A Lady Dares. Bronwyn Scott
curious daughter. Did you tell them that? Without me there’d be no project.’ Elise wrenched her arm free and stepped away. She needed space where her logic wouldn’t be distracted by more masculine charms.
‘Allow me to be blunt. With you, there will be no project if you don’t let me do this my way. I am trying to help you. You have nothing without me.’
He advanced and Elise fought a losing battle to retreat. Her back hit the wall. He leaned forwards, one arm bracing himself on the wall over her head. He seemed bigger at close range, not menacingly so, but overwhelmingly potent. Even the smell of him, fresh lumber and salty sweat, was all man—all nearly naked man. It was hard to forget that one thing with his bare chest mere inches from her. She’d like to forget it, though. Handsome men had proven to be her weakness in the past.
Elise tried to look anywhere but at him. She could see every intimate detail of his skin: the fine dusting of blond hair, the thin white scar beneath his right breast. Lord, it was hard to concentrate! Even her breathing seemed more erratic.
‘Have I made you nervous, Miss Sutton?’ He smiled. ‘I can’t help but notice the inordinate amount of time you’ve spent staring at my chest.’
Did she imagine it or did he puff that chest of his out intentionally just then?
Elise opened her mouth to respond and then shut it. Had she really just seen his breast jump? Flex? Whatever one wanted to call it. ‘Stop that!’
‘Stop what?’ Pop! There it went again. He was doing it on purpose.
‘That thing you’re doing with your chest!’
‘Oh, this? Flexing my muscles?’ He straightened up and treated her to a bawdy show of alternately flexing each side of his chest.
‘Yes, that.’
He laughed. ‘Do you know what your problem is, Princess? You don’t know how to have any fun.’
Elise crossed her arms over her chest to make a barrier of sorts between them. How dare he think she was a stick in the mud just because she wore all of her clothes to the office? She knew how to have fun. ‘And I suppose you do?’
Another smile split his face. ‘Absolutely.’
Elise felt her breath catch. His eyes lingered indecently on her mouth. She was acutely aware of his nearness, that he still bracketed her with his arm leaning against the wall. She licked her lips self-consciously. ‘I’ll have you know I’ve had plenty of fun.’
‘Really?’ he drawled, doubt evident. ‘Well, maybe you have. I suppose I could be wrong. Let’s see, hmmm. Have you kissed a man?’
‘I most certainly have,’ Elise said indignantly, although why it should matter what he thought was something of a mystery. There’d been a few safe kisses in gardens after dancing, but that had been before society had made her choose between it and the shipyard. It had been before Robert Graves, with whom she’d done far more than kiss.
‘Unh-unh.’ Dorian wagged a finger. ‘Let me finish. Parlour games don’t count. Have you kissed a man just for fun in the middle of the afternoon in a public place where you might be caught at any moment?’ He was definitely flirting now, the images conjured by his words causing a slow heat to unfurl low in her belly.
She fought it, trying to sound more affronted than aroused. No good could come from letting him see how he affected her with his teasing. ‘What, exactly, are you suggesting?’ No gentleman would imply her virtue was in question.
A slow, wicked smile curved on his lips, his voice low and intimate in the small gap of space between them. ‘I’m suggesting you try it. With me.’ His mouth took hers then, without waiting for a reply, the press of his lips gently insisting that she give way to his greater experience. His tongue flicked over the seam of her lips and she opened to him, to the heady pleasure rising inside her at the leisurely decadence he invoked: mouth on mouth, tongue to tongue, body to body, cloth to skin. This was a naughty exploration indeed. Of their own volition her hands went to his shoulders, kneading the exposed muscles. He was right; she’d never been kissed, not like this. Those other kisses seemed childish by comparison, nothing more than play, pretend. But this was real, this man was real. And the consequences would be real, too. She’d been down that road before.
That was enough to wake her senses. Elise pulled away. She would not repeat the mistakes of the past; this had to end now. She had scandal enough to worry about without being caught kissing her master builder. ‘Mr Rowland!’ She hoped her exclamation carried enough chagrin for more words to be unnecessary.
‘How about we dispense with the “Mr Rowland” bit?’ He made no move to back up and release her. ‘You can call me Dorian and I’ll call you Princess.’
‘My name is Elise,’ she snapped, realising she’d been manoeuvred too late.
‘Well, Elise it shall be, then, if you insist.’ He shoved off the wall. ‘Now you can say you’ve had fun.’ He winked. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I must be back to work if you want your yacht done by the deadline. Have a nice rest of the afternoon, Elise.’
She could not stay in that office a moment longer. It took all her patience to wait until Dorian was safely engrossed in his work before leaving. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d succeeded in driving her off her own property.
How dared he? Elise strode through the crowded streets surrounding the docks, burning off her excess energy and anger, if that’s what it was. He’d kissed her in broad daylight and for no apparent reason other than the fun of it. One thought overrode even that: he’d been audacious, but she’d liked it! Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Robert? Handsome men were not to be trusted. They knew they could barter on their looks to take what they wanted unless a woman was careful. Elise was so wrapped in her thoughts, she nearly ran into Charles Bradford before she noticed him.
‘Miss Sutton. I was just on my way to see you.’ Charles righted her after their nearcollision, tucking her hand through his arm. ‘Whatever are you doing out here in the street? It’s no place for a decent lady.’
‘Lunch,’ Elise improvised, pulling her skirts to one side to avoid a barrel being rolled to a nearby store.
‘Out here?’ Charles had to shout to be heard above the street din. ‘Might I suggest a quieter venue? My carriage is just the next street over. Perhaps I could escort you?’
There was no gracious way to refuse and perhaps it would be better to be with someone instead of fuming alone over her latest interaction with Dorian Rowland. In no time at all, Elise found herself ensconced in Charles Bradford’s open barouche. Of course, it was open. Being alone with a man in a closed carriage was unheard of for an unmarried woman and Charles was first and foremost a gentleman. He’d known he was coming to see her and had planned accordingly. Unlike certain other males of her recent acquaintance, came the unbidden comparison. She doubted Dorian Rowland planned accordingly for anything or even planned at all. He just did or said the first thing that came to mind.
‘I must confess to being surprised to find you here,’ Charles began as the barouche started to move. ‘I stopped at your house first and your butler told me where you were. I didn’t think there’d be anything more to do at the shipyard. If there’s still business to take care of, you should have contacted me. My father and I would have handled it for you.’ There was reproach in the comment.
The Bradfords had offered as much earlier when the tragedy had first happened, but she’d insisted on overseeing it all on her own. She knew what Charles meant. There wasn’t that much to do if she was closing the yard. ‘You might be surprised at what a girl finds to amuse herself with,’ Elise answered vaguely, her thoughts going straight to shirtless men and afternoon kisses. Charles might be all that was proper in a young man with his well-cut clothes, fashionable hair and polished manners, but he wouldn’t understand her latest endeavour or the need behind it. If he had understood, he and his father would never have pulled out.