Tempted by a Dangerous Man (10 page)

The husband took a key attached to a large ring off a board behind the desk. “Would you like to get your luggage before I show you to your room?”

“No,” Corbin said. I was nervous, felt like I was intruding, but he seemed completely at ease.

The husband led us all the way through the building, up a flight of plushly carpeted steps, then down a corridor. I looked out the window and realized that we were passing into a smaller building.
 

He stopped in front of a door that had
Emperor Suite
written on a golden plaque.
 

“Welcome,” he said as he unlocked the door.
 

When I saw the room, I gasped. My hand flew up to my mouth a moment too late.
 

“We do get that reaction a lot,” the innkeeper said, clearly taking a great deal of pride in the fact. As well he should; the room was stunning. High ceilings, large windows, a beautiful fireplace. The walls had a textured jute wallpaper that I didn’t dare touch until we were alone. An enormous Persian carpet with deep blues, vibrant reds and soothing yellows covered much of the slate floor.

The paintings, all portraits of the colonial type, were in wood frames that looked like something I would have expected to see in a museum.
 

And then there was the bed. While the furniture was all sleek, dark wood that I guessed was antique, the bed was massive, solid.

The innkeeper gave us brief instructions on how to work the fireplace. As he spoke, my attention drifted to the claw-foot tub set in a bay window. Even though it was dark outside, I could tell that the view was of the mountains behind it. My skin itched with the desire to take off my clothes, run a hot bubble bath and stare out at the peaceful landscape.

When I glanced at Corbin, I saw he was watching me closely. “Good, then?”

I nodded.
 

Corbin and the innkeeper left, and I wandered into the bathroom. The towels were the softest I’d ever felt in my life. I pressed my cheek onto one. It was like cuddling a cloud. I carefully refolded the towel and picked up the wrapped packets of soap and sniffed them. They smelled of warm summer meadows. The package said
Wildflowers of Bretagne
. I closed my eyes and inhaled again. Lavender. Honey. Thyme. I could practically see dragonflies flitting about, could almost hear the buzz of meandering honeybees.

I sighed and put the soap back, wondering what Corbin would make of the scents. They were a far cry from the manly coffee, musk and spice that I associated with him.

The door opened, and I went out of the bathroom. “This is amazing,” I said. “I love it. Think I want to open one. By the way, your bag doesn’t go with your suit.”

He set down his overstuffed hiking backpack. “I wasn’t sure you’d like it. You found the other place sterile, but I didn’t know if this was too far in the other direction.”

“No. I would live here if I could,” I said. I looked up at him earnestly. “This is the best date I’ve ever been on. You are so getting laid.”

One of his eyebrows cocked. “You’re going to have to beg a little more than that.” He came toward me, one large hand going competently about the task of unfastening his shirt buttons.
 

“You look hot in that suit.”

“I am hot,” he said as he slid the jacket off and laid it across the back of a chair that looked like something from George Washington’s parlor. “Overheated, in fact.”

He wasn’t the only one.
 

He slid out of the shirt, and to my dismay, I saw he was wearing a white undershirt. Didn’t matter so much because it was tight enough that when he leaned on one of the bed’s posts to toe off his shoes, the gorgeous muscles of his chest and shoulders bunched, flexed, broadened, rippled.

There was a polite knock at the door, and Corbin answered it. He came away with a bottle of champagne, a white cloth napkin, and an ice bucket.

“What about glasses?” I asked.
 

“You’re getting awfully demanding,” he said. I watched him go to a low cabinet. He opened it, revealing all sorts of glassware. “Suppose I’ll have to use a champagne flute, too,” he said, placing two delicate glasses on top of the cabinet.
 

“What are we celebrating?”

“Life,” he said simply. He peeled foil away from the top of the bottle, unscrewed the cage and worked the cork out of the bottle’s narrow mouth. It came free with a melodious
pop
. I watched as he poured the glasses full. He handed me one as he turned to face me.

Because he had his shoes off and I had my heels on, I didn’t have to crane my neck quite as much to make eye contact. “To life,” I said.

