Into His Private Domain Page 12

  It was almost like holding her naked. Every hill and valley of her body was his to explore, the thin fabric more of an enhancement than an impediment. The skirt of her dress succumbed to gravity, baring her legs. He slid a hand up her thigh and found only a tiny excuse for panties. His handkerchiefs were bigger.

  The satin between her legs was damp. He rubbed gently, dangerously close to losing control. “You want me.” He needed to hear the admission, needed to know that he wasn’t the only one going crazy with lust…with hunger so intense it obscured all other realities.

  “Yes.” Her voice was little more than a reedy breath of air.

  He stroked a pert nipple, now sure that nothing stood between him and her bare skin but the dress. “God, you are beautiful.” He tangled a hand in her loose curls, wrapping one around his finger and seeing how it clung to his skin. Tugging gently, he half lifted her and helped her straddle his lap. The dress had to be shoved higher. He couldn’t risk tearing it. Not now. With the skirt rucked up to her waist, he could see that the panties were hot pink, his new favorite color.

  The naughty position made her vulnerable to his touch. His thighs stretched hers deliberately, opening her to him completely. He could have removed the panties…thought about it. But certain boundaries had to remain if he was to fulfill his role tonight.

  Deliberately he stroked his thumb over her clitoris. She moaned and writhed as if trying to get away. No way in hell. He had her right where he wanted her. Again, he repeated the caress.

  “Gareth…”

  “Hmm?” He probed with two fingers at the opening of her channel, hampered by the cloth, wishing this erotic play was going to lead directly to the intimate contact he craved.

  She didn’t say anything else. Her eyes were closed. She was wrapped up in the pleasure he was giving her. That knowledge filled him with fierce satisfaction. The evocative bouquet of her perfume mingled with the scent of feminine arousal.

  “Look at me.” As her eyelashes fluttered open, he locked his gaze on hers, demanding obedience. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”

  She did as he asked…immediately. Without a word.

  “See how long you can hold out,” he urged. “Show me your strength, your power.”

  He moved his thumb back and forth, changing things up with quick strokes of his fingers. Gracie whimpered and begged, coming nearer every second to completion. But as soon as he knew she was close, he cupped her with his palm, petting her and lulling her body into submission.

  She fought him. She called him names. And finally, when he was close to the breaking point himself, he nudged firmly and sent her shooting into a climax that was beautiful and humbling to watch.

  He’d long since resigned himself to an evening of agony. Now the night would be layered with sexual suffering as well.

  Holding her close, he stroked her bare back, traced the delicate spine, buried his face in her hair. The city streets swept by unnoticed. Gareth had the means to keep the car going indefinitely—all the way to L.A. if he chose—but the journey had an end. And Gareth had made a commitment he was forced to honor.

  Reluctantly he sat her up straight. Wincing at the sight of her sprawled legs, he turned her, straightened her dress and pulled her to his chest. “You okay?”

  She nuzzled her cheek against his starched shirt, right over the spot where his heartbeat thundered. “Yeah.”

  They rode in silence, just like that, for miles. The Welcome to Virginia sign made him curse inwardly. He didn’t want to let her go. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  By the time the limo rolled to a smooth stop, Gracie had returned to her seat, fixed her makeup and hair and huddled in her own corner, staring out the window.

  The senator’s mansion was impressive by any standards; white columns, softly weathered brick, a curved driveway filled with cars and guests. Gareth felt his gut tighten. He’d been in social settings as upscale or more than this one since he’d been a child. But the thought of being trotted out like a dancing monkey filled him with loathing.

  And the worst part was it was his own damn fault. He hoped that three hours would cover drinks and dinner and the obligatory mingling. All else aside, he wanted to take Gracie back to the hotel as quickly as possible.

  He reached across the seat and touched her hand. “I don’t know what your background is…” He chuckled ruefully. “And neither do you. But in my experience, the super elite are pretty much like anyone else. You’ll meet the vain, the cocksure and the genuinely charming. I’ll do my best to stay by your side, but the senator can be pretty bullheaded when he wants something. So if we get separated and you’re at all uncomfortable, grab a glass of wine, hide in a corner and I swear I’ll rescue you.”

