Page 65 of Ravishing Camille
Marianne paused, thought a moment and blinked. “Isn’t it?”
“His eternal teasing,” Camille put in, the glint in her eyes part challenge, part denial. “We’ll stop. Won’t we, Pierce?”
Indeed we will. This relationship is changing, by God. And soon.
* * *
That night after dinner, Camille excused herself. She hoisted her skirts and took the grand staircase at a run.
Soon, quite soon, she would scream if she didn’t get away from Pierce. He’d driven her to flights of fantasy all through the meal. Discussions of his clients, his new projects and his life in Shanghai fascinated Remy and Marianne. Meanwhile, Camille had amused herself with imaginary conversations with him about how she’d like to have him first. In a bed? On a chaise? In a garden, roses in her hair and thorns pricking her thighs!
She gulped back laughter. Fought back her visions of him naked, his arms around her, him inside her. Oh, hell. She ran more quickly.
“Stop!”
At the sound of his voice, she grabbed the rail and spun. He was running up the stairs two at a time.
“What are you doing?” she hissed. “You can’t leave right after me.”
He wrapped one arm around her waist and urged her up toward the landing. “I had to. I couldn’t watch you any longer and not touch you.”
He backed her up to the wall and one of the frames of a portrait of Remy’s ancestor nudged her scalp.
“Let me go, you idiot. This painting is coming down on my head and you can’t—”
But he did. He kissed her. Her arms went around his shoulders and her heart hammered. She hauled him closer. He spoke on her lips and whatever he said tasted of raw desire.
“We can’t do this.” Was she pleading or ordering him? No matter. She grabbed his hand. “Come upstairs.”
They both ran along the hall and she led him to her own rooms. But reason raced in her head. It won the night when she flattened herself to her outer door and spread her arms against it like an altar sacrifice. “You can’t come in.”
He nudged his knee between her legs and pressed his very aroused body to her compliant one. His lips were on the bare skin of her collarbone and his breath, hot and heavy, warmed her even as his hands, sure and seductive, slid along her ribs and cupped her derriere. He crushed her to him, his impressive erection calling forth her loud moan.
But with a ferocious curse, he was gone.
She opened her mouth wide to let out a silent scream.
Then beat the door with the back of her fists and went to bed!
* * *
He went down early to breakfast, Very early. Six-thirty. And he lingered. For more than two hours. The butler and footmen surely thought him daft or very ill-informed. He’d read every word of four morning newspapers.
She finally appeared. Nonchalant and breezy, she flounced into her chair with a little wiggle of her elegant brows.
He swallowed the urge to scoop her up and take her down to the table for morning kisses.
When the footman left to the kitchens to fetch her a fresh pot of tea, Pierce picked up his own much-used coffee cup and saucer, moved next to her at the intimate circular table and sat down.
“You are very late,” he accused.
“So are you.” She batted her long brown lashes at him like an artless child.
“I waited.”
She picked up her napkin, put it in her lap and asked, “Are you ready to go to see the giraffe?”
“Is that what we’re doing today?”
