Authors: Heather Long
The hair on the back of her neck stood at his impassioned speech—eloquent, urbane, and utterly convincing. “Wow. I never thought of it that way.”
“Of course not; you live in the moment. You respond to the world around you as it is, both good and the ugly. You don’t see the big moments until they’ve passed. Yes, disasters, sudden shocks, those are noticeable. But the quiet, unending march toward change happening all around us? It becomes so much background noise…in the present.”
“All right, I find you more than a little hot right now.” Penny laughed and forced her attention to his assignment. She was supposed to be reading. He said nothing in response, but he didn’t have to. His words haunted her as she dove into his paper. The investment in rebuilding post-war Europe saved it from utter collapse and fostered relationships that continued into the present. The same could not be said for the collapse of the Eastern Bloc following the end of the Cold War.
How can one make reparations for a war not fought with bombs or bullets, but ideals and dreams? The failure of western economics is to identify and quantify the value of a people so used to living with a foot at their throat. The response to such freedoms, or the lack thereof, will manifest in one of two ways—insane growth or the need to find a new oppressor to fill the void of absolute power.
Freedom is more than an investment. Freedom remains a field needing plowed, tended, harvested and, yes, sometimes left fallow so the soil can rest before it becomes rich and fertile once more.
Okay, the man was downright swoonworthy. Or at least his words were. “I take it back,” she said, still reading.
“Take what back?”
“The part about finding you a little hot.”
“Oh?”
Glancing at him, she nodded. “You’re insanely hot to me right now. You can really write.” Not only that—amidst the poetry of his argument, he included facts and figures to support his contention. And it made sense.
Awareness slid over her and she stole another peek to find him staring at her. Her lips tingled, remembering his earlier kiss. Nothing prepared her for the contact or her swift response. He’d barely given her any time to appreciate him before ending it.
So many reasons why this is a bad idea…
“Thank you.” He sounded so polite and formal. She curled her toes into the carpet. The last thing they needed was an affair.
His brother. Her sister.
They were totally different. They wanted different things.
But he was pretty. He had the dark-eyes-smoldering look down. From what she’d seen scattered through the news, he was fit and trim beneath his clothes. Handsome, intelligent—remembering Mallory, she added sweet and thoughtful to the list. Big signs reading
Warning!
and
Danger!
should be flashing through her mind.
“You’re welcome.” Forcing her attention back to the computer screen, she finished reading his paper. She added a couple of notations, but they had to do with formulas he’d cited—formulas she didn’t understand until she read his explanations, so maybe her notes wouldn’t be useful. When she finished, she traded his laptop for hers. “It’s good…and it made sense, which I think should count for something.”
Homework. Not hot guy.
“Indeed, I am grateful to hear it. While I disagreed with your premise, I must admit you made a compelling argument for the benefits of despotism in the development of the arts.”
Talk about a cold bucket of water on her interest. “Despotism? I’m not endorsing despotism.”
“Of course you are, and you are entitled to your opinion. You’re an artist. A patron would provide you with the ability and platform to pursue your heart’s desire without worries about finances. However, a patron could also be considered a master. You’d have to surrender some of your rights to achieve your dreams, creating per their preferences rather than to the tune of your art. A trade-off, to be certain.”
Penny wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want a master.”
“No?” But something about the way he pronounced the word left her tummy tightening.
“No,” she said firmly and flipped open her laptop. He’d left copious notes on her paper—well-thought-out, interesting notes. In some, he’d even offered a counterargument on the case of Michaelangelo’s victimization by the Medicis. Somehow, his notes detracted from the romance of era, but what was art if it didn’t challenge preconceived notions and ideas?
Incorporating his suggestions and her responses to them strengthened the paper. When she finished, she stole another glance toward George and found him reviewing a textbook, while taking notes on a legal pad. His writing was crisp, clear and easily legible.
“Did they make you learn penmanship?” The art of handwriting wasn’t one heavily endorsed in schools anymore, though it might be different in Europe.
“Yes,” George said without looking up. “I had a tutor when I was younger who made me spend hours perfecting my letters. He believed education should show in every aspect of presentation.”
“Hours?”
As a child? Ugh.
“The only time I spent hours writing anything repetitively was usually ‘I will not talk out of turn’ or ‘I will not booby trap student lockers.’”