“May you only know happiness.” He touched his glass to mine, and his gaze stared into me, into my soul, it seemed, as we both sipped.

Not being a connoisseur of champagne, I couldn’t speak to its quality, but I found myself quickly taking a second sip, enjoying the delicate fizzing on my tongue. Then another sip. After all the movement, the running around, the dancing, being in this quiet place with Corbin was making me… nervous.

He stepped forward, lifted my chin, and when his mouth touched mine, I almost orgasmed. It was a soft kiss, gentle.

The kind to end a perfect first date. Except I wasn’t that kind of girl. I kissed him back, hard, this time taking the lead.

Corbin broke away and smiled. “I brought something for you.” He took a small sip of his champagne, set down the glass.

He pulled a large wooden brush out of the backpack.

It was the expensive kind, the wood polished and high quality, the bristles probably carefully extracted from the bedding of a magical boar.

“Hate to tell you this, but I can’t use that.”

He looked at me sideways, didn’t say anything.

“Curly hair and brushes don’t mix. I have to use a comb.” I felt my face turning red as Corbin slowly looked at my hair.
 

“What would happen?” he asked, sounding curious.
 

“Ever touch the electric ball at the science museum? But a thousand times worse.”

His confusion turned to amusement. “Like after sex.”

“Worse.”

“Sounds hot.” He held out the brush. “I hadn’t intended this for grooming, but you’ve piqued my interest. I want to see.”

“No way.”

His eyes darkened slightly, and I wondered if I’d been set up. “What are you afraid of?”

“Not
afraid
of anything,” I said. “How about if I come at you with a comb and hair spray and tease your hair, like in the eighties?”

“Do you have hairspray?” he wanted to know.
 

I tightened my arms across my chest, lifted my head. “You know damned well that I don’t, Corbin.”

“Then I’m safe,” he said. The low rumbling of his voice contradicted the grin on his face. I knew I was in dangerous territory, but…
 

“I am
not
going to frizz out my hair to satisfy your silly male curiosity. Some things, once seen, can’t be un-seen,” I added, trying to appeal to his sense of decency. Though at the moment I wasn’t sure he had one.

Corbin looked down at the brush. “All this fuss over a little hairbrush,” he said. “Well, if you won’t use it, I suppose I’ll have to use it on you.”

I took a step back, hands going up to protect my curls, but Corbin caught one of my wrists and dragged me forward, to the bed. He pushed my upper body onto the bedding, which was even softer than the towels. It was like falling into a big pile of cotton candy.

Since he couldn’t reach my head from where he stood, I stayed like that, bent over. I shifted my hips, hoping to distract him from his sudden obsession with my hair.

I flinched as something cool and smooth touched my knee. It slowly traveled up the side of my thigh, pushing my dress aside as it rose. When it reached my ass, Corbin flipped over the bottom of the dress so that the extra fabric rested on my lower back.

A moan of anticipation escaped my lips before I could stifle it. I blamed the champagne.

Corbin lightly drew the brush’s bristles across the curve of my buttocks. It was almost ticklish, and I squirmed out of the way.

He caught my hips and repositioned me. My toes were cramped in the front of the shoes, and I fidgeted, trying to work them off.
 

“Be still.” He shoved me back into place again and began torturing me with the tickling bristles. His hand trailed the brush, his palm warming my cool skin.
 

“Give me a chance,” I pleaded, realizing what was soon going to befall me. “Before… you gave me a challenge.” I never would have admitted it, but begging him not to hurt me was such a turn-on. “Give me a challenge.”

“You already failed,” he said. “Though to be fair, you never had a chance. I bought this brush for one reason, and it wasn’t to watch you do your hair.” He bounced the flat paddle of the brush against the curve of my ass.

My fingers curled, and I felt my nipples getting hard. My pussy was already wet, and because I was wearing that sheer white underwear, it was a pretty good bet that Corbin knew exactly how I felt about what he was doing.

“Please,” I said, turning so I could face him. But he straddled my lower body, trapping my legs between his, and I ended up contorted.
 

Huge mistake. He had taken off his shirt, and while he still wore the suit pants, his broad, muscular chest made him look dangerous. He gripped the brush in one hand, and I noticed the prominent veins that twisted around his thick forearm.
 

