Page 22

“Kat, you’re here.” He leans in to brush a quick kiss on my cheek, drawing eyeballs our way. “And you’re…a cat?”

“Yup,” I confirm happily. “Kat the cat. Clever, right?”

“It’s perfect.” His eyes dip briefly to my corset-enhanced cleavage. He runs his hands down my black velvet sleeves, thumb brushing my bare wrist at the end. “I like this.”

“Quite. And you’re…” I pull back to study him, still puzzling it over. “What are you?”

“I’m a pirate,” he says with a shifty grin. “Arg, matey! Can’t you tell?”

I laugh and reach out to tweak the sash around his head. “I can actually. It’s quite good.”

“It’s fun, I suppose. This is kind of stupid though.” He reaches up to pull the sash off and stuffs it in his back pocket.

“How did you come up with this?”

“It’s a family thing. We dress up every year with a different theme.

This year we’re a pirate crew. See my dad over there?

He’s the captain, in that long coat. Ethan is the first mate, naturally.

” He points to his brother, chatting in a small group with Harry Astor and a pretty woman dressed as a cowgirl .

“And my mom—over there—well, I think she’s a wench?” Matthew laughs. “She’s calling herself ‘the Lady of the Ship,’ or something ridiculous like that, but I’m pretty sure she’s just a plain old sea wench.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “I love it even more knowing you’re all doing it together. How fun!”

“Some years are more fun than others.” He wrinkles his nose. “One time, my mom picked a circus theme, and Ethan made me be a clown. I had a red nose and everything. He came up to me a thousand times during the night to squeeze it and demand I tell jokes.”

I nod toward the first mate and his cowgirl companion. “Who’s the gal he’s with tonight?” I ask. “Did he bring a date?”

Matthew snorts. “Ethan? Never. Ethan doesn’t date. He just messes girls around. His latest was a prima from the Paris Ballet. She was touring the East Coast this past summer and gave Ethan a few ‘private lessons’ in her free time.” He snickers.

“And what about you?”

“I was at medical school, then indentured to the hospital for the last six years, Kat. I don’t really date either.”

“But you’ve ‘messed girls around?’” I borrow his term, trying to be blasé. “Like your brother?”

His smile is roguish, so handsome I nearly forget myself. “If I have—and wouldn’t you like to know—I’ve been far more discreet than him. If you catch my mother looking at you like you’re an apparition, that’s why. She’s never seen me with a woman before. Ever.”

“Really? Wow.” I digest this news.

“Surprised?” He shrugs. “I haven’t lived at home since I was eighteen. My parents don’t need to know everything about my life, and neither does my brother.”

“Hmm…what about me? Do I get to know? ”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” His shifty grin is back, but I ignore it.

I’m so not telling him mine. How would I even begin to explain Paul and Abe?

“So where do you live downtown?” I ask instead.

“On Jones Street.”

It’s a very fancy reference, lots of old money townhomes. Near Raymond’s, actually.

“Maybe I’ll have the pleasure of stopping by sometime,” I say casually. “Since, apparently, there’s a revolving door policy.”

He laughs. “Definitely not a revolving door, Kat. One woman over the course of a year. And one before that in medical school.”

And just like that, he shares. So simple. So easy. So Matthew.

“Would you let me beat you at pool if I came over?” I ask.

“What?”

“You have a table, right? Ethan mentioned it at the picnic.”

“You have a good memory.”

“I always remember the things that interest me.” I try to inject some suggestion because we’ve been talking for a while, and talk is not what I came here for tonight.

Unchaperoned at long last. He doesn’t seem sure how to respond though, so I take the plunge and try again.

“Will you show me around? I’d love to see more of the house. ”

“Certainly.” He takes my arm.

The temperature is cooler in the hallway, but when he moves toward another room full of partygoers, I stop him.

“Matt. This house is full of empty rooms, but you want to keep me in the three that are full of other people?” I raise an eyebrow.