  “And if I embarrass myself with a devastating faux pas?”

  He grinned, already focused on thoughts of having her tonight. “Don’t worry. After a few rounds of drinks, I guarantee you no one will notice.”

  Thirteen

  Gracie decided that the best way to handle the evening was to approach it as a movie. Her role was a tiny bit part that might end up on the cutting-room floor. Gareth was the star. And her job, at least for tonight, was to trail in his wake and be there if he needed her.

  As she placed her hand in his to be helped out of the car, their fingers clung. When she was standing on the flagstone driveway, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it, lingering long enough to make her knees weak. Though she tried hard not to show it, she was still reeling from Gareth’s drive-time entertainment. She had let him reduce her to a mass of quivering need, begged him with no thought for pride and then collapsed in his arms, sated…wrung out…head over heels in love.

  A love he didn’t want. A love she would keep to herself from now on.

  But sadly, there was no time for a post mortem, inward or otherwise. Their car was already pulling away. Gareth ushered her up a flight of steps flanked by topiaries sculpted in the shape of eagles. Tiny white lights entwined in the branches sparkled in the amazingly balmy night.

  The senator and his two-decades-younger wife received guests in the elegant foyer. “Mr. Wolff. I’m delighted to finally meet you.” The suave politician was tanning-bed bronze, twenty pounds overweight and had a smile that didn’t quite reach his calculating eyes. “This is my wife, Darla. And your lovely guest is…?”

  Gracie shuddered. This man gave her the creeps.

  Gareth squeezed her hand unobtrusively. “Gracie Darlington. A very good friend of mine.”

  “We’re so happy to have you visit our home.” The simpering Darla sized up Gareth with an experienced eye, her avid expression as she looked him over disturbingly akin to Chandra’s. Definitely a fresh meat nuance in her gaze.

  Fortunately guests were bottlenecking on the steps, so Gareth and Gracie were allowed to shuttle back through the hallway to the formal salon where hors d’oeuvres were being served. She found herself tucked close to his side to keep from getting crushed in the melee. Where was a fire marshal when you needed one?

  They snagged a table tucked to the side of a strangely out-of-place palm tree, and Gareth shook his head in bemusement. “Want some champagne?” he asked.

  Gracie nodded. “I have a feeling we’ll need more than one glass apiece.”

  He kissed her cheek. “You are so right. But we’ll start with one.”

  In a surprisingly short time given the crush around the food table, he returned with a duo of expensive crystal flutes and a single plate of food piled high. Scallops wrapped in prosciutto, wedges of baked brie, skewers of fat boiled shrimp and grilled eggplant.

  They stood elbow to elbow at the tall linen-covered table and demolished the bounty, Gareth consuming two-thirds of it. He smiled sheepishly as he filched the last shrimp. “Forgot to order room service. I’m starving.”

  Her lips quirked. “We could have snacked in the car,” she said demurely, feeling her chest flush with remembrance.

  His eyes darkened. Patting his mouth with
a thick napkin, he cocked his head and stared at her. “Some of us did. You’re awfully cheeky for a woman who was screaming my name thirty minutes ago.”

  “Gareth!” She glanced around to see if anyone was close enough to hear. “Behave yourself,” she said, pinching his muscular forearm through the fabric of his jacket.

  “That’s no fun.”

  She watched as his eyes scanned the room. The monstrous cabinet he had created for the senator held a position of honor on the far wall. It still amazed her to think of the talent hidden in Gareth’s large, masculine hands. But then again, she probably shouldn’t be surprised at all. He played her body like a maestro.

  Uniformed staff unobtrusively moved the crowd in the direction of the dining room. The long, narrow space held a magnificent dinner table surrounded by antique chairs, the seats covered in crimson-and-cream-striped damask. Handwritten place cards mingled with heavy silver and exquisite china.

