Page 53 of The Lyon Returns
She fisted her hands in her lap ’til her nails bit into her palms. “I moved into your town house under the misapprehension you had died, sir, not to mention under the guise of having married you. It’s only natural I would wish to know details of your life.”
He still looked cross, but, to his credit, did not deny she spoke sense.
“I did glean quite a bit from simply observing your living space,” she offered, hoping to distract him by invoking his innate curiosity. She bit back a grin of triumph when her ploy worked.
“What could you possibly discover about me from my home?”
“May I have another glass of wine?” she asked, buying time to allow his temper to cool.
Frowning, he nevertheless fetched the decanter. Grace and stealth etched his movements, bringing to mind the majesty of a lion. The undisputed king of his domain.
Watching him return, his unblinking gaze locking on her, her breath went choppy again. Her pulse raced. Her fever spiked.
She was no fool. She knew what this was, even if the sensations running roughshod through her were alien to her. Sheknew. She knew she liked looking at him and the sound of her name on his lips. She liked imagining him when he was not in her vicinity and, now that he had kissed her, liked reliving the moment, again and again.
He picked up her glass, refilled it, then handed it to her. Their fingers brushed and it seemed to Gwen as if he lingered over the contact, as if he felt a little something of what she did.
Steven Landry, the poet who had stayed with Reggie and her, had done that, several times—brushed his hand over hers. His touch had never sent a thrill of awareness through her the way Gideon’s did.
He dropped into his chair. Or rather, sprawled in it, long legs parted and extended, chest open, one arm looped over the back of the headrest. He gazed at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Well, then, Gwen. Tell me what you discovered about me.”
She forged ahead. “You like your furniture large and well made, but not flashy. Everything about your decor is lush and of superior quality, but nothing is meant for show. You’re a man who likes quality over quantity and you don’t skimp on your little luxuries.”
He sipped, eyeing her over the rim of his glass. “Luxuries?”
“Your cognac, your wine, the ingredients Cook acquires for your meals.”
“That’s hardly unusual. Who doesn’t prefer excellent wine to swill? I can afford it.”
“My mother-in-law had buckets of money from birth. That did not translate into her spending it on what she termednonessentials.”
“Your mother-in-law?”
Why had she broached anything of her past? The wine must have loosened her tongue. She set the refilled glass aside and ignored his question in favor of continuing her list.
“Sliding between your sheets is like experiencing a slice of heaven, so cool and silky smooth are they.” Dear God, why had she broached the subject of his bedsheets?
An odd, crunching sound momentarily distracted her. She angled her head, listening intently. “Did you hear that?”
“I have no idea what you mean. What of myheavenlysheets?”
Heat pulsed through her, settling low in her belly. “They are another mark of your high standards.” She resisted the urge to fan herself. “Then there are your servants,” she added, grateful for something to focus on that did not involve his bed.
“What of them?”
“They bend over backward for you.”
His long fingers traced the stem of the goblet he’d propped on his knee. “What conclusion could you possibly draw from that?”
She stared at his fingers, tracing, up and down, up and down.
“Gwen, I asked what possible conclusion you could draw. Regarding my servants,” he added when she showed no sign of responding.
She gave herself a mental shake and refocused her thoughts. “Your treatment of them speaks to your character. You are generous and fair.”
He snorted and sipped his wine. A tell-tale ruddy stain crawled up his cheeks.
The evidence of his humility charmed her beyond measure. She really did like the man. “What’s more, the fact you treat those who serve you with respect says you do not suffer an inflated ego.”
