Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

A voice behind him sent chills down his spine, freezing him where he stood.

“Mr. Bell?” the unseen someone called, from a distance of mere paces away. “Mr. Bell, is that you?”

Bloody hell.

The instinct of self-preservation was a powerful force. Julian didn’t stop to wonder which of his employees or business associates had recognized him. He didn’t ponder the implications of his two lives colliding in this crowded tavern, or even pause to think of some witty, deflective remark that might have fixed everything.

He didn’t think at all. He acted.

“Let’s get out of here.” He slid an arm around Lily’s waist, whirled her around, and pulled her straight into the thickest knot of dancers, weaving through the crowd.

“Mr. Bell!” the voice called again, closer this time. “Mr. Bell, it’s me!”

Deuce it all. It was Thatcher, his secretary at Aegis Investments. He would know that voice anywhere, and of course the man would recognize him in any crowd. Here Julian had been so concerned about Lily being recognized, he hadn’t thought to conceal himself. So bloody stupid. He briefly cursed himself for paying his employees such generous wages that they had coin to toss away on ale and dancing. Thatcher would be on starvation pay, from this day on.

A hand touched his shoulder.

Julian swiveled his head.

Thatcher grinned. “Mr. Bell, it is you. We’ve a table just there. Come join us, if you will. Can I buy you and your lady a—”

Julian gritted his teeth and shook his arm free. “Thatcher, damn you. Not now.”

Then he pressed ahead in the opposite direction. Lily hadn’t heard Thatcher, she hadn’t heard him. She knew nothing, and he was determined to keep it so.

“This way,” he said, tugging her to the back of the room and through a narrow corridor. They passed by a small, crowded kitchen and through a storeroom, where Julian located a back exit through a narrow door.

They emerged into the alleyway. It was a step down to the pavement, and Lily stumbled a bit as he hurried her into the street. Julian tightened his arms about her delicate form, and together they reeled to a stop just before colliding with a brick wall.

He gasped for breath, looking over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been followed. Light shone through the open door, casting a cone of illumination into the dark alleyway. With his heart drumming in his ears, Julian scanned the surroundings.

No one, thank God.

“Did that man in the brown suit know you?” she asked, twisting in his arms. “Is he a friend of yours?”

“No.” Damn it. Wrong answer. The correct one would have been, What man? I didn’t see any man. There was no man.

“Then why did he follow us? And why have you brought me out here?” She looked to the sky and shivered. “Perhaps we should go back inside.”

“No.” He cinched his arms about her waist, pinning her close. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” In the dark, her pupils were wide and inquisitive.

He had to do it. He had to supply some reason for dragging her out here, and he had to stop the flow of questions from her lips. Really, it was the only way.

He dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers. “Kiss me. Just kiss me.”

Again and again, he feathered light, teasing caresses of his lips against her mouth. Just the merest suggestions of a kiss. She went soft in his arms, releasing a sigh of pleasure.

“Kiss me, Lily,” he whispered, teasing the seam of her lips with a flick of his tongue. Telling her what he wanted in clearer terms than spoken words. “Let me know that you want this. Kiss me.”

He stopped, pressing his brow to hers. Their breath mingled in the ribbon-thin gap between their lips. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted so much more than that. God, how he wanted. But if this went any further, it had to be because she wanted it, too.

Kiss me, he silently pleaded. The real me. The man who cares nothing for clubs or parties or the current style. The man who spends all day thinking of you, wondering where you are and what you’re doing and what it is you’re thinking. The man who wants nothing more in this life than to come home to you after a day’s honest work and listen to anything and everything you have to say before sweeping you off to bed.

Kiss me.

Arching her neck, she pressed her lips to his, just softly. Then retreated. Teasing him as she’d been teased.

“That’s it,” he murmured, nearly mad with the effort of holding back. He nuzzled closer, letting his breath warm her cheek and lips. “More.”

And there came an instant—a blissful instant—where the air around them took on an electric charge, or the night warmed a degree with revelation. Somehow, he just knew it was going to happen.