I’m In No Mood For Love

Fourteen

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.”

“Why?” He stopped in front of her and pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Are you having one of your prayer circles?”

“No.” She shut the door and leaned her back against it. “I’m working.”

“Can you take an hour’s break?”

She could, but she didn’t want to spend any of her breaks with Sebastian. He smelled like crisp cold air and one of those man soaps like Irish Spring or Calvin Klein. He was acting more chipper than normal and he’d turned down his mojo, but she didn’t trust him. Now it was her turn to ask, “Why?”

“So you can come help me pick out a Christmas present for my father.”

She didn’t trust him not to try something, and she didn’t trust herself not to let him. “Wouldn’t it be easier to buy a gift in Seattle?”

“Dad’s not coming to Seattle for Christmas, and I finally found a buyer for my mother’s house. I don’t know if it’ll close in time for me to make it back here to spend it with him, so I was hoping to find something before I have to leave. You’ll help me out with this. Right?”

“Not a chance.”

He rocked back on his heels and looked down at her. “I helped you with the outdoor lights, and you said you’d help me out with Leo.”

She didn’t think that was exactly how it had happened. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Tomorrow. A whole twenty-four more hours to forget about the things he’d done with his mouth. Things besides talking. Things he was really good at doing.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” As if he read her mind, he held up his hands and said, “I won’t touch you. Believe me, I don’t want to spend another day with blue balls.”

She couldn’t believe he’d just said that to her. Wait, this was Sebastian. Of course she could believe it. He must have mistaken her astonishment for confusion because he tipped his head back and raised a brow.

“You have heard of blue balls?”

“Yes, Sebastian. I’ve heard of…” She paused and raised a hand in the air. “…of that.” She didn’t want to talk about his testicles. That seemed highly…personal. Something he’d discuss with a girlfriend.

He unzipped the front of his coat. “Don’t tell me you can’t say blue balls.”

“I can, but I prefer not to have those words in my mouth.” Lord, she hadn’t meant to sound like her mother.

Beneath his coat he wore a chambray shirt tucked into his jeans. “This, from the woman who called me a dickhead. You didn’t seem to have a problem with that in your mouth.”

“I was provoked.”

“So was I.”

Maybe, but he’d been the worst offender. Lying about them sleeping together had been worse than her accusing him of taking advantage of her. Way worse.

“Get your coat. Believe me, after yesterday, I learned my lesson. I don’t want to touch you any more than you want to touch me.”

Which was the problem. She wasn’t all that sure she didn’t want him to touch her or her to touch him. She was sure, though, that it was probably a bad idea. She frowned and looked down at herself. At the bottom of her ribbed turtleneck that didn’t quite touch the black leather belt looped in the waistband of her jeans. “I’m not really dressed for shopping.”

“Why not? You look relaxed. Not so uptight. I like you this way.”

She glanced up at him. He didn’t appear to be joking. Her hair was down and she was only wearing mascara. Sometimes her friends teased her because she put on a little makeup every day, even when she didn’t have plans to leave the house. Maddie and Lucy and Adele didn’t care if they scared the UPS man. She did. “One hour?”

“Yep.”

“I know I’m going to regret this,” she said through a sigh as she moved to the closet and reached for her coat.

“No, you won’t.” He gave her one of the lopsided smiles that creased the corners of his green eyes. “I’ll behave even if you beg me to throw you down and climb on top of you.” He stepped behind her and helped her into her black peacoat. “Well, maybe not if you beg.”

She turned her head and looked up at him as she pulled her hair from the wool collar. The ends of her hair brushed his hands before he removed them from her shoulders. “I won’t beg.”

He lowered his gaze to her mouth. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“Not from me. I mean it.”

He looked back up into her eyes. “Clare, women say a lot of things they don’t really mean. Especially you.” He stepped back and stuck his hands in his coat pockets. “Gotta purse you need to take?”

She reached for her crocodile hobo bag and hung it on one shoulder. Sebastian followed her outside, and she locked the door behind them.

“I saw a print shop downtown,” he said as he walked to the passenger side of the Town Car and opened the door. “I’d like to start there.”

The print shop was actually more of an art gallery and frame shop, and Clare had bought several pieces from the shop in the past. Today, as she and Sebastian walked through the gallery, she noticed the way he studied the paintings. He’d stop, turn his head to one side, and dip one shoulder lower than the other. She also noticed he stopped most often in front of nudes.

“I don’t think Leo would hang that one in his living room,” she said as he studied a beautiful woman laying on her stomach amidst rumpled white sheets, the sunlight caressing her bare behind.

“Probably not. Did you see anything you like in here?” he asked.

Clare pointed to a woman wearing a sheer white dress, standing on the beach and holding a baby. “I like the expression on her face. It’s blissful.”

“Hmm.” He turned his head to the side. “I’d say it’s more peaceful.” He moved in front of a chalk drawing of a nude man and woman locked in an embrace. “Now that woman’s expression is blissful.”

She would have said it was more orgasmic, if she were the kind of woman to say such things out loud in public.

In the end Sebastian chose a signed lithograph of a man and a boy standing on a big rock at the edge of the Payette River, fishing. While they looked at matte and frame samples, he asked her opinion about each and took her suggestions. He paid extra to have it finished by Christmas. Delivery was going to be a problem, considering the time crunch, and before Clare could stop herself, she volunteered to pick it up on Christmas Eve.

He looked at her out of the corners of his eyes and frowned. “No thanks.”

