Her Perfect Match (6 page)

She arched back, thrusting against him as her cries filled the quiet air. Pleasure built within her, powerful and intoxicating because she didn’t have to work to achieve it. It came to her without effort, without frustration.

And when he reached around her body and pressed his thumb to her clitoris, the pleasure exploded into a starburst of release that pushed her body out of control. She cried out, she pressed back against him, her pussy jerked with spasm after never-ending spasm of pleasure.

He groaned against her entrance and the heat and vibration of the sound only increased her crisis. Then he pulled away, moved up behind her and glided his hard cock deep within her.

She gasped with renewed pleasure and surprise. She hadn’t even realized he had freed his member from his trousers, but when she looked back over her shoulder, she saw that the black fabric drooped around his hips and he was buried to the hilt inside her.

She forgot reason and regret and everything else as he moved within her, forcing her through the end of her first orgasm and almost immediately toward another. They moved in tandem, slow and seductive at one point, fast and hard at another. They had no goal but mutual pleasure and enough experience with each other to reach that goal without exertion or struggle.

The second orgasm was less piercing than her first, but when it washed over her, it felt deeper, more persistent. She jerked her hips against the waves of it, gasping out Benedict’s name as he continued his steady, forceful thrusts.

But as her sheath milked him with its orgasmic tremors, she could sense he was on the edge of control. Sweat glistened on his brow, his grunts and gasps were louder, and finally he growled out a sound of possession and she felt his hot seed splash inside her as he came.

They collapsed against the bed together, his body draped across her back with heavy, satisfying weight and she shut her eyes as she tried to pretend that this moment could last forever.

Benedict wasn’t certain how long they lay together, their bodies tangled, their sweat and breath merging as they both came down from the ultimate high of mutual orgasm. All he knew was that he had been rocked to his very core by this act he had once feared he would never again share with Vivien. The act that had bound them for months before she severed their relationship in one quick sweep.

That thought lessened his pleasure and he rolled away from her to lie on his back in the gathering dark of the room. She followed his motion, resting her head against his chest. He wanted to distance himself, but how could he? It was as if his body had been sleeping since they parted and now he was wide awake and aware again.

He put his arms around her, tracing the willowy lines of her limbs absently.

She smiled up at him and his heart stuttered against his will.

“When you left here tonight, I admit I did not think you would come back,” she whisperered.

He didn’t answer for a moment. Although they had just shared a deep passion, he didn’t want to reveal too much of his feelings. He knew the cost.

“I wasn’t going to,” he admitted.

She lifted her head and looked at him in surprise. “No? Why did you, then?”

He cupped her face. Her skin was like silk against his fingers and the way her eyelids fluttered at his touch stole all his ability to protect himself.

“You know why,” he whispered.

Surprise was the first emotion that washed over her face, followed swiftly by the same fear that had always accompanied any declaration he’d ever made that could be construed as emotional. But there was also something else there, lingering in her eyes—sadness. As if what he said made her ponder some great loss.

“Benedict—” she began and her tone was as familiar as her touch.

He pushed away and got to his feet. “We both know what I want from you isn’t possible. I have accepted that fact.”

He dared to look at her, but was surprised that there was no relief on her face when he said those words. In fact, her emotions, which had been so clear a moment ago, were now hidden. And yet she was still glorious. She had sat up when he left her and the sheets barely covered her. In the dying firelight she looked like a queen.

Renewed need pinched at him, melted him even when he didn’t want it to be there.

“Do you still want me?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

She nodded without hesitation. “I…do. I think I made that perfectly clear tonight.”

“Then perhaps I will come to you again,” he said, making the words a statement rather than a question. He didn’t want to give her the power in this decision, even though in truth, she had it all.

She hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “Yes.”

He blinked. Yes? Had she actually agreed to see him again when it seemed like yesterday that she had sent him away, never to touch her again? Wild joy sprang up in him, but he pushed it aside.

He approached her with as much nonchalance as he could and bent to kiss her one last time. She tasted like strawberries, like honey, like passion, and he drank in all her flavors as the kiss spiraled into lust in a heartbeat. Finally he managed to pull away. He was too emotional to continue this tonight.

He stepped away. “Then I will see you again, Vivien. Good night.”

He turned to the door without waiting for her to respond, though he heard her faint goodbye as he shut the chamber door behind him. He moved down the hallway and out into the night, but every step was made from instinct and memory, not because he was paying attention.

At that moment, all he could think about was Vivien. Tonight he had been utterly satisfied in a way he had not felt since the last time he left her bed three years before. But he was also completely confused. And wholly uncertain if the path he had just set himself on was one that would bring him joy or crushing heartbreak.

Chapter Six

Vivien turned to the next aisle in Paddington’s Bookshop and breathed in the scent of leather book covers and thick paper pages with a sigh of pleasure. This trip out was just what she needed to forget the past few days’ events.

Since the night they’d made love, Vivien had received no word from Benedict. She hated to admit it, but she found his silence odd. During their affair three years before, she had become accustomed to his habit of sending her a note each day, even if they were not scheduled to meet. In truth, she had kept all the correspondence from him, from the banal to the passionate, in her
real
chambers, though she hadn’t dared look at them since they had parted.

But this time, he seemed less interested in maintaining a relationship with her. His silence revealed that fact.

