Page 45 of The Chase
“I was going to bed.” I blinked at him. “Have to be up early.”
Oh dear God, I was wearing my skimpy nightdress and the hem was dangerously short. If I bent over he’d be treated to a peep show.
His gaze swept over me.
“Were you happy with everything?”
“Yes.” He stepped forward.
“You left suddenly.”
“Sorry I didn’t drive you home myself. Coops is very reliable, though.”
“Where did you go?”
“Prior engagement. A meeting I couldn’t cancel.” At my look of doubt, he added, “Canterbury.”
Whoever he’d visited sounded important to him.
Tobias seemed to sense what I was thinking. “Sarah’s in her seventies.” He looked like he wanted to tell me more but shrugged instead.
“You’re here for your jacket?”
“No, to see you.” His expression softened. “To thank you for lending your expertise.”
“Oh right. Of course, it was my pleasure. I was happy to help.” I drew in a deep breath and hugged his jacket. “So, your painting has a pure signature, which lends itself to the expected precise downward sweep.”
Tobias stepped forward and gave a nod of approval.
I continued confidently as though I wasn’t wearing merely a babydoll. “The layers of paint appear consistent. Perhaps we can x-ray at the Courtauld. I studied there.”
“I remember.”
“We can borrow their equipment.”
He leaned in and gently kissed my neck. “Good to know.”
Where his lips brushed my skin he ignited heat, my heart thundering, my body trembling, each and every cell sparking from the thrill of being this close to him.
His lips pressed against my naked shoulder. The strap slid down my arm, loosening the cup of my nightdress, revealing a hint of nipple.
“There were no stray paint hairs,” I added softly.
“Well, that’s good.” He nipped my earlobe.
My core flinched, my nipples perking with desire and giving away my secret crush. I stuttered through another breath. “The scent is pure antique. The painting, I mean.”
He chuckled and reached up to free my lip from where I’d nervously caught it between my teeth. His thumb caressed my lip to ease the sting.
I blinked up at him. “Perhaps you can request its provenance?”
“You can stop talking now, Zara.” He gave a heart-stopping smile as he took his jacket from me and threw it on the back of the chair.
He repeated the way he’d kissed me in that state room, cupping my face with his palms, his mouth forcing mine open, his tongue searching, evoking a soft moan of pleasure from me. His hold also mirrored the way he’d kissed me before, back when we were in the palace and faking our affection for those sinister onlookers.
His lips widening mine, drawing my breath out of me, a high voltage of passion as his firm chest pressed against me, shocking me into stillness as I gave myself over.
We weren’t faking it now. This was more real than I’d ever known, more passionate than I’d ever experienced, his tongue demanding control over mine, his mouth rough and urgent and needful, his blinding touch so emboldened as if we weren’t strangers but lovers who knew each other intimately.
