Secrets of a Soprano (26 page)

“It was my very great pleasure.”

“Mine too.” They both laughed softly.

“You’d probably like to bathe,” he said. “Will the hotel provide water at this hour?”

She rose to her knees and took his hand. “Come with me. The best thing about the Pulteney is that it has the best baths in London.”

Tessa loved the bathroom adjacent to her bedchamber. In all her travels on the continent she’d never come across a facility with a constant and immediate supply of hot water. Perhaps it was why she’d stayed on at the Pulteney long after the state of her purse dictated a removal to cheaper quarters.

“I’ve heard of these but I’ve never used one,” Max said when she showed him the big marble tub, partly sunken into the floor. “How does it work?”

“I have no idea. You turn it on, so, and water comes out.”

But he seemed to have lost interest in the wonders of modern plumbing. Once more he went to work on the back of her gown. In no time the mangled velvet had fallen to the ground, and his fingers attended to her stays with equal expertise. The unusual design, which raised her breasts while leaving her midriff free to breathe, gave him no pause. Of course, he’d had plenty of experience undressing opera singers.

She cast aside the thought. She was the only opera singer present and she was going to enjoy the moment. Kicking off her stockings, she began to climb into the bath.

“Wait.” He turned her around to face him. “This needs to come off too.”

Her shift hit the ground and she stood naked before him.
Oh God
! She knew men found her body alluring, but that was clothed in garments designed to entice. Would he find her breasts too large, her hips too broad? Her curves were nothing like the sylphlike slenderness Parisian fashions demanded. Domenico had constantly complained about it.

A hitch of breath encouraged her to look up. From the hot glint in Max’s eyes he wasn’t disappointed. He smiled slowly and picked her up.

With hardly a splash she found herself immersed to the chest in warm water while he stared down at her with an appreciation that took her breath away.

“Join me,” she said, holding out her hand but looking away lest shyness overcome her bold impulse.

One invitation was enough. Within minutes he was as naked as she and climbed into the tub behind her, his chest hard against her back, thighs cradling her own, legs entwined, all muscle and heat with the faint tickle of rough hair. The addition of his bulk sent the water up to her neck. Cocooned by warmth and strength, she sighed blissfully. Had she ever felt better than at this moment?

He plucked the few remaining pins from her hair and smoothed the long waves over her shoulders, disentangling Angela’s skillful braids with his fingers. With a movement that send a cascade of water over the edge of the brimming tub, he reached for a cake of pink soap, splashed water over her head, and began to wash her hair.

“Hold this,” he whispered, handing her the bar.

She inhaled deeply, the scent of roses mingling with steam. Drawing the humid air into her lungs soothed her smoke-scarred throat and assuaged the concern for her voice that always floated at the back of her mind. Sinking further into Max’s comforting embrace, she lost herself in the relaxing massage of her scalp.

One male kneecap peeked through the water. Taking the soap she washed the little island of bone and skin with infinite care, then continued down his leg, as far as her arm extended, and back again, kneading his skin and feeling his muscles ripple beneath her hand. Then the other leg, his hips, as much of his torso as she could reach. A small smile curved her lips as she felt his erection grow and press against the small of her back. Her
fica
, just inches away, began to throb in response.

She felt like purring—perhaps she did—as slow torrents of water, poured from a small jug kept beside the bath, rained over her head, washing away the soap. It never felt this good when Angela did it.

His hand found hers in the now foamy depths and removed the soap. “Just relax.”

His touch rendered her boneless. Unhurried fingers worked her neck and collarbone, the warm lather silk against her skin. Every nerve quivered as he attended to her arms, her shoulders and her midsection, laving every inch with engrossed care. When he cupped her breasts she quivered with pleasure. For a moment he held them up so the tops appeared like hillocks above the water. With an approving murmur he closed those large, capable hands around them, squeezing her already stiffened nipples between his fingers.

A bolt of lightning flashed through her stomach and intensified the ache between her legs. She seized his hand and placed it over the entrance to her core. His fingers needed no further prompting to penetrate through the curls and her nether lips and give a jolt of pleasure. Oh, yes! She felt a surge of power in the certainty that the ecstasy of release could be hers once more.

*

He was damn
well going to take his time. Their frenzied coupling on the floor of the sitting room had been as exhilarating a sexual encounter as Max had ever experienced, but he wanted to savor every moment of this second chance, to enjoy Tessa at his leisure, to imprint the knowledge of her body on his soul and to ensure he did the same to her. He almost burst with joy at holding her, soft, wet and fragrant, in his arms.

His lips found the nape of her neck, tasting the clean, sweet skin. With a careful flick of his forefinger he brushed the nub of her desire, but only once. He plotted a long siege, to arouse her to the highest pitch before he lifted her from the floor of the tub and brought her down on him. His cock strained eagerly at the very thought, but it—he—could wait.

A knock at the door interrupted his plans.

“Signora!”

“Angela,” Tessa whispered and lurched to her feet and out of the bath.

“
Aspette
, Angela,” she said. She donned a silk robe that had been hanging on a hook and slid out the door, closing it behind her.

Double damn. As he left the bath, Max looked around the room and found neither a hiding place nor another dressing gown. He stared with disfavor at his filthy, rumpled clothing scattered on the floor and compromised by wrapping a towel about his middle. At least it concealed the throbbing evidence of their recent occupation.

