“He didn’t have a heart attack,” Richard said. “He was about to be found out in tampering with a parliamentary vote, and he shot himself in the head.”
She drew in a sharp breath, and he continued, “My family had a PR team who make Pat look like a kindergarten teacher by comparison. They hushed up the truth about the suicide, the reason for it, the extent and range of my mother’s affairs, and God knows what else.” He met her eyes, and his smile was awful. “Pretty sort of background, isn’t it?”
Lainie sensed instinctively that if she put a foot wrong now—and if she offered anything resembling pity—he would shove her so far out of his life, she would be left reeling on the street. “I hope,” she said, in tones that were 5 percent compassion and 95 percent admonishment, “that you’re not going to blame your tendency to behave like a complete prick on your parents. Because I would wager my entire salary for The Cavalier’s Tribute that you were a stubborn, bolshie little horror in your pram.”
For a few tense moments, while her stomach twisted, Richard’s face remained expressionless. Then he laughed, and it sounded genuine.
Taking her by surprise, he reached out, grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled strongly, tumbling her onto his lap.
“Bob Carson had no idea what he was setting in motion,” he said, and he kissed her.
It took her a few stuttering breaths to catch up, but she had always taken direction well. She slid her hands along his jaw and into his hair, meeting the demanding thrust of his tongue with her own. He was stroking her own hair, sifting the silky strands through his fingers and humming his appreciation against her mouth. His lips trailed kisses along her cheek, her hairline and the curve of her earlobe. She jerked when he bit down. She could feel his hard thighs beneath her hip, and the subtle shifting adjustments of his body.
Lainie’s fingers went to the buttons of his sexy waistcoat, tugging it open, and then to work on the fine lawn shirt beneath. She flattened a palm on his chest and gloried in the deep shudder that shook through his taut muscles.
Warm fingers traced the lines of bone in her shoulders and clavicle. His hand slid down her spine, igniting a shivering path of nerves as he lowered the zip of her dress, before he retraced his path back toward her neckline.
He came to a frustrating pause before the more interesting part of the proceedings.
Lainie’s heavy eyelids parted and she inhaled sharply, trying to catch her breath. “What’s the matter?” she murmured huskily.
Richard tilted up her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were almost black with arousal. “Tell me you want this. Me.”
It was enlightening that she could be this far gone with desire yet still capable of irritation. “Richard.” She braced herself against his stomach. “I am prepared to stroke many things right now, but your ego is not one of them.”
He didn’t relax his grip. He was scanning her eyes, looking for—what? Reluctance? Sobriety? Temporary insanity?
“A few weeks ago, you couldn’t stand me,” he bit out, and she held his gaze without flinching.
“The feeling was mutual.”
“No. I never hated you.”
“No. You barely knew I existed.” She added thoughtfully, “I think that’s worse.”
He moved an impatient shoulder. “I don’t want to do this if it’s not for the right reasons. If it’s anything to do with what I told you tonight.” Purposely crude, he said harshly, “I have no need or desire for a pity fu—”
Lainie’s hand left his belly and covered his mouth. “If you want to retain the necessary equipment for this interlude, I suggest you don’t finish that sentence.” Her fingers moved, stroking his lips. “Richard. All I’ve had to do is look at you tonight and I want to curl up against you and purr like a cat.”
His slow smile was equally feline. A black panther rather than a cosy house cat.
She put her hand over his and moved it down, sliding it over her jaw and down her neck to shape the heavy fall of her breast. Still he hesitated, until she ran a fingertip from the hollow of his throat to the top of his belt. His body arched sharply under her touch, and his thumb found a racing pulse under clinging silk. Her nails dug into his shoulders.