Page 82 of Miss Delectable
“I know exactly who I need, Orion, but you are maddeningly—”
He pushed forward. “Yes?”
“Maddeningly delicious,” Ann said, closing her eyes. “Why must you feel so wonderful inside me?”
“What comes after wonderful?”
Her breath hitched, telling Rye that he’d found the angle needed to answer his own question.
“I don’t…” Ann moved in a luxurious undulation. “Angels defend me. This is better than last time, and I didn’t think anything could surpass that pleasure.”
Oh Lord, she was too much. Too honest, too enthusiastic, too perfect for him. A skirmish ensued, between Rye’s determination to make his lady happy and his body’s need to share in the joy. Determination won by a narrow margin as Ann shuddered out her satisfaction while clinging to Rye in a desperate embrace.
He stilled rather than tempt himself beyond reason.
“That was…” Ann sounded dazed and happy. “That was well past wonderful. That was spicy and sweet and rich and hot and… I’d say sinful, except with you, nothing of wrongness applies.”
She battered him with dearness, and Rye retaliated by sending her over the edge again, this time in a blaze of passion as explosive as it was intense. When she was drowsing in his arms, he withdrew and spent on her belly, then tucked close and let himself drift.
As she’d said, sweet, rich, hot… all the wondrous qualities of passion made deeper by profound caring.
“I don’t want you to go,” Ann said when Rye lifted up enough to retrieve the handkerchief from the bedside table. “I don’t want to let you out of this bed, much less back into your clothing.”
Rye tidied up as best he could and shifted to his side, spooning himself around his lover. “Nobody need go anywhere at the moment. Close your eyes and rest, Annie. I will be here when you awaken.”
She took his hand. “I will dream of you.”
“And I of you.”
Except that he didn’t. Rye remained awake, memorizing the rhythm of Ann’s breathing and the curve of her cheek. She was the banquet prepared especially for him, and he was nearly certain he’d have to leave her and go off to France where, in all the ways that mattered, he’d soon starve.
* * *
Ann layin Orion’s arms and suffered nightmares of guilt. She should tell him she’d lost her job, tell him she was soon to remove to her aunt’s household.
He would be disappointed in her for abandoning Hannah so soon.
He might also wonder why Ann would give up on her dreams without more of a fight, but she wasn’t giving up. She was retreating, taking stock, trying on a different perspective—wasn’t she?
“You are awake,” Orion said, glossing a hand over her hip.
How she loved his touch, and how she would miss it. “Thinking. I am soon to leave the Coventry.” That pronouncement was as graceless as overly salted soup, though Ann was relieved to have made it.
Orion shifted to crouch over her, though Ann remained on her side rather than face him. “What happened, Annie? You fought battle after battle to gain your post at a prestigious club, and you are invaluable to the Coventry. Who has done this to you?”
“Jules Delacourt. He has decided that the kitchen isn’t big enough for his talent and my ambition, to quote him.”
Orion nuzzled her ear. “The boot is on the other foot. The kitchen isn’t big enough for Delacourt’s arrogance and your ability. Shall I have a word with my dear brother-in-law?”
Sycamore Dorning was first rate at handling the customers, and he kept peace among the waiters, dealers, and footmen. He delegated matters in the kitchen to his chef and would not appreciate Orion’s meddling.
“You shall not.”
“Because,”—Orion gently rolled Annie to her back—“you do not want to be the cause of acrimony between me and my family. Dorning is a big boy. He’s up to a little blunt speech from a concerned brother-in-law.”
“Mr. Dorning’s entire livelihood depends on his club, Orion. He cannot fire Jules without earning the notice of the gossips. The cachet of having a French chef does much for the Coventry’s reputation, which—need I remind you—is that of asupperclub that offers other amusements.”
Orion rolled with Ann so she ended up straddling him. “Illegal amusements. I admit that Dorning has an Achilles’ heel, in that a disgruntled chef could inspire the authorities into making a raid, but you don’t owe Dorning lifelong fealty, Annie. What has sent you from a post you love?”
