Invitation to Seduction: Open Invitation, Book 1 (15 page)

She had things to do, emotions to reconcile. She couldn’t call Stephen until she did. Until she was free of her former life and all the doubts that had consumed her for so long.

She couldn’t call him until she could tell him she believed he wouldn’t tire of her. Even the day she held her divorce papers in her hand, she still couldn’t say that. She’d begun to believe she never would be able to.

Chapter Twelve

Stephen shuffled through the stack of mail. Bills, flyers, a magazine. And one cream-colored envelope with no return address.

Like the invitations he’d sent her. His fingers trembled, and his heart hammered.

He’d kept his promise and hadn’t contacted her in eight months. His only news of her came through clients and the occasional phone call from Stacy. When Stacy told him about the pending divorce, he’d gone to the club in desperation and hope. He’d left after a fruitless search, not really expecting her to be there in the first place.

He carelessly ripped at the envelope. Sinking to his knees in the front hall, he opened the enclosed card.

“Friday.” In capital letters, just as he’d written it all those months ago. His heart raced and his palms turned sweaty. She’d given him a time, too. “7:00 p.m.”

He had two days to prepare, two days in which to go crazy. Two days until he discovered whether he would rise from the hell he’d been living in or was doomed to stay there forever.

* * * * *

The front hall was empty except for the usual hostess and a waiter with a tray of filled champagne glasses. Shaky on the inside, his fingers numb, Stephen could barely manage to take the invitation from his inside jacket pocket, let alone hold a glass without spilling the contents.

“We’re so glad you could join us.” The hostess smiled. “Your lady is in the blue room, if you’d like to go up.”

His lady. God, yes. He needed her to be his.

“Third floor,” the woman prodded when he failed to move. “Fifth door on the right. Just knock.”

To ease his tension, he counted the steps as he climbed. Earlier, he’d ransacked his closet, finally deciding on the tux he hadn’t worn since a friend’s wedding ten years ago. The weight of the jacket and accoutrements stiffened his muscles. His knees creaked with each riser. He’d aged ten years in the last eight months, another five on the drive over.

He told himself she wouldn’t send the invitation if she planned only one night. Debbie wouldn’t tease, then walk away.

At the fifth door on the right, he straightened his tie, adjusted the cummerbund, and smoothed down the jacket.

After a deep breath, he knocked.

He’d been expecting her, and his heart dropped to his knees when a white-coated waiter opened the door. The man smiled and waved him in with a flourish.

She was seated at a small round table set with crystal and silver. The soft lighting from the wall sconces sparkled in her hair, but left her face in shadows. Then she rose and took his breath away. A short black dress draped her curves, the neck plunging to her breasts. Moving to him, she revealed a creamy expanse of thigh he’d dreamed about kissing.

Debbie stepped into the pool of light from the chandelier and held out her hand. “Stephen, I’m so glad you came.”

He took that hand, raised it to his lips, placed a lingering kiss, drawing in the scent of citrus lotion and woman. She was as beautiful as he remembered, the same and yet different. Her blue eyes glittered. The shade of gloss, richer, deeper, plumped lips that had already been luscious. Her skin glowed. Though she’d worn fuck-me heels for him before, she seemed taller now, and her breasts swelled, almost overflowing the lace cups that tempted at the edge of the dress’s deep vee.

For the first time, he was seeing the true Desiree she’d kept hidden inside. The sure, strong, confident woman he’d wanted to set free. She’d set herself free without his help.

“Aren’t you going to say something, Stephen?”

I love you. I want you. I need you.
Don’t let this be the only night. “It’s good to see you. You look gorgeous.”

She smiled, genuine and pleasure-filled. “Thank you.” She traced a hand down his lapel, caressed the boutonniere. “You look beautiful.” She waved a hand at the table behind them. “Would you like a glass of champagne first? Eduardo will pour. I ordered dinner for seven thirty.”

He wanted only her. But she’d planned this for him, and he would take everything, jealously hoarding each surprise. Eduardo popped the cork, then poured expertly, keeping the foam to a minimum. After handing them each a glass, he retreated to a corner. The bubbles sizzled in Stephen’s throat as he downed half.

