Combustion (6 page)

Before she could stop herself, she reached out and traced her fingertips along his arm. “Working with me might not be that bad. You might even enjoy it.”

Eli met her eyes, and his gaze was wide and vulnerable, unsettled. Astrid suddenly wanted to kiss him, wanted to draw those lips to hers, grip his firm shoulders and pull him against her, but her advances would probably be unwelcome. Besides, she reminded herself, she shouldn't go too far. The flirting was fine, the touches borderline but still safe. To go beyond that would likely distract her from the work they needed to accomplish. Her business needed to be her focus right now. She had no time for dalliances, even if a dalliance might help her dig into the series of strange contradictions that was Eli Rutledge.

“We'll have to work on this when I'm not at my shop.” Eli sat back, the moment passing. “I assume you have your own responsibilities during the week.”

She felt a mixture of relief and disappointment when he broke the tension. “I do. And we'll need a space to design and build. You said you would take care of that?”

“The workshop beneath my store is in use, and I have employees who sometimes go down there. We need someplace more private. I'll rent us some space.” He tapped those distracting long fingers on his thigh, thinking. “Also, I'd like to take you to dinner.”

Astrid blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“Dinner. You and I.” He gestured between them. “A meal, in public, where we can get to know each other a little better.”

What was he playing at? “Just dinner?”

Eli cocked his head to the side as if confused. “Yes, just dinner. We're business partners now and I don't know anything about you. Can I pick you up here tomorrow evening at seven?”

His invitation seemed innocuous, so why did she feel disarmed? “All right.”

He thought a moment, then added, “Also, it'll be somewhere nice.”

Oh, he was worried about her embarrassing him? She narrowed her eyes, trying to rein in her sudden irritation. “I'll try to refrain from whoring myself out in public, then.”

Eli's eyes widened. “I didn't mean anything by that. I just wanted you to know in case you were wondering what to wear. I'm sorry if I offended you.” His concern was so sincere that Astrid was taken aback again. She couldn't get her bearings in this conversation.

“It's all right.” What could she do but forgive him?

After gathering up his coat, Eli waited with his hand on the doorknob. “Thank you for the tea and the tour. It was very enlightening.” He pressed his lips to her hand as always, lingering for a moment. Then, before she'd even registered that he had drawn away, with a turn of the doorknob, he was gone.

For a long moment after he'd left, she stared at the closed door, her heartbeat loud in her ears. She'd made a business of understanding women, learning what they wanted and how to give it to them. Men had always been straightforward–fun for sex, for companionship, but predictable and uninteresting. It had been a long time since she'd met a man who puzzled her, and the puzzle made her want him like she seldom wanted anyone.

She needed to figure out Eli Rutledge.

Chapter Twelve

When the hansom cab pulled up in front of his building, it took Eli almost a full minute to realize he had arrived home. He'd been so distracted by thinking of Astrid and her felicitation devices that he continued to sit on the plush leather seat, staring at the empty bench opposite him, until the driver swung the door open and peered in. “We're here, sir.”

After paying the man, Eli continued into his flat, still walking through a mental fog. He lived on the other side of the city proper, his brownstone a fair bit larger and more nicely appointed than Astrid's. No surprise, since she wasn't even a shop owner. Maybe not a shop owner, but definitely a business owner. That cheeky woman had taken his back massager and turned it into…

A fucking machine
. In his mind, he heard her say it, her full lips wrapping around the words with only the slightest blush. Watching her smile, he could imagine the way she would look in the throes of pleasure, her composed exterior yielding to her primal, wanton instincts.

His cock throbbed against the confining fabric of his trousers. This wouldn't do. After pausing a moment to turn on the lights in his flat, he headed into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. He drew the curtains across his large windows, blocking off the sunlight, and lay back on his bed.

Astrid was the only thing on his mind as he unfastened the buttons on his trousers and freed his erection. Closing his eyes, he imagined her small, deft fingers wrapping around his cock, rather than his own hand. He let the fantasy take over.

Astrid straddled his thighs to look down at him, and one hand squeezed his shaft while the other cupped his sac. She wouldn't be tentative; she would know exactly what to do. After a few long, smooth strokes, she began to tease the head, her thumb tracing back and forth along his slit, spreading the moisture gathering there.

