Page 48 of Ardently Yours

“Oops,” I say.

Arden lifts his chin toward the guard with a grin. “Clay has no room to complain. His kid tells him to ‘get a room’ at least once a day.”

“Because Dante thinks he’s a comedian,” Clay says. “Not because I’m ravishing the missus in front of him.”

“Ravishing” is a little extreme to describe a four-second kiss. Still, we are outside.

Some secret communication seems to pass between the two men. Arden nods at Clay briefly, then turns abruptly, taking my hand to lead me into the house.

“Are the boys okay?”

He nods. “Yes. I spent the afternoon with both of them before I got the call to deal with some things here. Henry doesn’t know about his diagnosis, yet. We have a therapy appointment together tomorrow. The psychologist will explain things, then be there to answer questions.”

When we get inside, Arden wraps an arm around my waist and leads me through a large mudroom. “You’re probably tired after your trip. What can I get you to drink? Are you hungry?” He shakes his head. “Of course you are. You’d have been on the road during dinner. Unless you stopped on the drive.”

I’ve never heard him talk so fast.

“I’m not hungry or thirsty. I just want you.” I meant I wanted to talk with him. Or I mostly meant that, but the simmering look he sends me has nothing to do with conversation.

Hurriedly, he guides me through a maze of hallways. The rooms pass in a blur of soaring ceilings, paneled wainscoting and hand-painted silk wallpaper, gleaming hardwood floors, chandeliers and wall sconces.

Arden indicates a door. “Powder room?”

I press my lips together to keep from snickering and outing myself as uncultured swine. It’s not as though I don’t know apowder room is a half-bath, but I’m not used to hearing anyone who isn’t a woman over the age of seventy call it that.

He lifts an eyebrow and looks as though he thinks I’ve misplaced my marbles.

“Nope. I’m good. I . . . uh . . . powdered my nose at a highway rest stop.”Oh my God, shut up, Charlotte.

I sneak a sidelong glance at Arden as he opens another door, then I follow him into the dim space. Arden closes it behind us with a firm click.

The room is only lit by a couple of lamps positioned at the ends of a brown leather sofa and one that pools a warm glow onto a massive desk. I get nothing more than a sense of bookshelves, elegant mahogany walls, and the scent of beeswax and paper before his mouth is on mine. One of Arden’s hands delves into my hair to cradle my skull. The other slides down my back to squeeze my butt.

This isn’t why I came here.But the thought is fleeting because it was part of the reason, and lying to myself is stupid. Burying my fingers in the warm silk of his hair, I kiss Arden back with everything in me.

Wicked Game

Arden

One minute, I’m tryingto convince myself we should keep going as we have been. The next moment, she’s smiling at me from the service drive, and I’m lost.

I trail my lips down to her neck, breathing in her sweet scent, my cock growing thick against my thigh. I’ve fantasized about having her here so many times. Now that she’s in my arms, I don’t know where to start.

I want to smother myself in those tits and drown in her pussy. Not poetic. Not well-spoken or polite. But true. Craving her for so long has turned me into an animal.

Slow down. Have a conversation.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, we talked about the things we’d do to each other if we were together. Applying the brakes would feel criminal.

I groan and squeeze her hip. “You wore a pencil skirt. You know what I do when I imagine you in one of these?”

Crimson paints her cheeks, but she meets my eyes. “Yes.”

“And what should I do with you now that I have you here?”

“Anything you want,” she whispers.

She’s too innocent to understand how far the wrong man could take things when he hears that word. Or maybe she isn’t and simply knows that, for her, I will always bethe right man.

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