“Did you booby trap lockers often?” He continued his note taking, though his pen moved slower.
“Only once, but Bobby Drake deserved it. He put a frog in my art supplies and forgot about it. School was closed for a week. When I opened them up—well, it had died.” She wrinkled her nose. The smell had been awful and, worse, the poor creature likely suffered. “He thought my scream was pretty funny. Course he wasn’t laughing when he opened his locker and got hit in the balls.” The construction of the trap had taken some of Hank and G.W.’s suggestions. Fortunately, both of her older brothers had a sense of justice. They’d happily helped her work out the slingshot loading mechanism.
“Duly noted. You fight dirty.” With a half-laugh, he shut the book and stacked it with the legal pad. “That completes the assignments I can recall writing down.”
“Which means you’ve done all the homework you had,” she said, beginning to understand him. He played the dilettante, the disinterested and disaffected nobility, but that wasn’t George.
“Perhaps. And you? Your paper is complete?”
“Yeah, I already emailed it to the instructor.” If she overslept or something happened to prevent her making it to class—well, she’d rather have the bases covered. Setting the laptop on the coffee table, she turned her phone over and checked it.
“No messages from Mallory?”
“No.”
Dammit
. Sleep wouldn’t be easy, not until she heard from her, but she didn’t know whether to call or not.
“I can check with the driver who took her to the hospital. We instructed him to remain available in case she required further transportation.” George cleared away his things, adding them back to his bag. He always stacked things with precision, stored them neatly. A definite contrast to the haphazard state of her apartment.
“Oh, I hate the feeling of spying on her.”
“You only wish to know she is all right. This is concern and affection, not invasion of privacy.” The butterflies in her stomach all took flight at once. He really was gifted with words.
“Would you mind checking with him?” She’d call her parents, but she didn’t want to distract them if they were with Mallory.
“Not at all.” He pulled out his phone, dialed a number and waited. “Good evening, this is Grand Duke Andraste. I wanted to check on our guest, Miss Ward.” A pause, then, “Is she planning on staying the night?” He waited another beat. “See if you can bring them food, and, yes, please stay with them until she either decides to go to a hotel or home with the Novaks.” Concern seemed to tighten the lines around his eyes and Penny touched his arm. She couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation. He covered her hand with his. “Excellent. Yes, if you could make yourself available for as long as Miss Ward is there…? Yes, thank you.”
“Well?” A fist squeezed her heart. They’d focused on homework—or at least she’d focused them on it—for the last several hours and the mild buzz of their earlier wine had worn off.
“She’s at the hospital. Mrs. Ward appears to be in stable condition. Your parents are there, but her father had to leave, so Mallory is refusing to go. The driver is going to get them all dinner. He’ll keep an eye on things.”
Her father had to leave? Penny wanted to punch him. “What an asshat.”
“Family is not always who we want them to be.” Was he seriously trying to comfort her?
“Yeah, her dad has never been who she wanted him to be. His career is and always has been his focus. Dammit, I should have gone with Mal.” At least then she could have yelled at Congressman Jackass in person.
“Do you think fighting with her father would have made her feel better?” He lifted her hand into his and then tugged her lightly. She went, fitting into his lap easier than she should.
“Yes,” she stated then sighed. “And no. It would have upset Mallory.” Laying her head on his shoulder, Penny closed her eyes. “I hate feeling helpless.” They’d come almost full circle.
Saying nothing, he stroked her back, his caress easy and soothing. She had no idea how long they sat like that, but she didn’t want it to end. After a quiet eternity, he said, “Penny?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s late. You’re exhausted.”
She was, but she didn’t want to go to bed. Who was she kidding? She didn’t want to be alone. George’s arms tightened around her then he stood and she found herself cradled. “What are you doing?”
“Putting the lady to bed.”
He nudged open the door to her bedroom and settled her on the bed. When he dragged her comforter over her and straightened, she sighed. “You can stay, you know.”
“I’ll be on the sofa.” He told her and she blinked in surprise.
“You will be so uncomfortable there.”
“But I’ll be here if you need me.” He sounded adamant before he brushed his lips against hers and smiled. “Go to sleep, Penny.”
Without another word, he left and she flopped onto her back. He really planned to sleep on her sofa and leave her alone in the bed.
Really, it’s the right thing. He’s Armand’s brother. Not affair material.