Feeling himself approaching the brink too quickly, he slowed down, wanting to savor this fantasy.

Astrid paused in her stroking, still holding him tightly in her hand, and brought her hips forward to rub his shaft against her clit. She threw her head back, closing her eyes, a gasp escaping her lips. Yes, she would gasp like that. Moving her hips forward a bit more, she raised herself above him, positioning his cock and sinking down until just the head penetrated her wet folds.

He began to squeeze the tip of his cock, imagining the pressure of her wrapping around him, and moaned aloud in the empty flat.

Holding herself above him, she looked down into his eyes and slowly sank onto his shaft.

With his other hand, Eli grasped his cock firmly, now working himself over with both hands, his breath coming in short gasps. He imagined her snug and wet around him, her body sheathing him.

Lifting her hips, she took him in and out an inch or two at a time, then more, raising up and sinking down, each stroke faster than the last, her pussy impossibly tight. With her head thrown back in ecstasy, she began crying out in pleasure.

He came hard, exploding, his climax shuddering through him with an intensity that momentarily left him breathless. The aftershocks continued to rock him for moments afterward, his hands still tightly wrapped around his cock. The fantasy dissolved, and he was alone in his flat again, sticky and spent.

Guilt washed over him as he cleaned up, stripping off his soiled clothes. If he wasn't careful, Astrid Bailey was going to get into his head for good.

Chapter Thirteen

“Lestrade's?” Astrid stared up at the imposing brick edifice of one of the nicest restaurants in all of London, glad she'd dressed conservatively that night. Her hand tightened on Eli's arm. “You're taking me to Lestrade's?”

“It certainly seems that way, doesn't it?” Sweeping her across the street, one arm curved behind her back, Eli gave her no time to protest. Everyone entering the restaurant was dressed impeccably, and although she'd worn her nicest dress, a floor-length ensemble in deep purple, she felt like an impostor. Eli blended seamlessly with these people in his tailcoat, but Astrid was sure she would be thrown out of the restaurant at any moment because she didn't belong.

Once the thought occurred to her, though, right when the maitre d' began escorting them to a table, she put the idea from her mind. Why shouldn't she belong here? She had the same right as any of them to eat a delicious meal in a fancy restaurant. With that reminder, she put her head back, cast what she hoped was a dazzling smile to Eli as he pulled out her chair for her, and sat.

After ordering the special, figuring that was the safest option when she couldn't pronounce anything on the menu, she drank from her glass of wine and wondered where to begin. What did she want to know about Eli Rutledge?

Before she could ask anything, though, he folded his hands and smiled at her across the table. “So, how did you get started as a machinist?”

“My mother was a machinist.” Astrid took another sip of wine. It was strong on her empty stomach, so she switched to her water glass.

“Your mother?” Clearly this wasn't the answer he'd expected, since he blinked a few times at her response.

“Yes, my mother.” Astrid pursed her lips, irritated at his surprise. “We women haven't spent our lives being seamstresses, you know.”

“What did your mother build?”

“Some of everything.” Her memories of her mother were hazy with time and the inaccuracies of childhood, but she remembered the way she would bend over her workshop, hair slipping out of its twist and falling across her goggles, carefully fastening screws and levers into place as little Astrid watched nearby. “She did general repairs on contract when she could find someone to hire her despite the restrictions on working women.” The next part was clearest, though. “Mostly I remember her making guns.”

“Guns?” Eli set his wine glass aside.

“Yes. My parents were part of the Revolution.” Astrid ran a finger around the top of her water glass. “My father was a writer, and he was instrumental in anti-government propaganda. My mother designed and manufactured guns for the Underground. We lived in hiding, moving from one place to another during the fighting, but they were always active. It paid off for the city, I suppose. We won, after all, but my parents were both killed when I was ten.” After all these years, it didn't hurt to tell the story, so the sympathy in Eli's eyes surprised her. She tried to allay his emotions. “It's all right. They died for a good cause. The Revolution made a drastic change in living conditions for the poor, so I was raised well in the orphanage. My mother had taught me a few things, and I had a natural aptitude for machinery, so I was even apprenticed when I was fifteen, a full year early.” Feeling she had already spoken too long, she drank from her water glass. “But enough about me. Tell me about your family.”