I raised my eyes to his and realized that the time for negotiation and playing was past. The focused dominant who loomed over me didn’t appear to be in the mood for compromise.
 

“Told you to be still,” he said. He tossed the brush onto the bed next to me and moved to reposition my shoulders.
 

Without even thinking about what I was doing, my hand shot out, sending the brush skittering across the bed and flying through the air. It hit the wall with a bang.

My shocked and nervous laugh awkwardly filled the room. But when I saw the expression that Corbin wore, the laugh died in my chest with a squeaking strangle.
 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’ll get it.”

He grabbed me, pulled me a few feet away from the bed. I froze, thinking his hands were reaching for my throat, but he grabbed the dress, gathered it up with a tight grip.

“No!”

But he ripped it away, the gorgeous fabric shredding. His eyes staring into mine, he threw the ruined dress aside.

I stood trembling before him, wearing nothing but the sheer bra and panties and my heels. I suspected there was a good chance I might topple over.
 

He pulled me backward. “It seems you still haven’t grasped what happens when you’re submitting to me.”

Nodding frantically, I tried to gulp down the lump in my throat. “I do,” I said, my voice breathless. “I didn’t mean to throw the brush.”

Eyes flashing, he dipped close to my ear. “That makes it even hotter. It’s like you’re seeking my punishment. My control.”

Now my legs weren’t the only things quivering.

He touched the flat of his palm to my chest. “Your heart is going a million miles a minute,” he said, lips curved into a wicked grin as he sat on an antique chair that probably didn’t deserve the defiling that was likely to follow. He pulled me down so that I was sprawled across his bent knees, and the lipstick I had stashed in my bra fell out and rolled across the floor.

His pants were silky smooth underneath my stomach—with one very large and very uncomfortable exception that jabbed into my ribs. I tried to adjust myself, but Corbin kept me in place. Cruelly. Making me aware that my resistance only served to turn him on.
 

He worked my panties down so that the elastic cut into the skin below my buttocks, and I could feel the iron muscle of his thighs when he shifted in the chair.
 

I expected him to spank me, but instead he pinned me with one arm, leaning forward so that both his hands were nominally liberated. He slid his palms over my buttocks, spread and lifted them apart.

I tried to clench my muscles, to stop him from examining me in this way, but I was helpless. How many times had I learned that Corbin would do what he wanted? But I couldn’t stop myself from fighting him, from squirming. Just because he was bigger and stronger didn’t mean I had to make it easy for him.

“Either use your safe word or be still,” he thundered.
 

Something wet touched one of my cheeks, inches from my ass, then fingers slid toward my pucker.

My face went hot. “Please, I’m sorry. Don’t do this.”
 

“Just my thumb, baby,” he said. And I swore he said it because he knew it would upset me even more.

He pressed his thumb into me, slowly, drawing out the moment. When he had it inside my ass, he pressed it hard, driving home the fact that he had done exactly the thing I didn’t want him to.

When he twisted it, I felt him pressing up against my warm channel. I hated how much I loved when he embarrassed me.
 

He slid two fingers into my pussy, then pushed everything deeper. I gasped, kicked my feet helplessly, curled my fists. One of my shoes clattered loudly to the floor.

None of that deterred Corbin in the least. I felt the heat of his body as he hunkered down over me. He was like a warm stone, so hard, and slightly damp with perspiration, and he smelled like spicy musk.

I wanted—
really
wanted—to taunt him. But I didn’t dare. He had asked me if I was a slow learner. At the time, I’d thought I’d never stop taunting him. But… sometimes it was better to give in. He always won in the end, and the sooner I cooperated, the faster I’d get what I really wanted. Fucked. Hard. By my dangerous, mysterious lover.

I groaned as he fed his fingers deeper into me. “Not a bowling ball,” I gasped. Ok, so maybe I couldn’t help myself after all.

“You are if I say you are.” The irritation in his voice only made me wetter. His fingers hammering into my clenching holes surely noticed that I’d gotten even slicker with excitement.