Kicking the blanket off, she climbed out of bed and shed her clothes despite the chill. The last thing she wanted was her pajamas, footie or otherwise.
Get back in bed, Penny. Go to sleep.
But George was out there and she was in here and she did
not
want to sleep alone.
The hell with it…
She was three steps from the door when he knocked and it swung inward.
“If you want, I could…” After one look at her, he froze. All of her indecision fled at the heat flaring in his eyes.
Yes. This.
She wanted this. “If I want, what?” She asked, one hand on her hip, well aware of her nudity. She knew exactly what she desired. The question was, did he?
G
eorge halted
. The last thing he’d expected upon re-entering her bedroom was a boldly nude Penny on her way toward the door. Presumably, toward him? All the moisture fled his mouth. She was even lovelier than he’d imagined and he’d imagined plenty. Her blouses, skirts, jeans, sweaters, and footie pajamas had hidden a taut, lithe body. Exquisite musculature overlaid a slender frame and, though she was petite, he didn’t mistake her size for helplessness.
When his gaze collided with hers, he wanted to sink into the heat shimmering in her eyes. Need ignited in his blood like a match dropped into kerosene. Snatching up a robe from a stack of clothes next to her door, he covered the short distance between them and wrapped her in terrycloth.
It should be silk.
Surprise interrupted the desire in her expression. “What are you doing?”
“Saving your modesty,” he explained.
And my sanity
. He kept the last part to himself. In a few short weeks, Penny had been elevated from the sister of his brother’s wife to something far more precious.
“From what?” She narrowed the gap between them and he couldn’t pretend not to feel her pressed against him. His body’s reaction was instantaneous and predictable. Yes, he wanted to peel back the terrycloth and explore the bounty she offered, but she deserved more than an exhausted, worry-inspired roll between the sheets.
“Penelope…”
“Do not
ever
call me that again.” She emphasized each word with a jab of her finger to his chest. “Penny? Sweetheart? Hot stuff? I’m good with those. Penelope? Oh, hell no.”
Amused despite the ferocity of her tone, he canted his head. “Why don’t you like your name? It’s beautiful.” An older, more classical name, to be certain, but beautiful nonetheless.
Her mouth opened then closed. Confusion clouded her eyes, and she frowned. “Are we really talking about my name?”
Since it distracted her from tempting him—yes, yes they were. Keeping her robe firmly shut, he focused on her gorgeous face, the Cupid ’s bow shape of her upper lip, and the color warming her cheeks. The only reason he’d come back into her room after tucking her in had been to see if she wanted him to turn the heat higher.
Without Penny in the living room, he’d realized how chilly the apartment had grown and, combined with the sound of the wind howling outside, he didn’t want her to become cold.
“Like I said, I like your name.” Concentrating on keeping her off-kilter helped him ignore the thump of demand in his blood. His pulse throbbed in every extremity. The tilt of her chin revealed the slender column of her throat and her satiny skin seemed designed to torture a man. Everything about Penny—her animated smiles, big heart, brilliant personality, and her innate sensuality—tormented him. Becoming her lover would be a privilege. Her very nearness seduced his senses.
“Okay, you like my name. Points to you.” Pressing to his front, she rose up on her tiptoes and brushed her petal soft lips against his jaw. Her mouth opened beneath his and he swooped in to take the kiss she offered so prettily.
He couldn’t help himself. He’d been trying to avoid taking advantage of the situation, wanted to comfort and take care of her, but the moment their lips touched, reason and good intentions fled. The urge to sate his curiosity and taste her became imperative.
“We shouldn’t,” he said against her mouth between duels with her tongue. The words were his last ditch effort at manners and propriety drilled into him since birth.
She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she slid her fingers into his hair. The light scrape of her nails against his scalp combined with fiery, open-mouthed kiss and he forgot his objections. Devouring and being devoured in turns, his blood went south. His grip on her robe eased and he indulged the urge to slide his palm over her skin, cupping her nape beneath the tumble of her hair. Every touch simply electrified him further, shorting out his synapses and shredding his control.
If he parted the robe, he could investigate the taut lines of her muscles, cup the swell of her breasts, feast on the tight nipples he’d only gotten a brief glimpse of earlier.