“You already know much of it.” Eli picked up the fork to examine it, pausing before telling his story. “My father started Rutledge Fine Crafts and Handiworks before I was born. I haven't yet—how did you put it?—run it into the ground, so I'm the main proprietor now.” His smile showed no hard feelings. “I must confess I don't know much about the Revolution. My father took my mother and I out of London when it was deemed unsafe, and we returned when the fighting had ended. We were standard merchants, so the new regime didn't change much for us.”

“You were middle-class men.” Astrid couldn't keep a note of bitterness from her voice. “The Revolution helped the lower class and women. Did you know that before the Revolution, it was illegal for my mother to work? To own property? None of the things I do now would be possible if it weren't for their sacrifice. And when tight-arsed misogynists like Reynold Halstead tell me I can't enter the World's Fair because I'm not a man…” Realizing she'd become a bit louder than she intended, she quieted with an effort, not looking up from the tablecloth. He must think her an irrational fool. “I'm sorry to get carried away. I know my life is so much better after the Revolution, but it's still unfair, and that frustrates the hell out of me.”

When she chanced a look up, Eli was studying her with a curious intensity. He didn't seem put off by her outburst; rather, he seemed intrigued. “You know, Reynold wasn't keeping you out of the World's Fair because you're a woman. It's because you don't operate out of a storefront.”

“And that's why he asked me to secure the endorsement of a business
man
? As if my business has anything at all to do with men.” She couldn't help rolling her eyes, then caught herself as she realized her circumstances. “Present company excepted.”

“And how did you get involved making these felicitation devices, as you call them?” Eli rested his chin on his hand and looked across the table at her.

Astrid felt her face heat as she considered her answer. She should deflect. “I'm monopolizing our conversation. Really, you should tell me more about yourself.”

“After this.” He nodded. “Go on.”

What could she tell him? The truth was unsavory, even for someone who cared about her reputation as little as she purported to do. In the presence of the upstanding citizen Eli Rutledge, though, her actions seemed somewhat less than desirable.

But he wanted the truth, didn't he? “All right.” Entwining her fingers on the table, she leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “A few years out from my apprenticeship, I was struggling financially. My five years of living credits had run out, and I couldn't pay my rent, so I found a place to stay in the Lahey Emporium.”

Eli's blank stare wasn't much of a surprise. With his prudish attitude, he wouldn't have been the type of person to frequent this establishment.

Maybe the full name of the business would stir his memory. “The Lahey Emporium for the Pleasurable Arts?”

A flash of recognition showed in his eyes, then scandalized surprise. “The brothel?”

“Yes, the brothel.” Astrid returned to her wine, not minding the heady feeling when she took a large swig. “Cecily took me in.”

“So you were a…?” Eli swallowed, looking her up and down, seeming to see her for the first time, unable to complete the sentence.

God, what a prude. His attitude annoyed her. “Does it matter if I was?” Clearly it did. For a moment, she wished she had worked as a prostitute so she could shock him all the more, but she told the truth. “No, I wasn't actually working there. Cecily knew I had nothing, and she put me up. In that environment, it was only a matter of time before I put my skills to a new type of machine, and Cecily became one of my first clients. She taught me everything I know.” Astrid stopped there, not caring to elaborate to Eli on how much Cecily had taught her.

Had she scandalized him? She studied his face, trying to read his expression. His pupils were dilated and his breathing seemed fast. No, he wasn't scandalized. He was aroused.

Well, that was certainly unexpected. The undisguised hunger in his eyes made her body hot all over, and she took a sip of water to steady herself, anything to let her look away from that deep, dark gaze. Maybe she could put the focus back on him. “Do your parents still live here in the city?”

“Hmm? Oh, right.” Coming back to himself, he shifted in his chair. “No, not anymore. They live out in West Chester.”

West Chester? Astrid hid her disgust only with supreme effort. Not even the middle class could afford a house out in West Chester, one of the last rural swatches in all of Brittania. He must be even wealthier than she thought. “I see. Do you visit them often?”

“When I can get away. I'm quite busy much of the time.” He sipped from his wine.