Would Tessa even care if her maid knew of his presence? He had no idea if she was in the habit of entertaining lovers in her residence. He felt remarkably foolish as he listened, without comprehension, to a soft-spoken, lengthy exchange in Italian.

“I sent her to bed,” Tessa said when she returned to the room. “They are all safe and well but they couldn’t find a hackney and had to walk.”

Though the edge of his hunger had subsided, Max was not unwilling to carry on where they’d left off. He glanced at the bathtub. It was a most unappealing sight, the water a dark gray with morsels of ash and soap scum floating on the surface.

He looked back at Tessa and noticed strain and fatigue in her face. Somehow their moment had passed, shattered by the restoration of reality in the form of the maid.

“You should go to bed too,” he said gruffly. “You must be exhausted. I’ll dress and leave.”

She approached and took his hand. “Please don’t go, Max. You are right, I am tired but I don’t want to be alone. Stay with me. Sleep with me.”

Devoid of cosmetics and framed by straggling wet locks, her face showed an innocence and vulnerability he hadn’t seen in Teresa Foscari. She was suddenly the old Tessa, the girl of their youth. Of course it was an illusion. The fact that she had no qualms about sharing a bed with him while her staff occupied the other rooms in the suite had answered his previous question. Tessa wouldn’t be embarrassed by his presence in the morning and it certainly suited his inclination to remain.

He raised her hands to his lips. “It would be my very great pleasure.”

He followed her to the commodious bed and sat on the edge while she got under the covers. Without much talking, he used a towel to rub her hair. “I’m getting good at this,” he said at one point. She chuckled, caressed his cheek tenderly, and yawned.

Once her head was dry enough to prevent a chill, he helped her remove her robe, tucked the covers up to her chin and joined her between crisp linen sheets. Gathered in his arms, she quickly fell asleep. For a minute or two he relished the rose-scented curls in his nose, her warm skin pressed along the length of his body.
My Tessa, mine at last
were his last thoughts before he joined her in slumber.

*

Max awoke confused.
He was not in his own bed. From the faint outline of a heavily curtained window and the distant sound of birdsong he guessed it was after dawn. A dry throat brought it back to him: the horror of the burning Tavistock and Tessa on the stage with the fire coming ever closer. He closed his eyes to squeeze out the memory of that falling beam but it seemed to burn his eyelids. Thank God he’d reached her in time.

And afterward…

A sense of wellbeing flooded through him when a sweet-smelling bundle stirred beside him in the bed. In the dim light he saw the outline of Tessa’s head on the pillow beside him and heard her rhythmic breathing. He couldn’t contain a grin, for his life had taken a most unexpected turn.

For a start he was now the principal owner of the only opera house in London. He and Simon would make a fortune and his mother could go choke on her eligible young ladies. And La Divina, Europe’s greatest soprano, was in London without a stage. She had nowhere to go but the Regent and her genius would help fill its coffers.

And best of all and most importantly, La Divina, Teresa Foscari,
Tessa Birkett
, was his at last. And this time he would never let her go. To hell with her past and her countless lovers. Her future would contain only one lover. Him. And he’d make damn sure she’d never want another.

He couldn’t wait for her to wake up so he could tell her. And show her too. But he wanted to tell her how he felt and hear from her that she felt the same way about him. Surely she did. They hadn’t exchanged many words but he couldn’t have imagined her response to him, a tenderness that went beyond simple passion. He tried to recall whether she’d said anything last night, any words to give assurance to his assumption. But she’d spoken little, a few inviting words in a husky whisper.

He froze. Her voice!

Smoke couldn’t be good for a singer’s vocal cords. Supposing the fire had damaged her voice beyond repair and ended her career? It would be a tragedy. But it made no difference to his own feelings and desires. He’d take care of her for the rest of her life.

Though he could hardly wish for the destruction of her talent, neither would he unduly mourn it. At least he wouldn’t have to put up with other men ogling her on the stage and snakes like Edouard Delorme kissing her.

Listening to her light breathing in the dark room, he wished she’d wake up. He was anxious to start the rest of his life. Turning on to his side he reached for her lush breast, firm yet soft. Perfection. The scent of her in the dark warmth stirred his senses. He was ready for a little morning exercise, to complete the seduction he’d been forced to discontinue in the bathtub.

“Tessa,” he murmured, kissing her temple and earlobe, searching for the pulse at the angle of her jaw. “Tessa, my love. Wouldn’t you like to wake up?”

He played with her breast and felt a hardening nipple. She arched into him. “Does that feel good? I can make it even better.”

He sensed her ascent into consciousness and leaned over to find her lips with his, showering her with shallow kisses, caressing her warm skin from neck to shoulder and downwards until he held the curve of her hips and pressed the weight of his chest over her upper body.

She felt like heaven. But in the next moment he discovered hell.

Fists pummeled his back, hands shoved hard against his shoulders. And he learned that Tessa’s voice was intact. A trained soprano screaming at full force and close quarters was an agonizing experience for the eardrums.

“Angela, Angela.
Aiutto
!” The sleeping woman had turned into a dangerous weapon, writhing from side to side on her back, limbs flailing in every direction. Max disentangled himself with haste and scrambled off the bed where he landed on all fours, not before sustaining a few painful jabs in various sensitive areas.