“Be impulsive with me, George.” Her silky whisper managed to be even more seductive than her kiss. She cupped his face and nibbled along his lower lip. “Forget everything else for a few hours.” She licked, sucked, and then swiped her tongue over the seam of his lips and he opened to her. He didn’t want to tell her no, even if reason and propriety stressed that he should. Shutting up the nasal voice of his conscience, he released her robe and shoved it back.
Laughter bubbled out of Penny, and he wanted to drown in the sound of it. She snaked her arms around his neck. When he cupped her breast, she moaned. Losing himself in the taste of her—sweeter than the finest wine—he sank into the kiss. Every time she tried to take control of the kiss, he captured her mouth, delving deeper.
She clutched his shoulders then went to work on his shirt. At her impatient tug, he allowed her a moment of air to strip off the offending item and dropped it so he could return to caressing her smooth skin. He stroked her belly and, step-by-step, urged her toward the bed. The cooler air raced over his skin and he didn’t want her to feel the cold.
At all.
Teasing her breasts, cupping and molding them, he broke the kiss to stare at the pearled tips of her nipples. They tightened under his thumbs and he dropped to his knees to nuzzle one nipple lightly, then latched onto it and sucked. Her breath came in hard, short gasps and her nails bit into his shoulders. Sliding one hand under her ass, he lifted her and set her on the bed, never once losing contact.
Every touch ratcheted his hunger for her higher. Kneeling on the bed, he urged her back against the sheets. He wanted room and freedom to savor her. When he slid his hand over her belly to ease apart the curls between her legs, she ground against his hand.
“Yes.” Artless, carefree abandon. She roamed her touch over him, holding him to her, then releasing him to trail her fingers over his chest, abdomen and back. Every brush of her skin on his left fire in its wake and his desire was almost painful. Inserting one finger into her slick heat, he groaned at how tightly she gripped him. Slender, strong, and perfect—she’d fit him so snug. Adding a second finger, he pressed the heel of his hand to her clit and switched his attention to her neglected breast.
Her cries spurred him on and he increased the pressure, thrusting firmly and adding a curl of his fingers deep inside her. She came in a rush. Reveling in her pleasure, he raised his head to plunder her mouth once more. Shaking, he didn’t fight her when she reached for his jeans. Breaking from her long enough to shed his shoes and the rest of his clothes, he paused at the bedside and gazed down at her.
Spread on her sheets like glorious Aphrodite come to life from the Renaissance art they’d discussed earlier, Penny met his gaze with a languid smile and curved her fingers beckoningly. “I don’t have a condom,” he said, determined to make do. He could still pleasure her and he knelt between her legs, intent on doing so.
Certain she would taste sweeter than he could imagine, he startled when she closed her hand around his cock. “I have a condom.” Stilling under the softness of her touch, he fought the violent urge to thrust against her hand. She caressed him, squeezing lightly. When she stroked her thumb over the hooded ridge of his penis, liquid heat slid along his spine and he clenched his hands into the sheets.
Her soft laughter wrapped him in invitation. Still gripping him, she twisted slightly and stretched her free hand to the nightstand. The drawer opened with one tug and she offered him a foil wrapped package.
“You are a goddess,” he said, meaning every word of it.
Smile growing, she met his kiss with a gentle nip to his lower lip. “Says the man who just gave me a fantastic orgasm.”
“The first of many,” he promised then hissed out a breath as she tightened her grip on him. One pump and another. He fought the urge to come right then, but Penny’s skilled hands served only to thread even more tension through him. His balls tightened and pushed against her closed hand, nerves screaming with the longing to thrust deeper.
“Easy,” she whispered and he fought to listen to her. Sweat slicked his skin and the heady ambrosia of her sex—vanilla, cinnamon and lavender, all scents he associated with Penny—filled his lungs. The tear of foil was a gift, then she rolled the condom onto him and he shuddered.
Barely capable of thought, he closed his mouth on hers, thrusting his tongue inside even as she guided his cock to her entrance. Easing into her, he discovered a tight fit made even more wonderful by her gentle cries and harsh breathing. When she said, “More,” in breathy demand, it shredded what remained of his control.
Forgetting how to think, he found his rhythm and thrust with abandon. She wrapped her legs around his hips, increasing his access. Hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses lacked any finesse beyond feeding their hunger. The tight glove of her fought to keep him inside and, when his orgasm ripped through him, he came in a glorious rush, shouting and hearing her cry out in return.
