was, it was that word, obediently, used in connection with Serena—she removed the robe and handed it to him. She stood there in her shift, shivering a little.
“Have you ever done one before?”
That spurred her into action. She spun away, took a few quick steps forward, and turned a long line of perfect cartwheels down the center of the tunnel.
He sat down on the steps and watched her spin back, bare feet and arms and long white legs flashing out of the darkness into the candlelight. She stopped a few yards from the stairs. Flushed with exertion, she pulled her shift quickly to rights—but not before he saw one dusky aureole. Oh God.
“Do—” He cleared his throat. “Do you feel better?”
She smiled at him, still panting. “I do, actually. I feel lighter.”
“Good, I’ll fetch the strawberries. Here’s your robe.” He shoved it quickly into her hands and fled back under the stairs.
They ate the strawberries sitting on the stairs. He was uncomfortably aware of her nearness, and tried not to watch her put the strawberries in her mouth, or to think about what else she would have put in her mouth if he hadn’t had scruples.
When the strawberries were all gone Serena said with a sigh, “I suppose we should be getting back to bed.”
“Just a little longer? I don’t feel like sleeping just yet.”
“It’s late.”
“I know.” He looked down and rubbed at a strawberry stain on his finger. At least it didn’t clash with the splotches of black. “Last night, I had one of those dreams about Elijah again. I—just stay a little longer.”
He could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “Would you like me to stay all night?”
He looked askance at her.
“In an entirely platonic way, of course.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. I’m not too keen on my own bed right now either.”
He hesitated, as if there were any chance of his saying no. Serena in his bed. Waking up in the night and hearing her breathing, feeling her warmth. It would be torture, but he wanted it. Apparently, so did she. “Would you?”
“I never back out on a deal.”
Serena was not amused when she woke early the next morning to find herself lying next to an angelically slumbering Solomon, her nose pressed into his side and her arm flung across his chest. She sat up. In the morning light, his freckles were sprinkled across his face like gold dust.
Lord, what a stupid thing to think. She rubbed at her eyes.
Last night had gone all wrong. She had merely planned to seduce him, to get him to beg her to stay the night. True, she hadn’t expected the experience to be unpleasant—quite the opposite. But she had planned to remain firmly in control.
Instead, the instant he gave in and kissed her, she’d forgotten all her skill and plans, lost in a wave of sensation, unable to do anything but pant and moan and—God, had she really?—rub herself against him like a cat in heat.
Her attempt to take back control had been disastrous. When he had recoiled, she’d thought she would die. When he’d said, I’m not interested in strange women, that awful ruined feeling from when she was eighteen had risen up and drowned her. Whore, she’d thought. He’s too good for you, and he knows it. For a second she’d hated him with the same sullen contempt she’d felt the first time she’d seen him. And Solomon—bizarre, wonderful Solomon—had yet again only wanted something more honest from her.
He’d pulled back, stopped her from wrapping her mouth around him and showing him all the advantages of bedding the most notorious ex-whore in London, and somehow they’d ended up sleeping side by side like a couple of innocent babes. She’d clung to him. She had let him see her almost in tears. And his ridiculous cartwheels had actually made her feel better.
What was next? Frolicking through a field of daisies? Sweet, tender lovemaking? That idea does not make me feel all warm and tingly, she told herself firmly. Her mind ignored her, dwelling on the last few moments before Solomon had put a stop to things.
She’d pleasured plenty of men with her mouth and received more than her share of compliments on her technique. But last night it had been different—she’d really wanted to, wanted to feel Solomon trembling and hear him gasp with pleasure and know that it was her doing. She had wanted him to look at her the way he looked at his experiments, or