  Gracie found herself seated between a charming ambassador and a famous baseball player. The fact that she knew the pitcher’s name told her she was a sports fan. Just one more piece in the puzzle. She was nervous, though she understood the functions of the place setting pieces and the flow of a formal dinner. Perhaps her father’s gallery hosted the occasional soiree, though on a far less exalted level.

  Gareth’s assigned spot was across the table from her, just far enough away to make conversation difficult. He, on the other hand, was surrounded by a pair of Botoxed socialites who hung on his every word. Though he conversed easily through at least five interminable courses, Gracie already knew him well enough to see the tension in his big frame…and his distaste for the way his dinner companions continued to touch him with seemingly innocent motions.

  It was a distinct relief when the senator rose to his feet and quieted his guests with the clink of a fork against his wineglass.

  He smiled expansively, clearly in his element as the cynosure of all eyes. “It gives me great pleasure tonight to introduce you to the incomparable Gareth Wolff.” He paused for the muted smattering of applause. “Gareth…if I may call him that?”

  The raised eyebrows and jovial urbanity directed at his reluctant star demanded a positive response.

  Gareth nodded stiffly.

  The senator continued. “Gareth, in addition to being part of the well-known Wolff financial empire, is a master craftsman in wood. He creates only special order pieces, and has a waiting list of several years. After much cajoling on my part—” polite laughter on cue “—Gareth agreed to build the gun cabinet you have all seen tonight, one that is a close replica of a piece once owned by the incomparable Teddy Roosevelt. I couldn’t be more pleased with the result, and it is my distinct honor to introduce to you tonight…Mr. Gareth Wolff.”

  Gareth rose to his feet, and for the first time, Gracie understood that Gareth Wolff was part of this world, despite his proclivity for seclusion. He was born to it, bred to be a mover and shaker. His stance was relaxed but compelling, his personality dominant in the hushed silence. His dark coloring made him seem like an exotic predator in a room full of colorful, insubstantial social animals.

  With one hand in the pocket of his tux, he swept his arm out in a motion that encompassed the senator’s largesse. “It’s an honor to be here tonight in the senator’s lovely home. And many thanks to our hostess, Darla.”

  The woman actually tittered nervously.

  Gareth smiled at her. “Not only has the senator met my outrageous purchase price, all of which, as you know, goes to charity, but he has also donated an equally large check for my delivery fee.” That last, self-deprecating, tongue-in-cheek remark amused the crowd.

  Gracie watched them, noted the way all eyes were on Gareth, the women with sexual appreciation, the men with respectful admiration. Even the senator didn’t appear to mind that Gareth’s sheer charisma had hijacked center stage.

  Gareth continued. “Most of the major fundraising in this country is financed by the generosity of men and women like yourselves. You make a difference in so many ways, and I respect your willingness to share with those in need, those less fortunate. Tonight, I’m especially grateful to the senator and his wife. I’ll look forward to meeting more of you as the evening progresses.”

  Gareth sat down to uproarious applause. Gracie was impressed and humbled. If there had been any doubt in her mind before, now there was none. She had no permanent place in the life of a man like Gareth Wolff. Though her own past was still an unknown, she sensed that her calendar was not studded with such evenings, and that hobnobbing with the social elite was not something she did on a regular basis.

  When dinner drew to a close, the crowd moved en masse to an actual ballroom. It was impossible to gauge the square footage of the senator’s home, but Gracie had seen enough of it to know that the man in question clearly had a private fortune to supplement his earnings as a public servant.

  Gareth joined her, an arm around her waist. He stood out in the crowded room. “You having fun?”

  His droll question made her smile. “It’s been an educational evening. I’ll give you that.” She leaned her head against his shoulder briefly. “You were very charming. I won’t be surprised if several of these women slip checks into your pocket.”

  “Not the men?” His eyes danced.

  “Perhaps. But you have every female in this house panting after you. And if they have to give money to get close to you, I’m sure that’s what they’ll do.”

  He turned her to face him, his hands on her shoulders, warming her bare skin. “Jealous, Gracie Darlington?”