He glances over his shoulder, back into the room with his parents. “I don’t want to take advantage, Katarina. You’re a girl from the Academy. A lady. My parents would kill me. ”

“I’m giving you the advantage, Matt. Trust me, you can take it.”

He takes a deep breath. “Would you like to see the library?”

“I’d love to. I’m a voracious reader.”

As we walk down the corridor, away from the guests, I inspect the wall paintings with interest. I’m hardly an art critic, but I’m certain I spot a Rembrandt and a Degas hanging side by side.

An ornate, mahogany end table displays a collection of antique snuffboxes beneath the dome of a stained-glass Tiffany lamp, and—good heavens!

—is that a Fabergé egg in a gold stand? I momentarily close my eyes against the onslaught.

This degree of wealth is staggering, and the man on my arm holds the keys to the kingdom owning it all.

How on earth, I wonder, is he so very unaffected?

In contrast, I feel rather faint.

When we pass the dimly lit, mirrored-wall foyer, I reach my hand out for another brush of the ivory banister, seeking the grounding of something tactile. It really is exquisite.

Matthew stops. “Ethan and I used to slide down that when we were kids.”

I look at it with renewed interest. “Seems like a dilly good time.”

“It was. Until once…” He takes my hand and drags me around to the base. “I rammed into Ethan, here at the end, and we crashed. I knocked my jaw into the molding. See how this wood is stained lighter than the rest?”

I do.

“They had to replace it. Somehow, it chipped when I landed. My mother was madder than a wet hen.”

“Ouch, sounds painful.”

“I knocked out two baby teeth and scratched up my jaw pretty good,” he declares proudly, “but no lasting damage. ”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” I graze my fingers across his chin and cheek, finally having an excuse to revel in the feel of his stubble. It’s absolutely delicious. “I really like this,” I tell him, fingering the scruff. Magnetized.

“I thought you liked me clean-shaven?” he whispers. “You asked about it once at the Academy.”

“I was asking because I liked it.”

His lips are soft and sweet when he lowers them to mine.

I’m patient for a few minutes while we kiss.

It’s longer than he’s ever held and moved with me before, but there’s nothing behind it but innocence.

No fire. No racing heart, no fumbling fingers.

No urgency or desire. I’m so disappointed, I could cry.

His hands wrap around me, but they stay firmly on my back and shoulders.

He’s being gentle, and I can’t stand it.

I know there’s chemistry. I feel it every time he looks at me. When he smiles, my gut clenches. Heart in my throat. But the minute he presses his lips to mine, the connection seems to shrivel up and die.

I realize, abruptly, we’re at a crossroads.

I’m not interested in a relationship that’s comfortable and familiar, doomed to end in exploitation and heartbreak.

If that’s where this is headed, then it’s better to end things now, before Paul gets his hooks in deeper.

Before he makes me get my hooks in deeper.

I don’t want to hurt Matthew or his family, not in such a personal way.

He’s either worth the risk or he’s not. And right now, I need to conduct a risk assessment.

“Matt.” I stop him with a frustrated groan. “I’m going to be honest with you, and it’s only because you’re absolutely killing me.”

“Okay.” He swallows nervously.

“It’s been rather lovely, spending all this time with you over the last month. But this”—I gesture between us—“polite, respectful kisses…it doesn’t do it for me. Not even close. If we’re going to keep seeing each other, I need to know you can give me a lot more. ”

“Katarina—” he begins.

I can hear the excuse before he even strings it together.

“So either you stop treating me like a porcelain doll, or I go home right now.” My tone is final. Nonnegotiable.

“I’m not trying to treat you like a doll,” he answers. “I’m trying to be respectful. To treat you like a lady. The way you deserve to be treated.”

“Not all women want to be treated like a lady, Matthew. I certainly don’t.”

He looks closely at me. I’m locked in on his blue eyes. I see temptation burning there, and it gives me the tiniest of thrills. He just needs one more push.

