamed perfect and white. “At your service, ma’am.” He pushed away from the door.

She laughed. “So compliant, Simon. I hardly recognize you.”

He slid his dark jacket off and tossed it on a chair. “After five long years, darling, I’m more than willing to be conciliatory… or as you put it-used.” His voice lowered to a silky murmur. “What would you like first?”

Perhaps a year really had been too long. Perhaps she’d always been rash with Simon. Or maybe now that she’d crossed that irrevocable line, there was no point in pretending. “What I would like,” she murmured, echoing his silky intonation,“ is no preliminaries and that,” she pointed at his obvious erection, “inside me.”

He grinned. “Talk about people not changing.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not if it isn’t for you.”

A small warning perhaps. She leaned back against the pillows, spread her arms along the cushiony tops and slowly surveyed him. “It definitely isn’t at the moment”

“Because you haven’t had sex for a year,” he murmured, thinking her breasts were splendid, thrust out like that with her arms raised.

The most compelling of impulses, I admit.“

“So anyone would do,” he said, the sudden thought disagreeable.

“Acquit me of your democratic tendencies, darling. I’ve always been more selective than you.”

He frowned faintly. “You sound like a courtesan.” She looked like one as well with her indolent pose and bold gaze, her plain, white nightgown notwithstanding. Even sackcloth would fail to conceal her flamboyant, lush curves.

“Don’t tell me you’ve become prudish. Have you given up courtesans?”

“What the hell does that mean?” How had she supported herself after the divorce?

“It means have you given up courtesans? I believe a simple yes or no would answer the question.”

“You’re beginning to piss me off.” Although his resentment may have been spurred by something other than her impudence.

“Oh, dear. When I thought you’d be staying.”

“I’d forgotten how irritating you could be,” he muttered, untying his cravat and sliding it off, dropping it on the floor.

“I, on the other hand, haven’t forgotten how faithless you could be.”

“Don’t start, Caro. I’m not in the mood.”

She glanced at his swift unbuttoning of his buff and blue striped waistcoat “But apparently you’re in the mood for something.”

“I thought you were interested in ending your year-long celibacy.” His tone was as mocking, his gaze insulting. “If that’s even true.”

She suddenly sat upright and pulled the sheet up to her chin. “Everyone’s not a liar like you. Get out I’ve changed my mind.”

“Too fucking late.” His waistcoat joined his cravat on the floor.

“Are you some barbarian who would force his unwanted attentions on a lady?” she sneered.

“Give me a minute and we’ll see about the unwanted part,” he muttered through the linen shirt he was pulling over his head.

Her voice turned waspish. “You always were arrogant”

“And you always were one hot little piece as I recall,” he drawled, tossing his shirt on the bed. Balancing on one foot, he leaned over to pull off a boot.

Caroline tried to suppress the flutter of excitement racing through her senses. But the startling width of his shoulders was too near, the taut sweep of his back too familiar, the powerful muscles rippling across his torso and arms too graphically male. “Simon, I want you out of here!” she said fiercely, as though the force of her words might bolster her uncertain resolve.

He glanced at her over his shoulder, demonstrably untouched by her vehemence. “Are we giving orders? Then take off that nightgown.”

“I most certainly will not.”

“Sure you will.” He stood upright. “Or if you want to wait until I get these trousers off, I’ll do it for you.”

She trembled when she shouldn’t-when she should hold such brazen insolence in contempt. But not yet lost to all sanity, she managed to speak in a level voice. “You forget, I’m not one of your tractable females. You won’t be touching me. Simon. I forbid it.”

He shot her an amused glance. “You should be on the stage.”

His casual dismissal reminded her of another night when he’d brushed off her recriminations, when her feelings hadn’t mattered. When the pain he’d caused had changed her life forever. And hadn’t she just freed herself of a man who thought only of himself? ‘You should be using your charm on someone more susceptible. You’re not having your way this time, Simon. I mean it.“

“I’m bigger,” he murmured.

“And I can scream louder. Get out.”

He continued his unbuttoning.

“Don’t say you weren’t forewarned,” she murmured, and opening her mouth, she let out shrill, high-pitched cry capable of waking up the entire inn.

In a flashing second, he lunged, clamped his hand over her mouth and a second after that he captured her flailing arms at the wrists, his grip bone-crushing. Hauling her to the edge of the bed, he leaned in close and bent his head to meet her furious gaze. “Play your prick-teasing games with someone else,” he whispered, his eyes hot with temper. “Understand?”

And then he waited as though he expected an answer.

“Go to hell.”

The sound was muffled, but audible.

“We could go together,” he said grimly, easing his hand from her mouth, one brow cocked in warning.

She knew better than to cry out, but her gaze was chill. “I’ve already been to hell with you.”

“Remember who shared your trip. That fond memory aside,” he added, caustically,“ make up your fucking mind about sex. First you say you want it, then you don’t…”

“I don’t want it.”

He exhaled in a long rush of air. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Rising to his feet, he swiftly buttoned his partially undone trousers, and moved to the door. Undeterred by his lack of clothes, he walked out, shut the door, then opened it again to reach around and pull out the key.

This time the door slammed shut with a bang.

She heard the key scrape in the lock, followed by the sound of his footsteps growing faint as he walked away.

Was she a prisoner?

It seemed an overdramatic word considering she knew Simon so well. Although, five years could account for a great many changes in a person’s life. Hers certainly had altered drastically. She was divorced now and alone… literally-locked in this room-not unlike a scene from a bad farce. She smiled at the droll thought. This would be the point where she’d put her hand to her forehead and bemoan her fate. Or better yet, devise a plan of escape. If she’d been less fatigued, she might have had the energy to formulate such a plan as would any self-respecting heroine on the stage. But she was bone tired, it was very late and after days of travel, her bed felt more enticing at the moment than her freedom.

She’d think about escape first thing in the morning.

A short time later, after having spoken to the proprietor who now understood how lucrative it would be for him to become deaf to the activities in the room at the top of the stairs, Simon reentered the bedroom, carrying his valise. He moved quietly, taking care not to wake Caroline, returning to the hall several more times to carry in a variety of items: a large copper tub, which he placed near the fire; four steaming buckets of water; a tray of food; and two bottles. Once his tasks were complete, he locked the door and tossed the key on his palm for a moment. Then he walked to the mirror hanging on the wall near the door and placed the key on top of the frame.

A precaution only. He intended to keep Caro too busy to think about leaving.

A smile slowly formed on his lips as he turned back to the bed, sweet expectation pervading his thoughts. She looked angelic with the covers pulled up over her ears, her tousled curls spread on the pillow, the flush of sleep pinking her cheeks.

He’d have to apologize, of course; he wasn’t usually such a brute. Although, if he needed cause or excuse, Caro had been as difficult and opinionated as ever.

Not that she wasn’t a delightful change from the overly willing women who normally shared his bed.

Picking up a bottle from the table, he moved to a chair near the fire. Dropping into it, he stretched out his legs and slid into a comfortable sprawl. Pulling the loosened cork from the bottle, he poured a long draft into his mouth and savored the taste of a very fine whiskey.

Life was good, he thought.

He was out of the storm, away from London, locked in with one of the most fascinating women he’d ever known.

And she hadn’t had sex for a year.

He grinned. It almost made one believe in God.