He came back to himself as she touched his arm. “Do you like the room?”

For the first time, he took in the plush layout. To one end, the table and two chairs were placed intimately side by side. Beyond sat a settee big enough for two. He imagined her on her knees between his legs, her mouth on him. He’d imagined her often in the last eight months, but without hope, his crazy sexual thoughts brought more pain than pleasure. The really pathetic thing was that he’d kept the pair of panties he’d stuffed in his back pocket that long-ago night at the club.

She turned slightly, pulling him with her. As in the red room, everything followed the blue theme. Silk hangings graced the walls, candles burned in silver candelabras, and a pure blue spread covered the huge, high bed. Missing though, was the mirror on the ceiling.

Leaning in, her breath warm at his throat, she whispered, “We don’t need the mirror. I can see everything I want to see in your eyes when you look at me.”

He closed his eyes, his heart aching, breaking, and soaring all at once. She would see the desire, but would she understand the rest? He was too damned scared to ask.

She stroked his arm. “I’m glad you’re here, Stephen.”

Her touch inflamed, yet strangely, calmed him as well. Debbie, even wearing her Desiree persona, had never been a cruel woman. After what had occurred between them in the Thomases’ house, she wouldn’t play with him.

“Eduardo, perhaps we could start our salads now. Stephen’s hungry, I think.”

“Yes, ma’am. Right away.” He disappeared through a door Stephen had missed.

She led him to the table. He held out a chair, seated her, then took his own next to hers. Her thigh brushed his. He ached to touch her. His cock throbbed, hardening in his trousers.

Setting her glass down, she leaned on her elbows and laced her fingers. The scoop of her dress fell forward, revealing the swell of her breasts and hard nipples straining against the sheer cup of her bra. His hand lifted as if it weren’t even a part of him, and his finger trailed across a stiff peak.

She drew in a breath. Her pupils dilated until her eyes seemed as deep as the midnight of her dress. “I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you here tonight.”

He remained silent, afraid his voice would crack.

“Besides wanting you to fuck me because it’s been so long.”

The word slapped his face. “I don’t want to fuck you.”

She put his hand on her thigh, guided him to the top of her leg. The tiniest of panties hugged the rise of her hip.

“Don’t you?” she whispered. “Didn’t you once tell me that fucking and making love were the same thing? You said it was the feeling inside that counted.”

He remembered. He hadn’t thought she believed him.

He slipped his hand between her thighs, his fingers resting against her warm, damp panties. She was ready for him. He’d never stopped being ready for her.

The door opened. Eduardo rolled in a trolley with a bowl and condiments, then prepared their salad. Stephen kept his hand where it was, buried beneath her skirt like a stamp of ownership.

“Thank you,” she murmured as the waiter placed the freshly prepared salad in front of her, then centered Stephen’s plate. Eduardo’s eyes dropped to her thighs briefly before he exited.

Stephen ate with his left hand so that he didn’t lose contact. She shifted, opening her legs, then cupped his hand to her pussy. Running her fingers through her hair, she closed her eyes and arched, rocking against his hand. “Oh, Stephen, you don’t know how long I’ve dreamed about this.”

He’d been dreaming about her, praying for this moment, for eight long months. Watching her, feeling her cream further dampen her panties, he decided he didn’t care what she wanted from him. One night or a lifetime, he’d take whatever she gave.

“I’m sorry,” she said on a mere breath, opening sultry eyes to look at him. “I meant to wait until after dinner. I wanted to make this special.”

Everything about her was special.

And he couldn’t wait another second. “Screw dinner. I want you now.” Pulling his hand from her legs, he drew her onto his lap, forcing her to straddle him. The dress rose, revealing black minuscule panties. He put his lips to her sweet throat, whispering, “I want to make love to you until you scream.”

Hands in his hair, she held him to her, guiding his face to her breasts. “Touch me, Stephen. Please touch me.”

She trembled against his mouth as he pushed aside the sheer bra and took her nipple, sucking the bud into a tight marble. She moaned, twisted his hair in her fingers. He shoved her dress higher, giving her room to open herself fully to him. His cock thrust against his pants, thrust against her. Then he palmed her pussy. She rewarded him with a throaty groan.

