The Raven (The Florentine #1)(114)

William’s words seemed to Raven to be more of a description of what he hoped was the case, rather than a statement of fact.

She squeezed his shoulders encouragingly.

“I think you’re right, William. As long as I can lean on you, I don’t need my cane.”

“Then lean on me forever.”

“Forever is a long time.”

“Not long enough when you have hope dancing in your arms.”

Raven saw desire and passion on William’s face, his gaze startling in its intensity.

“Kiss me, William. Kiss me and pretend you mean it.”

“I don’t have to pretend.”

His lips descended to hers.

Something had changed. Raven felt it the moment their mouths met.

He’d lowered his defenses and was kissing her with more than just his body. She felt his affection and want, his focus and attention.

Raven wrapped her arms around him. He took her weight, lifting her slightly.

When his kiss lessened, she pulled away and smiled. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For that kiss. I felt it in my heart.”

He brushed his lips against her forehead.

“Take me to bed,” she whispered.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” He ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek.

She nodded.

He swept her into his arms and strode quickly to one of the corridors that led from the large central room. They passed several closed doors until they came to the end of the hall.

William opened the last door and stepped inside.

The room was dark, but within minutes he’d lit candles and placed them around the space. Music could still be heard from down the hall but now it featured the rise of angelic voices singing without accompaniment.

“Who’s singing?”

William approached one of the candles, staring into the flame. He reached out to toy with it, passing his hand through the fire. “They’re called Stile Antico. They sing music that is more to my taste.”

“It’s beautiful. What are they singing?”

“A collection of Renaissance compositions on Song of Songs from the Old Testament.”

Raven looked at her surroundings, at the large, central bed, which was dressed in black satin sheets. The walls were painted purple, the ceiling black. A mirror ran the length of one of the walls, reflecting the bed.

She turned her attention back to William.

“Song of Songs is the only book in the Bible devoted to sex,” she observed.

“It isn’t just about sex. ‘The king hath brought me into his chambers: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, we will remember thy love more than wine.’”

“Beautiful.” Raven smiled.

“It’s about sex, seduction, and erotic attraction, but it’s also about affection, tenderness, and play.”

“So the book is about you.” She gave him a saucy look.

“It’s fortunate for me that you think so.”

Raven’s gaze traveled to the erotic photographs on the walls. They were all black-and-white: some featured a man; others featured a woman; but all paid special homage to the human’s neck.

“What is this place?”

William focused on the flame once again. The set of his shoulders telegraphed his reticence.

“Some of the members of the club use these rooms for sex. Intercourse is not permitted in the public spaces.”

Raven frowned. “Have you ever done that?”

“I’ve never had intercourse in the club before. I believe such assignations should be private.” William stood at the foot of the bed, watching her. “We should go.”

“Why?”

“This is not the place for you.” He leaned over and blew out one of the candles.

“Wait.” She caught his arm. “We’re here alone. You’re playing beautiful music. And I want you.”

“That bed has its own memories.” He jerked his chin. “So do the walls.”

“Let’s give them new ones. Good ones.”

William stood before her, cupping her face in his hand. “I didn’t bring you to Teatro for this. I simply wanted a place where we could enjoy one another.”

“Then let me enjoy you.”

She knelt on the bed, her fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt.

He stood, watching her eagerness with no little amusement.

“This is interesting.”

“How so?” She removed his cuff links and peeled the black shirt from his body, throwing it to the floor.

“I’m used to being the seducer.”

She brought her lips to his chest. She kissed across the smooth surface, enjoying his sharp intake of breath when she opened her mouth and tasted his skin.

His chest was hairless and well-defined, as were his abdominal muscles.

“You don’t want me touching you?” She paused, tracing the space where his heart was.

He dropped his voice. “I didn’t say that.”

She felt his broad shoulders and smoothed over his biceps, fascinated by the lines and contours of his muscles, the muted strength.

She gently stroked his abdomen, pressing a kiss just above his navel.

He tangled a hand in her long black hair, letting it slip through his fingers.