  The question was teasing. He clearly expected a riposte from her in return. But the truth was—yes—she was jealous. Not because of any specific woman’s attentions to Gareth, but because she knew that the females gathered here tonight were the sort of pool from which a man in Gareth’s position would select a wife…if he ever did. She shifted slightly, forcing his hands to fall away. “Just making an observation,” she said lightly. “I’m not in a position to be jealous. And besides, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

  Gareth frowned. Opened his mouth to say something. But in that instant, Darla appeared by his side, her face alight with enthusiasm. “I’d like to share the first dance with our guest of honor… Hostess’s prerogative, you know.” She barely glanced at Gracie. “What do you say, Mr. Wolff? And may I call you Gareth? By the way, a half dozen of my girlfriends are planning to make donations tonight. I’m sure you won’t mind a few turns around the dance floor in return. Right?”

  As her high-pitched prattle continued, she drew Gareth out into the throng of dancers. Gracie watched them go, heartsick…alone. But when an older man with a bad hairpiece moved zealously in her direction, she hastily slid out a side door and found the ladies’ room.

  After using the restroom and checking her makeup, she sat on an ornate ottoman for a long time, giving Gareth a chance to make his obligatory rounds. Finally she sucked up her courage and returned, like a weary Cinderella, to the ball.

  Gareth saw her as soon as she entered the room. The knot in his stomach eased. He’d known the instant she vanished, had fretted like an old woman until she reappeared.

  If he had his way, he would make a beeline for her right now. But the fact that he now had a sheaf of checks in his pocket, which at first glance totaled well over two hundred thousand dollars for his charity, kept him on the job. Reluctant. Frustrated. But resigned. Probably less than five percent of the crowd gave a damn about what was important to Gareth. But if they were willing to toss cash around like confetti, he wasn’t going to stop them.

  As he watched, Gracie found a seat on the sidelines and waved at him, her face serene, her expression amused at his expense. He grinned at her wryly over the shoulder of his current dance partner. Gracie knew how much he hated this. What she probably didn’t understand was how much her presence made it all bearable.

  During every interminable song, in the midst of every cloying conversation, he subvert
ed his impatience with the knowledge that tonight he’d have Gracie in his bed, wrapped naked in his arms.

  Another woman cut in, her determined gaze brooking no opposition as she elbowed her predecessor out of the way. Gareth sighed inwardly, ground his teeth and manufactured a smile that was beginning to fray at the edges. “Tell me your name,” he said, consigning the woman to hell and back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  It was after eleven when Gracie visited the bar for one last glass of wine. During the course of the evening she had exchanged banalities with a host of people whose names she would never remember. She was ready to find a chair and hide out until Gareth cut loose and decided it was time for them to leave.

  A half dozen times he had moved in her direction, clearly expecting to dance with her, only to be waylaid at the last moment by one of the senator’s guests.

  Not all of Gareth’s admirers were female. Almost as many men approached him, not to dance of course, but to pull him aside, offer a cigar out on the terrace, or merely to engage him in conversation.

  Gracie was disappointed, but not hurt. She wanted to dance with Gareth, but this evening was not about romance. That would come later. Just the thought of being alone with him in their fancy hotel room made her breath catch. These glitzy people might have dibs on him for the evening, but when it was time to go, she had him for the whole night.

  As she sipped her wine and contemplated how much her feet hurt in her beautiful shoes, a pleasant-faced older woman approached her.

  “Hello, my dear. I’m Genevieve Grayson. My husband works as a lobbyist for the beef industry.” She paused, smiled diffidently and continued. “You seem a bit lost, and I know how that feels. I’ve passed many an hour at these kinds of functions, waiting patiently as my spouse does his job. I just wanted to say hello.”

  Gracie was touched. “Hello, Genevieve. How kind of you.” Perhaps that last glass of wine had been a mistake. The room seemed to be spinning slightly. “You must be a very patient woman. I can’t imagine doing this on a regular basis. Not that the senator’s dinner party isn’t lovely, but I confess I’m more of a curl-up-with-a-book kind of gal.”