Collapsing against her, he could barely make sense of his thoughts past the wild pound of his heart, or maybe it was hers. He had no idea how much time passed before worry of crushing her invaded him. Lifting away slowly, he glanced down at her blissful expression and smiled.
One nuzzling kiss and then he rose for a quick trip to the bathroom to deal with the condom. He returned with water and a warm washcloth. She hadn’t moved a muscle since he’d left. Smoothing the washcloth up her legs, he smiled at her groan.
“I hurt so good,” she said and he delighted at the satisfaction in her voice.
“Sorry to have hurt you at all.” But he enjoyed the way she stretched and he took his time cleaning her up. Switching the washcloth around, he wiped away the sweat from her brow and then stroked over her breasts. Her nipples pebbled as the chill air rushed over her damp skin. Setting the cloth aside, he nudged her over and took her spot before dragging up the sheets and her pile of blankets. She nested, surrounded by jersey cotton and thick, soft colorful blankets.
Opening the water bottle, he offered it to her first and she took a long drink before snuggling against his chest. Wrapping an arm around her, he delighted in the feel of her. “Thank you,” he said, brushing a kiss to her forehead. The soft sound of her breathing evening out told him she’d already gone to sleep.
Setting the bottle aside and shutting off the light, he cradled her to him and closed his eyes. Holding Penny was better than anything else he’d ever experienced. For the first time since he’d been exiled to his so-called education, George couldn’t wait for the next day.
T
he alarm splintered
her cocoon of warmth and Penny growled as she stretched over the gorgeous male cushion she’d been cuddled against. Slapping her hand down on the clock, she peeled her eyes open. Another day, another dollar, and she needed a shower if she planned to be even remotely functional. George clasped her hip and pulled her back, but she swatted him lightly.
“I have to move. I have class in less than an hour.”
Crappy early morning classes. Really, really have to not schedule early times next term.
“It’s cold,” he complained, but she’d already pushed the blankets back and stumbled out. Hell yes, it was cold. The icy air slapped the sleep right out of her.
“Go back to sleep.” She dragged the blankets over all his toned male flesh and sighed. She ached so good. If she had time, a morning quickie wouldn’t be a bad way to start her day. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time. Grabbing clean underwear out of the drawer, she made a beeline for the bathroom and paused only long enough to nudge the heat up. Sixty degrees in the apartment when it was below freezing outside left her teeth chattering.
In the bathroom, she cranked on the shower. While waiting for the water to heat up, she brushed her teeth and stared at the light marks on her breasts. He’d left the faintest of bruises and the pleasant ache in her center tightened. She’d enjoyed the hell out of the night before.
And now it’s time to get back to reality…
She made quick work of the shower, toweling off swiftly and using the blow dryer to get the majority of the dampness out of her hair. Brushing it and pulling the rest up into a ponytail, she skipped makeup. No one cared what she looked like in an early class.
Tiptoeing back into her bedroom, she found the bed empty. George probably headed back to his apartment. Grateful they didn’t have to do the morning after thing and pretend, she headed for her clothes. Dressing for warmth, she pulled on a tank top over her bra and then layered a sweater over that. Jeans, socks and boots later, she was ready to go.
George entered her front door when she made it to the living room, two cups of coffee in hand. Her stomach growled at the rich scent.
“You were out,” he said. “I went to make some at my place. You got ready fast.”
He really is sweet.
Accepting the mug with a quick smile of gratitude, she drank half of it down. It scalded her tongue a little, but God it tasted good. “Yeah,” she said and set the mug down so she could return to stuffing her bag with her books, notepad and laptop. “Rent is due this week, so have to pay that first, then I’ll see what’s left over for shopping.”
Crap
. Mallory was out of town which meant Penny would have to scrape every cent together to make rent. Most of the time, they made it through rent week on leftovers from the previous week, but George’s regular presence caused a significant dent in their supplies. No wine, no coffee, no sugar, and no milk, they’d run out of most of the staples. Typically, Mal did the shopping—she was so much more domestic than Penny.
“Let’s make you breakfast. I can get toast or something for you.”
“No time,” she said shrugging on her coat, then digging her gloves and hat out of the pocket. “I still have to run to campus and get into my class.”
“Oh. All right.” Raking his fingers through his disheveled hair, George frowned. “I have an eleven o’clock. I could meet you for lunch before or after.”