A Wicked Truth

Thursday

“Ummmm.” Eyes closed, Cady Delafield savored the velvety concoction on her tongue. A hint of orange added a sublime touch to the chocolate mousse.

“I take it you approve.” Doyle’s voice skated over her skin as smooth as the creamy dessert.

Smiling, she looked at him across the table, beyond a low centerpiece of white flowers embedded in forest greens. Dressed in evening wear as black as the lustrous hair on his head, he lounged against the padded brocade chair, the perfect image of strength and elegance. One arm draped casually over the linen tablecloth, while tapered fingers stroked the stem of a wine glass in a languid manner. The tempo reminded her of his caress to her neck when they’d ridden to the restaurant.

In the carriage, the light had been dimmed, seductive, and the subtle pressure of his thumb against her nerve points divine. She wanted to moan again from sheer delight.

At other times, she wanted to pinch herself awake from this incredible dream and face reality. It seemed unbelievable a man such as Doyle, robust and attractive, a self-made millionaire and just dangerous enough to keep her on the edge of her seat, chose her to love. Yet time and again, he’d told her so. If she’d learned anything from their brief time together, it was to trust his word.

Her smile widened.

“Mousse? I adore it.” Her breathy tone had an immediate effect upon him. His blue eyes darkened with lust, stirring a delectable, heated reaction. “I’ll have to get the recipe and make it every day.” She laughed lightly. “But then I’d get dreadfully plump.”

“You?” He canted his head. In the mellow glow of the table lamp, he gleamed, igniting an urge to stroke his tawny skin. “No need to worry. Should you ever get fat, there’ll be more of you to love.”

“Ha!” Their laughter peeled against the drone of other diners and the sweet music of a string quartet lodged in a far corner. How wonderful to laugh, she realized, pleased her malaise of the past few months had lifted.

Beneath his watchful gaze, her blood flamed. How could one man hold such power over her? Quivery fingers itched to stroke every inch of his magnificent body. Alone in her bed at night, she could scarcely sleep for the sheer want of his touch. Yet between them, he was the one who had shown restraint, who had kept her from indulging her deepest passions.

As wonderful as the dessert tasted, he represented a much greater temptation. It would require a great deal of discipline, perhaps more than she possessed, to keep her hands to herself. Yet Doyle, traditional, respectful and stubborn, intended to delay their sexual completion until their wedding night. Could she do it? She had her doubts.

She took one more bite then settled the spoon on the gold-trimmed dish, thinking she was the most fortunate of women. “To love and be loved is such a heady experience, don’t you agree?”

He answered with a smile that wrapped about her shoulders like a warm blanket on a wintry eve.

“Doesn’t it strike you as amazing such an outspoken administrator for a women’s vocational school, a progressive thinker and non-conformist, and a woman inclined to impulsive actions, should have attracted a man like you?”

At twenty-four years old, an age many considered the portal to spinsterhood, she’d given up dreams of love and marriage. Important needs, such as earning an income, had consumed her time. Then along came Doyle and everything changed.

His strong brow pulled in question.

“It’s not as if I’m unfit to love,” she rushed to add. “Although there is my horrid temper.” A temper that often got the best of her.

He studied her carefully. “I like a woman who doesn’t hold anything back.”

At the seductive implication, her breath stalled. “Then it’s fortunate for you I’m so outspoken.”