Stranger in My Arms(22)

Lara couldn’t help returning his smile. “I still have it,” she admitted.

“I asked Mrs. Rouille to make a pear tart.” Hunter stood and went to her chair, settling his hands on her shoulders as if to keep her there forcibly. Leaning close to her ear, he lowered his voice and murmured, ‘Stay for just one bite.”

The velvet rasp of his voice made her shiver. He must have felt the tiny movement, for his fingers tightened on her shoulders. Something about his touch disturbed her profoundly, a gentle strength, a sense of ownership that she balked at. She made an automatic gesture to push him away, but as she felt the warm, hair-dusted backs of his hands, she paused. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from exploring the shape of his long bones, the hard angles of his wrists. His fingers flexed, like a cat kneading its paws, and she drew her hands over his in a tentative sweep.

The moment spun out, the silence deepening until the only sound that broke it was the tiny sputter of the candle flames.

From somewhere above her head, she heard Hunter’s shaky laugh, and he pulled back as if she had burned him.

“I’m sorry,” Lara said softly, her face reddening with surprise at her own actions. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“Don’t apologize. In fact…” He knelt by her chair, staring at her.

His voice was low and a bit unsteady.

“I wish you would again.”

She was mesmerized by the fire-swept darkness of his eyes. He held very still, as if encouraging her to touch him, and she clenched her fist in her lap to keep from reaching out. “Hunter?” she asked in a whisper.

His face changed, the illusion of perfectly cast bronze dispelled by a crooked grin. “You always say my name as if you’re wondering who I really am.”

“Perhaps I am.”

“Who could I be, then?”

“I don’t know,” she replied soberly in the face of his teasing. “Long ago I used to dream…” Her voice died away as she realized what she had been about to reveal. He had such a terrible power over her, making her want to tell him her secrets, to be vulnerable to him.

“What did you dream, Lara?”

She had dreamed of a man like the one he seemed to be… she had dreamed of being wooed, charmed, caressed… things she had never dared to confess even to Rachel. But those fantasies had faded when she had met Hunter, and she had learned the reality of marriage. Duty, responsibility, disappointment, pain… loss.

She didn’t realize that her emotions showed on her face until Hunter spoke wryly. “No dreams left, I see.”

“I’m no longer a young bride,” she replied.

He gave a short laugh. “No, you’re an ancient matron of twenty-four, who knows how to manage everyone’s life but her own.”

Pushing back from the table, Lara left her chair and faced him as he stood. “I’ve managed my affairs quite well, thank you!”

“So you have,” Hunter said, all mockery gone. “And I intend to do better this time. I’m going to make a settlement on you, so that if anything ever happens to me-again-you’ll be provided for in a suitable manner. No more hovels and ill-fitting gowns and shoes with holes worn through them.”

So he had even noticed the soles of her shoes. Was there anything that escaped his notice? She strode to the door and opened it, pausing to look back at him.

“I shall’t stay for dessert-I couldn’t eat another bite.

Good night, my lord.”

To her relief, he didn’t follow her. “Pleasant dreams,” he murmured.

Her mouth curved in a forced smile. “For you as well.”

She left quietly, closing the door behind her.

Only then did Hunter move, wandering to the portal, his large hand clasping the oval brass knob that she had just touched, searching for any remaining warmth her skin might have imparted. He leaned his cheek against the cool, glossy panel and closed his eyes. He craved her body, her sweetness, her hands on his body, her legs open to him, her throat tightening with feminine cries as he pleasured her… He shoved the thoughts away, but it was too late, he was left with a painful erection that wouldn’t subside.

How long would it take for her to accept him?

What the devil would she require? If only she would assign him some herculean task for him to accomplish and prove himself. Tell me what to do, he thought, emitting a slight groan, and by God, I’ll do it ten times over.

Disgusted by his maudlin longing, he pushed away from the door and went to the Chippendale mahogany sideboard, its serpentine front adorned by delicate gilded swags and carved leaves. A silver tray had been placed on the top, laden with cut-glass decanters and snifters. He poured a healthy splash of brandy for himself and downed it at once.

Hanging his head, Hunter waited for the smooth fire in his throat to spread through his chest. He braced his hands on the top of the mahogany cabinet, fingers curving over the edges… and then he felt it.

A tiny, nearly undetectable hinge at his fingertips.

Curiosity prickled along his nerves. Removing the silver tray and glasses, he set them on the floor and felt underneath the top of the sideboard in a search for hinges and latches. Locating an irregularity in the wood, he pressed inward, felt it give, heard a click.

The top of the sideboard loosened, and he lifted it free.

A secret compartment-and what it contained made him sigh in sudden relief.