“What’s it going to be?” I whisper, raising my eyebrows. Daring him.

The moment stretches between us, interminable. The hallway is silent, but it’s a silence so loud, it roars in my ears like a crescendo. I’m deafened with desire. Combusting with it.

Matthew lets out a soft groan before slamming me into the mirrored wall, his lips crashing over mine. His tongue dips into my mouth. Fingers rake through my hair. My body ignites, sparks finally roaring to life.

Yes. This. I press my hips into his, craving the closeness. Just like this.

His kisses are confident and demanding now. Unforgiving. Openly wanting.

I yield, surrendering my mouth to him. I moan into his lips and run my hands through his soft blond hair.

His fingers tangle in my curls, then pull, forcing my head back to expose my neck.

When his lips press into the hollow space below my ear, I exhale sharply.

He slides one hand to cup my cheek and presses the other, palm flat, onto the mirror behind us.

“Katarina,” he whispers, his nose brushing mine. Foreheads touching.

I slide my fingers over his chest. Down, down, down.

I pause for a moment at his waistband, then plummet further.

He’s straining against his costume breeches, almost too much for my hand.

I give him a gentle squeeze, and his answering moan nearly takes me out at the knees.

I’m feverish with wanting. Coming undone all too fast for him, yet slow enough to hurt.

When my fingers move to work the buttons of his fly, Matthew’s eyes pop open.

“Not here,” he hisses, grabbing my hand. “Charlie could be around.”

“Charlie?”

“The club caretaker. He’s like a ghost. He’s ancient, and he’s everywhere.”

I’m panting with desire when he grabs my hand, leaving a smudged, sweaty palmprint on the gilded mirror. He pulls me down another hallway, into a dark room. He closes the door behind us with a soft click .

We pick up exactly where we left off. My hands go to his pants, and I sink to my knees in anticipation. But Matt’s fingers encircle my wrists, yanking me upward and pressing me back against the door.

“You drive me wild, Kat,” he murmurs into my lips. “Let me show you how much.”

With an astounding degree of confidence, his hand slides between my legs.

Slides to a place I’ve only ever let Paul and Abe touch.

He rubs me gently, and it feels so good, I actually grind myself into him, wanting more pressure.

So much more pressure. His fingers move, digging through layers and layers of tulle.

He’s searching for a break in the fabric of my costume, but he won’t find one.

And beneath the traitorous tulle are my heavy silk stockings to contend with.

There’s simply no way he’s getting me out of this monstrosity of a costume. It’s an impractical nightmare.

Betrayed by my exquisite fashion sense. It’s certainly a fitting way for me to perish.

“Kat?” he finally asks. “I have no idea what you’re wearing, and don’t get me wrong, I like it, but—”

I shake my head and moan. “It’s…it’s not coming off. Not easily. Just…” I trail off, hoping he can read my mind .

“That’s okay,” he says. “I know what you need.” His hand goes back down, moving between my legs with measured assurance.

I cry out, eyelids slamming shut.

“Shh,” he murmurs into my neck.

His hand starts working me over my clothes.

I haven’t had anyone touch me like this in years, having graduated to—what I thought were—bigger and better things.

But Matthew is never afraid to prove me wrong.

Exquisitely wrong. Wrong in a way that sets my mind tumbling and reeling.

Bringing me to the brink, pushing me straight over the edge.

He presses his lips to mine, swallowing my whimpers. I melt.

When I collapse into him, he continues brushing me with kisses. I shudder on the comedown, opening my eyes to brilliant, steady blue.

Breath by breath, I return to myself. I cannot remember the last time someone made me come from outside my pants. Maybe never. Not like this. Certainly not without the expectation of something in return.

I tip my head onto his shoulder, stuporous. “I have no idea what you just did or how you did it but consider me sufficiently impressed.”

“So you’re not going home?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Matt.”