“I wonder, will you come for me, Claire?” Theo whispered.
She stared, dazed, into his intent eyes, barely comprehending, wanting that rhythm to take her to the edge. More. Her hips jerked to get closer, but the table’s edge stopped her. Her wrists were pinned, her body held in exquisite limbo.
“There’s no one here to see. Except me. Just don’t squeal too loud.”
Then his thumb skated onto her clit, pressing in time with his fingers. Again. Again. She sucked in a last breath, held it, straining, until at last a tumult of ecstasy rolled through, shaking her like a diamond jigsaw into a million brilliant pieces. Slowly the world calmed, and she found he still held her wrists. As he removed his fingers down below, his thumb grazed her clit, making her shudder in the flare of another shock. She panted, head down on the table, feeling the linen against her skin.
He released her wrists and carefully turned her head to face him. “Well done. You’re the first woman to come at this table.”
His eyes smoldered. She couldn’t conjure up a single coherent word and stayed put as he ran his finger along the line of her jaw and across to tantalize her lower lip.
“If you lie there much longer, I’ll be tempted to tie you to the table legs and try buttering your ass instead of the toast.”
My God. That spurred her into action, and she sat up. She straightened her dress, finding it difficult to meet his eyes. I shouldn’t have done that.
“I’d be delighted if you’d sit on my lap a moment.” Theo wiped his fingers on a napkin—skin shining with her arousal—then leaned back, sprawling with his arm propped on the back of his chair. “No?”
“No.” She vigorously shook her head. What had she done? That didn’t feature in any of the books on ladylike manners she’d read. She’d had an orgasm at the breakfast table.
If he commanded her to sit on his lap, she wasn’t sure she could say no.
“Perhaps next time?”
She blushed. “There won’t be a next time! You”—she cleared her throat—“caught me unawares. I should not have let you do that.”
“Oh, and why is that?”
She stared at him. Anger took over from indignation. “I…” The heat on her cheeks upped another few degrees.
“Claire. You didn’t do that. I did. There was nothing to be ashamed of. “ He sat forward. “I think that settles it.”
She shook her head.
“If it is anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I have a foible—I like making women, some women, do what I want them to. You happen to be delightfully susceptible.” His eyes glinted mischievously.
But it was too easy to imagine Inkline sneering and insulting her. Slut would be his favorite word. She was nothing more than an animal.
“Claire,” he said more sharply, “you did nothing wrong!”
He didn’t understand. Hell, she wasn’t sure she did.
Furious, just plain blindly furious, she yanked on the tablecloth, upsetting china and cups, then shoved back her chair with a squeal of its legs on the tiles, and a bang as it tipped over.
“Didn’t I? Well, someone did!” She spun around, prepared to march off.
Dankyo skidded onto the balcony, followed closely by the four guards. He flipped the cover off his holster.
“Wait!” Still in his chair, Theo held up a hand. “Stand down, Dankyo.” He ran his palm over the top of his head. “Sit, please, Claire. I can see there are misunderstandings I should clear up.”
“No!” She flounced her skirt out from where it had wrapped around the chair. “No. I’ll not stay. I have nothing more to say.”
That infuriating combination of reasonableness and… She set her mouth firm, glared at him again. And pure goddamned maleness would unhinge her if she stayed a moment longer. She could even smell the difference between him and other men.
She turned and sailed toward Dankyo, who’d stopped halfway to the doors, clearly appalled that anybody would defy his master. When she went to brush past, he put out his arm and barred her way. Harry and a second guard moved to back him up.
“Claire”—Theo’s voice remained even—“I may comprehend your reasons, but I will not have impoliteness at my table.”
Fuming, she put her head down a moment before turning and walking back to him. “You comprehend my reasons? I doubt that. Very much.”
He rose. She looked up, disconcerted, having forgotten his height. “I require an apology.”
She nodded, dry-mouthed, finding she’d lost track of why she’d become so angry. She was an assassin, a trained killer, and not his rag doll to be ordered this way and that. Her anger should surely be at herself, not at Theo. Or, was there no one to blame and get angry at? Was Theo right?
“I’m…sorry, Colonel.” And she was, in a way.
He leaned in, whispering in her ear, “Thank you.”