She smiled up at him. “I won’t wrap it in pink ribbon. I swear.”

He thought about her offer as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “If you’re sure it won’t be a problem.”

She had a signing that day and would be out and about anyway. “It won’t.”

“Okay, thanks. That’s a load off.” He handed over a platinum Visa, and when the shop owner walked away, Sebastian added, “If I could kiss you, I would.”

She turned and held up her hand as if she were a queen. Instead of kissing her knuckles, he turned her hand over, pushed back the sleeve of her coat, and placed his mouth on the inside of her wrist. “Thank you, Clare.”

Her skin actually tingled all the way up her arm, and she pulled her hand away. “You’re welcome.”

The hour he’d promised turned into three with a stop at P.F. Chang’s in the old warehouse district. They were given a table near the back of the Chinese restaurant, and Clare couldn’t help but notice the female attention that tracked them across the room. It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed it that day, the furtive glances and blatant stares as they walked down the street or through the gallery. She wondered if Sebastian noticed the way women looked at him. He didn’t seem to, but perhaps he was just used to it.

They started off the meal with chicken lettuce wraps, and if Clare had been with her friends, she would have ordered the appetizer as an entrée and considered that lunch. Not Sebastian. He also ordered orange peel chicken, moo goo gai pan, pork fried rice, and Sichuan asparagus.

“Are we meeting someone else?” she asked after the entrées arrived.

“I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse.” He shook his head and put orange chicken on his plate. “I take that back. Horse is too tough.”

Clare spooned a portion of rice on her plate, then they traded entrées across the table. “And you know this because you’ve eaten a horse?”

“Eaten?” He looked up from the rice. “More like I’ve chewed on horse.”

She felt her nose crinkle. “Where?”

He served himself moo goo gai pan, then handed it to Clare. “I was in Manchuria.”

She held up her hand and declined any more food. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. In northern China you can buy packages of dog and monkey meat in the markets.”

Clare looked at the orange peel chicken on her plate. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not. I saw it when I was there in ’96. It’s the honest to God’s truth.” He picked up his fork and stabbed some asparagus. “There are quite a few cultures that consider dog a delicacy. I try not to judge.”

Clare didn’t like to judge either, but she couldn’t help but think of poor Cindy. She looked up as far as the hollow of his throat, visible between the collar of his shirt. “Did you eat dog?”

He glanced up, then returned his attention to his lunch. “Nah, but the guys and I did eat the monkey.”

“You ate a monkey?” She took a drink of her cabernet sauvignon.

“Yeah. It tasted just like chicken,” he said through a laugh. “Believe me, after a diet of mostly congee, the monkey was damn good.”

Clare had never heard of congee and was too afraid he’d tell her if she asked. She watched him dig into his meal and set her glass back on the table. “Where’s your next assignment?” she inquired, purposely moving the subject away from canines and primates.

He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not sure. I decided not to sign a new contract with Newsweek. Or with anyone. I think I’ll take some time off.”

“To do what?” She took a bite of rice.

“I haven’t figured that out yet.”

She knew if she wasn’t under contract, she’d be freaking out. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

He looked across the table and his green eyes met hers. “Not as much as it did a few months ago. I’ve worked really long and hard to get where I am in my job, and at first it was scary as hell to think I might be losing my drive for it. But I had to accept the fact that I don’t enjoy the travel as much as I used to. Plain and simple. So, I’m backing off a little before I burn out completely. I’m sure I’ll always freelance, but I want a new challenge. Something different.”

She suspected that’s how he was with women too. Once the challenge was over, he’d be ready to move on to the next different and exciting thing. But whether or not she was right didn’t matter. There was no way she’d ever get involved with Sebastian. Not only had she sworn off men until she sorted out her own life, he’d said himself he had problems with relationships, and his love life was not her concern.

“How about you?” he asked, and took a drink of his wine.

“No. There are no men in my life.”

His brows lowered. “I thought we were talking about our work. At least I was.”

“Oh.” She pushed a little smile on her lips to cover her embarrassment. “What about me?”

“When is your next book out?” He set his wine back on the table and picked up his fork.

“It’s out. I have a signing next Saturday at Walden’s in the mall.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s a romance.”

“Yes. I know. What is it about?” He sat back in his chair and waited for her to answer.

Surely he didn’t care. “It’s the second book in my governess series. The heroine is, obviously, a governess-to a reclusive duke and his three small daughters. It’s kind of a Jane Eyre meets Mary Poppins.”

“Interesting. So, it’s not a pirate book?”

Pirate? She shook her head.

“Is the book you’re working on now a pirate book?”

“No. It’s the third and final book in my series about governesses.”

“Good-looking governesses?”

“Of course.” And why was he asking?

The waiter interrupted and asked if everything was all right, and when he went away again, Clare got her answer. “I saw your books at my dad’s.”

Ahh. “Yes. Bless him. He buys every one, although he won’t read them because he says they make him blush.”

“They must be really hot.”

“I imagine that would depend on what you’re used to reading.”

He looked at her and one corner of his mouth slid up into an easy smile. “I can’t believe little Clare Wingate grew up to write steamy romance novels.”

“And I can’t believe you grew up and ate a monkey. Worse, I can’t believe I let a guy who ate a monkey kiss my mouth.”

He reached across the table and placed his hand on her forearm. “Honey,” he said, and looked deep into her eyes, “I kissed more than your mouth.”