"Second place to a greenhouse." He'd worked his way around to her jaw when his gaze skimmed over a letter she had spread open. "What's this? An answer from that mining company."
"Yes, at last. They've gotten their bookkeeping together. We'll get a thousand pounds when we turn in the stock."
He drew back frowning. "A thousand? For ten thousand shares? That doesn't seem right."
She only smiled and rose to take down her hair. Normally it was a ritual he enjoyed, but this time he only continued to stare at the papers on her desk.
"You didn't know Da," she told him. "It's a great deal more than I expected. A fortune really, as his schemes usually cost much more than they ever gained."
"A tenth of a pound per share." He picked up the letter himself. "What do they say he paid for it?"
"Half of that, as you can see. I can't remember anything
he ever did that earned as well. I've only to tell Rogan to send them the certificate." "Don't."
"Don't?" She paused, the brush in her hand. "Why shouldn't we?"
"Has Rogan looked into the company?"
"No, he's enough on his mind with Maggie and the gallery opening next week. I only asked him to hold the certificate."
"Let me call my broker. Look, it can't hurt to get a prospectus on the company, a little information. A few days won't matter to you, will they?"
"No. But it seems a lot of bother for you."
"A phone call. My broker loves to bother." Setting the letter down again, he crossed to her and took the brush. "Let me do that." He turned her to face the mirror and began to draw the brush through her hair. "Just li
ke a Titian painting," he murmured. "All these shades within shades."
She stood very still, watching him in the glass. It shocked her to realize how intimate it was, how arousing, to have him tend to her hair. The way his fingers combed through after the brush. Much more than her scalp began to tingle.
Then his eyes lifted, met hers in the glass. Excitement arrowed into her when she saw the flare of need in his.
"No, not yet." He held her as she was when she started to turn to him. He set the brush down, then drew her hair away from her face.
"Watch," he murmured, then slid his fingers down her to the belt of her robe. "Do you ever wonder how we look together?"
The idea was so shocking, so thrilling, she couldn't speak. His eyes stayed on hers as he unbelted the robe, drew it away. "I can see it in my head. Sometimes it gets in the way of my work, but it's hard to mind."
His hands trailed up lightly over her breasts, making her shiver before he began to unbutton the high-necked gown.
Speechless, helpless, she watched his hands move over her, felt the heat spread under her skin, over it. Her legs seemed to melt away so that she had no choice but to lean back against him. As if in a dream she saw him tug the gown from her shoulder, press his lips to the bared skin.
A jolt of pleasure, a flash of heat.
Her breath came out on a little purr of agreement as the tip of his tongue teased the curve of her neck.
It was so stunning to see as well as to feel. Though her eyes went wide when he slipped the gown up, over her head and away, she didn't protest. Couldn't.
She stared in amazement at the woman in the glass. At herself, she thought hazily. It was herself she watched, for she could feel that light, devastating touch as his hands curved up to take her breasts.
"So pale," he said in a voice that had roughened. "Like ivory, tipped with rose petals." Eyes dark and intense, he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, felt her tremble, heard her moan.
It was beautifully erotic to watch her body curve back, to feel the soft, yielding weight of her sag against him as she went pliant with pleasure. Almost experimentally he took his hand down her torso, feeling each muscle quiver under his palm. The scent of her hair streamed through his senses, the silk of those long white limbs, and the sight of them trembling in the glass.
He wanted to give, to give to her as he'd never wanted to give to anyone before. To soothe and excite, to protect and inflame. And she, he thought, pressing his lips to her throat again, was so perfect, so outrageously generous.
A touch, he thought, at his touch all that cool dignity and calm manner melted away.
"Brianna." His breath was backing up in his lungs, but he held on until her clouded eyes lifted once more to the reflection of his. "Watch what happens to you when I take you up."
She started to speak, but his hand glided smoothly down, cupping her, finding her already hot and wet. Even as she choked out his name, half in protest, half in disbelief, he stroked her, gently at first, persuasively. But his eyes were fierce with concentration.
It was staggering, shocking to see his hand possess her there, and to feel those long slow strokes that evoked an I answering pull and tug in her center. Her own eyes showed her that she was moving against him now, willingly, eagerly, almost pleadingly. Any thought of modesty was forgotten, abandoned as she lifted her arms, hooking them back around his neck, her hips responding to his increasing rhythm.
And she was like a moth pinned by a sharp sweet spear of pleasure. Her body was still shuddering when he lifted her, carrying her to the bed to show her more.
Chapter Fourteen
"The opening's tomorrow, and he's barred me from the place." With her chin on her fist, Maggie glared at Brianna's back. "And he's plopped me down in your kitchen so you can be my keeper."
Patiently Brianna finished icing the petit fours she'd baked for tea. She had eight guests, counting Gray, including three active children. "Margaret Mary, didn't the doctor tell you to stay off your feet, and that since the baby's dropped, you could deliver earlier than you'd thought?"
"What does he know?" Cranky as a child herself, Maggie scowled. "I'm going to be pregnant for the rest of my life. And if Sweeney thinks he's keeping me from the opening tomorrow, he'd best think again."
"Rogan never said he intended to do that. He didn't want you..." She'd nearly said underfoot and took more care with her words. "Overdoing today."
"It's my gallery, too," she muttered. Her back was paining her like a toothache, and she was having twinges. Just twinges, she assured herself. Probably the mutton she'd eaten that afternoon.
"Of course it is," Brianna soothed. "And we'll all be there tomorrow for the opening. The advertisements in the papers were lovely. It'll be a great success, I know."
Maggie only grunted. "Where's the Yank?"