It was for the best, of course. She only wished to tie off the loose ends that remained between them, not become his lover again. Certainly, she did not wish to intertwine their lives in any way. Still, it stung when she allowed herself to examine the bare facts of his rejection.

She shook her head and turned her attention back to the books before her. The sixth item on her unfinished business list was to enjoy London and finally she was pursuing that endeavor. There was no use muddying its pleasure by thinking of a man who only confused her.

But dear God, he was all she
had
thought of since his departure the night of her party. Every time her bell rang, she lurched with anticipation. When she saw a man on the street with his build, she went weak in the knees. She heard his voice in crowds and in her parlors.

Even now she thought she caught the echo of it on the breeze as a new customer entered the shop.

“And a good morning, Mr. Greystone,” the proprietor of the shop called out toward the door in reply to what the voice in her head had said.

Vivien froze. Well, this was certainly a most interesting development to her imaginings, hearing his name on the wind. That or Benedict truly was on the other side of the bookshelves.

She crept to the end of the aisle and glanced around toward the entrance to the street. There, as real as any other person in the shop, was Benedict. He leaned over the wooden countertop beside the door, talking to the shop owner with a nonchalance she hadn’t seen in years.

“So, Paddington, have my orders come in yet?” Benedict asked.

The shopkeeper smiled broadly. “Two of them, yes. The other three did not come in this shipment.”

Benedict’s expression fell a fraction, but then he shrugged. “Ah, well, it only gives me an excuse to peruse your shelves yet another week.”

“I will fetch your selections from the back while you do so, sir.”

“Very good,” Benedict said, then turned on his heel and headed straight for Vivien’s own position in the store. She scurried back into the aisle and clutched her books against her chest. He was coming directly for her and in her panic she had no idea how to handle the situation.

Pretend coolness? Act as if she did not see him? Run for her carriage like a banshee?

She squeezed her eyes shut. “You are being foolish,” she admonished herself in as stern a tone as she would use with a wayward servant.

Thrusting back her shoulders, she moved toward the end of the aisle just as Benedict came around the corner. He was looking at the shelves of books intently and for a moment she was caught up in the sight of him.

His hair was slightly tousled from the windy day and he lifted one strong hand to smooth it as he continued to look at the books. His gray eyes darted from one title to another, entirely focused on what was before him. Sort of like when he had her in bed.

She blinked. He was looking so intently at the books that she could easily slip away without being noticed. But she wasn’t going to do that. If she did, she would surely curse herself for days.

Instead, she moved toward him and cleared her throat to catch his attention. “Benedict, er, Mr. Greystone.”

He lifted his head and slowly turned to look at her. His bright eyes were wide with surprise and his mouth tilted up in a grin she didn’t expect after his avoidance of her.

“Great God, Vivien…Miss Manning. I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

She tilted her head. “Nor I you. When I heard your voice, I thought I was dreaming.”

He arched a brow. “Do you often dream of me in bookstores?”

She laughed even though the question was a loaded one. “You must know you are dreamed of by dozens of women. I could not say I wasn’t one of them.”

The smile remained on his face but left his eyes at her response. Abruptly, he returned his attention to the books.

“And what are you doing out and about today?”

She hesitated. She had kept her ultimate goals secret from her best friends. She couldn’t tell Benedict. Especially not Benedict.

“Vivien?” he asked when she pondered the question too long.

“I am enjoying London,” she blurted out, quoting directly from her list. “I fear I do little of that, even though I have lived in the city for nearly a decade.”

He glanced at her, appraising. “A lofty goal—there is much to enjoy. And Paddington’s is as good a place to start as any. Though you must know that, with your love of books.”

Vivien shifted. Despite everything, he did know her well. Better than any other lover she’d ever had. “I have never been before today, actually.”

He swiveled to face her directly, his face a mask of disbelief that made her very uncomfortable. She was accustomed to ruling her own world, but when she left its borders, she was often ill at ease.

“You needn’t look at me like that, Benedict,” she snapped, forgetting propriety in this public sphere. “You must not be as shocked as you pretend. A woman such as myself doesn’t belong in a shop where the Prince himself sometimes buys his books. I have no place in museums and parks and all the places where dignified people congregate. Even you, who claimed to care for me beyond my station in life, didn’t parade me out with the upper class. You kept me where I belonged, the opera house, the ballrooms of your closest friends and the bedrooms of my home.”

He flinched as if she had slapped him. “Great God, Vivien, I had no idea you felt this way.”

She turned her face. She did sound very bitter when she said those words to him. Was she bitter? She had never felt that way until now…

He moved toward her and his hand fluttered as if he wanted to reach for her, to comfort her. Embarrassment, uncommon and unwanted, filled her and she backed a step away to avoid increasing it further with his touch.

“You are a lady of the highest order,” he said softly. “Whatever your ‘station’ in life, it does not change that. You belong in this shop, as well as any other place in London you desire to travel.”

She shifted at his kindness and the sudden focus of his stare, then shrugged them both off.

“It is a good thing, then, for I intend to go to all of them before—” She broke off. There was no need to say anything more. “It doesn’t matter. I heard you say to the shopkeep that you had books on order.”

His concern remained on his face as he answered her. “Yes. I come in once a week, on this day, when Mr. Paddington receives his newest shipments. I check on my orders and browse the new arrivals.”

“Mr. Paddington?” She blinked. “But this shop has been here for two hundred years. Don’t tell me that a Paddington still runs the place.”