Astrid looked away to hide her annoyance. If her parents were alive, she would visit them all the time. Of course, her parents never would have left the city, not even for some manor house out on the West Chester moors. Only great restraint and the formality of their dinner location kept her quiet, because in that moment, she wanted to tell him off. At last, she just said, “West Chester. That must be nice.”

“They seem to like it.”

“And do you have any siblings?” If she kept asking inane questions, she could ignore her irritation.

“No, actually. Not anymore.” Eli fingered the edge of his napkin. “I had a sister, but she got the fever. I was seven when she died.”

Astrid felt her stomach lurch as she shifted from resenting his wealth to feeling like a complete ass. “Oh. I'm sorry.” He may be well off, but that didn't mean he hadn't experienced his share of tragedy. “That must have been difficult.”

Eli nodded. “My mother took it quite hard. That's when my father first started renting the house out in West Chester. Mum couldn't be near Emily's room, so it was good for her to get out of the city. When the Revolution started, that's where we went. I grew up between the city and the moors.”

For a moment, she imagined Eli as a teenager, with unruly black hair and dark eyes, his cheekbones too sharp for his face, sitting alone on the windswept moors. The pang in her heart felt unfamiliar, too much sympathy too soon, and she tried to shut it away. “I never had any siblings. I grew close to Josian in the orphanage, though. She was a year older than me, and she took me under her wing, so to speak.” Astrid smoothed her napkin over her lap, thinking back to those days. Eleven-year-old Josian had seemed so worldly and wise, teaching Astrid how to make her way in the institution, becoming the closest thing to a sister she would ever have.

“You two are still close, then? She was the woman you introduced me to at the meeting.” Eli finished his wine, then refilled both their glasses from the bottle on the table.

“I suppose. We have very different lives now.” Astrid considered Josian's pampered life with her lawyer husband. “Different lives” was a serious understatement. Still, though, Josian was her closest companion. During the lean years after Astrid's apprenticeship, Josian surely would have taken her in if she'd known about her friend's bleak situation. It had been difficult to keep the secret from her best friend, but she wasn't the type of person to ask for charity. She had repaid her debt to Cecily and never borrowed again.

“Is she the reason you're part of Edwina's little business group?”

Astrid looked up. “You mean Tea and Talk?” God, even the name was juvenile, but she felt an inexplicable need to defend it. “It's not just a little business group, you know. We can't get into the London Business Council or the IFCT like men can. We have to make do.”

Eli held up a hand. “I didn't mean any insult. I was curious what brought you there. You didn't exactly…fit in.” He seemed to have chosen those last words carefully, perhaps worried about offending her.

So was this about her appearance? She resisted the urge to look down at her dress, knowing she was the picture of propriety at the moment. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

Eli lingered on his wine glass for a moment before speaking. “I love my cousin. Edwina is earnest, kind and perfectly respectable. But she's also mundane, and conservative, and even a bit…boring. Most of the women in that gaggle seemed to be of her ilk. I suppose most of us businesspeople are that way.” He paused, an expression passing quickly over his face. “You're not like that.”

Was that a compliment or not? Unsure whether or not to thank him, Astrid waited, hoping he would continue.

Setting down his glass, Eli rested his chin on his hand again, meeting Astrid's eyes. “When I first saw you, I knew you were different. Then you had the audacity to speak to me like you did, confirming my suspicions.”

Remembering her angry outburst, Astrid looked down at her intertwined fingers, abashed. “I suppose I wasn't the picture of decorum, was I?”

Eli laughed, a short bark that made her look up in surprise. “No. But you intrigued me. No one speaks like that to me. And I don't speak like that to anyone.” He said the last line with something like regret, and there it was again—a flash of emotion. Shame? Astrid peered at him more closely, but it was gone, his face polite interest again. Dinner was illuminating some aspects of his personality and muddling others.

“And here we are. In this very, very classy restaurant.” Astrid looked around at the gold chandeliers, the pressed white linens, the gentlemen and ladies conversing in hushed tones. “Did you hope that by bringing me here, you could make sure I'd behave?”

Eli's smile was shy, his dark eyes twinkling in the low light. “Perhaps. I'm not very good with people making scenes.”

“It's not going to work, you know. I'm a hard woman to control.” Astrid returned his grin.

Eli nodded as the waiter arrived with their meals. “I'm starting to realize that.”