He struggled with the elastic on her panties. He couldn’t get them off without letting her go, and that he wasn’t willing to do. Nor did he want the tiny scrap of lace between them. He groped the side of his salad plate, found the knife edge, grabbed the handle, then pushed her back against the table.

She didn’t ask him what he was going to do, but trusted that he wouldn’t hurt her.

The elastic popped as he cut each side. Throwing the knife to the floor, he peeled the fabric away. She was so sweet, so hot, her curls glistening with a wealth of dew.

“Make me come, Stephen,” she whispered. “I haven’t come since the last time you touched me.”

He stilled with his hands high on her thighs and met her deeply blue gaze. “You didn’t even do it yourself?”

She took his face in her hands. “Touching myself wouldn’t be any good without you there to watch. I wanted to wait.”

For him. The unspoken words stole around him. She’d always planned to come back. She’d taken care of business, and she’d come back to him with her freedom.

“Every time I had to stroke myself, I made myself believe it was you touching me,” he whispered, “your lips sucking me, your tongue driving me crazy, and your mouth drinking my come.”

He wasn’t sure whether he took her lips or she took him, but he tasted her for the first time in all those long months. Her flavor, sweet with champagne, burst in his mouth. She licked his lips, took his tongue, wrapped her arms around his neck, and devoured him as if her need could never be quenched.

Then she slowly let him go, putting her forehead to his, her mouth only a breath away. “I should tell you everything. I meant to. Before we did this.”

“Tell me when you come against my hand.”

He clasped her to him, one arm low over her hips, holding her tight, and put his hand between her legs. He slipped two fingers between her folds, sliding first up inside her, then back to the sweet little button. He loved her with his touch. She gasped and threw her head back.

“Oh God. Oh Stephen.” She panted as he took charge of her clitoris, circling the nub, then dipping into her slick cream.

The door opened. Eduardo had the trolley halfway through before he looked up. Then he stopped. Stephen knew he should have removed his hand from her body, but he couldn’t, not now, not when she was so close to being his. His fingers moved faster, pressed harder. She writhed in his lap.

His gaze challenged the young man. Stephen closed his eyes as he heard the soft snick of the door, then he shoved two fingers deep inside her, and murmured, “Tell me, tell me now.”

“Oh God, Stephen, I love you so much.” She screamed then, something that might have been his name once more. Her pussy milked his fingers as she came hard and long, hugging him tightly as if he were a life preserver.

When she let him go, all that remained of Eduardo was the trolley with their dinner beneath silver lids.

Her arms still around him, she sagged against his chest, her breath puffing across his neck. “I love you, Stephen” was almost another wisp of air.

He heard, held onto the words, tied her to him with their magnitude. “I never stopped loving you.”

She settled closer against him, letting his rigid cock rest between her thighs, only the material of his tuxedo pants separating them.

“Did you finally accept that I was telling you the truth, that I’ll never stop loving you or wanting you?”

She eased back, stroked his face. “No, Stephen, I didn’t.”

He felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. She would leave now. She didn’t believe. It was over. Again.

“After I left my husband, I wanted to call you. I have no idea how many times I picked up the phone, then put it down. I kept thinking, what if it doesn’t work? But I finally figured something out. There are no guarantees. You might get tired of me.” She raised a brow. “I might get tired of you. I don’t think so, but you never know. The point is, I don’t know what’s going to happen.” She touched her lips lightly to his. “The only thing I do know is that if I walk away from the way I feel about you because I’m afraid that I’ll get hurt down the road, then I’ll be walking away from the chance of having it all, too. Seduction, passion, fire, love, desire.” She put her cheek to his. “Friendship. Someone who believes in me. Someone who thinks I’ve got talent. Someone who whacks off in the middle of the night just thinking about me.” She rubbed noses. “Do you know how much all those things mean to me?”

“Yes, I do. As much as they mean to me.”

She kissed his eyes. Her own widened in surprise at the trace of moisture on her lips.

He held her face the way she’d held his. Forced her to look into his soul. “I love you. I want to fuck you every night and every morning, for the rest of my life. Even when I’m ninety. And through it all, I’ll always be your best friend.”