Page 8 of Caged in Desire
Either way, as the grandfather clock begins to chime ten times, I can’t help but take up the cause of the underdog. Strolling forward, I move one key piece on behalf of Short Man.
“Checkmate!” I exclaim brightly, before continuing into Father’s office, feeling as if my act of charity has been done for the day. Just as I cross the threshold, I glance over my shoulder to give a kind wink to Tall Man, just in case he’s brooding over his loss. I see a flash of gray eyes filled with curiosity, and realize I’ve just interrupted, and lost on his behalf, my betrothed’s chess match.
“Katarina, the door!”
Father’s voice shakes me out of my reverie, and I give Henry Sinclair a soft smile before turning to greet my father, still somewhat flushed, and not just from fencing.
“And so, as you can see, Mr. Sinclair, everything is on pace for a lovely wedding next month. The almanac is calling for a beautiful October,” Father says smugly. Although I knew an October wedding was the plan, with all my rush fittings andlinen orders,it’s very clear that Henry Sinclair has been surprised by my father once again.
He’s a stoic man thus far, but a little tic in his forehead above his left eye belies his consternation.
“While I find it admirable that you’ve been able to organize an event of this size with such alacrity, Mr. Taranov, I’m still unclear on what exactly the rush is.” His forehead throb intensifies before disappearing entirely.
My father sips his vodka and continues to talk as if I’m not here. As if the wedding date wasn’t theonedecision I’ve gotten to make. When offered the choice of my birthday or a couple of weeks after, I chose the latter. I prefer as many days to be feted as possible per year, thank you very much.
“It’s quite simple indeed. You stipulated, very clearly, that you wished for Katarina to be nineteen years of age when you wed. If you’ve forgotten, I believe that I have the manuscript of that meeting filed away somewhere. On her chosen wedding date, she will, in fact, be nineteen years and a couple of weeks, meeting your requirement with room to spare. At that point,there is surely no reason to wait. Unless you are reconsidering your position? We might have to invest in a multitude of mothballs to protect Katarina’s trousseau, but I’m sure it’ll be as good as new in eighteen years for your nephew’s wedding.”
Father pauses, looking me up and down, obviously not pleased with how I presented myself for today's meeting. “If you’re concerned about her appearance, I can assure you, she’s usually much more put together.”
“No, of course, there’s no reconsidering of my position. There is still construction ongoing at the estate, which I was very much hoping to have completed before the lady of the house arrived.”
Henry directs his attention to me before continuing. “I think you look rather charming today, Ms. Taranova. I was pleasantly surprised to learn you were such an avid fencer when Ifinallyreceived an up-to-date list of your favorite pastimes.” He cuts his eyes briefly to my father before continuing. “It was one of my favorite activities when I lived in England, but I haven’t sparred in years, so I admit I might be a little rusty.”
“Yes, Henr…erm…Mr. Sinclair, I enjoy a vast variety of extracurricular activities,” I say, giving my most practiced demure smile.
“Clearly,” he says, hand fiddling with something in his pocket. “I’m afraid I didn’t learn about your proclivities until recently, hence the last-minute renovations. Which brings me to this.” He turns back to my father, holding up a rolled paper. “Perhaps if you’ll review these plans, you can advise if you have any construction contacts who can…”
Anything else he’s saying fades into the background as he and my father stand to look at blueprints laid out on the desk, apparently representing extensive renovations to his home. I’m not even able to ruminate on the fact that my fiancé doesn’t seemexcitedto be marrying me in a month, because said fiancé has removed his suit jacket, revealing a trim waist accentuatedby a perfectly tailored, crisp white shirt. His pants are unbelted because…oh God. He’s wearing suspenders.Now that I’m fully committed to ogling him, I luxuriate in the details of the monster of a man who is Henry Sinclair. He’s taller than any of his pictures suggest, and taller still than I estimated when he was sitting at the chessboard earlier. His physique is honed, a combination of weights and cardio from the looks of it, with broad shoulders and long arms trailing down to large hands and long fingers.
My mind is flooded with fantasies of what those hands could do to me. How those long fingers would trail down my body. How they could cup my breasts fully. He could probably wrap them both completely around my waist. He’s just solarge.Somuch bigger than me. And if everythingisproportional? Well, I can’t imagine his dick fitting inside my body. I’m not sure if sex could evenworkwith our height difference, but God, do I want it to. Maybe he can bend me over and take me from behind. Or I could climb onto his lap and run my fingers through his wavy dark hair as I rode him.
“Wouldn’t you say, Katarina?” My father’s voice snaps me back to reality. I close my mouth, which had been hanging open, and slowly pull my gaze from where it had settled on Henry’s ass.
Swallowing thickly, I ignore the small smirk I see forming on his sinful mouth and try to pull it together to answer the question I’m being asked.
“I’m so sorry, Father. What was the question?”
He huffs, but before he responds, Henry interjects. “We were discussing some changes to the formal gardens on the property. I’m building an elongated addition to accommodate a few fencing pistes, enough space to have small tournaments and whatnot, but we’ll have to move a fountain and relocate a family of ducks who inhabit the area. I asked your father if two pistesrather than three would be sufficient for your needs, as that would allow us to keep the fountain in situ.”
“And I said,” Father grumbles, “it’s impossible to properly host more than ten fencers with only two pistes available, and it really should be three.”
Father turns to say something to the man Henry brought with him, his solicitor, apparently, but Henry only has eyes for me. I realize he’s waiting on my answer, not my father’s.
“Ducks,” I whisper, dazed by the smell I’m now close enough to experience wafting off my fiancé. Vanilla, tobacco, mint. I think my mouth is actually watering.
Henry smiles fully, now, and I notice a dimple in his left cheek. “Ducks it is, Ms. Taranova.”
“Kat,” I say, clearing my throat. “Please, call me Kat.”
At this, he leans down slightly, tilting his head away from the other men in the room.
“You’ll only be Ms. Taranova for a very short while longer. Please, indulge me.” He pulls back with a wink and rejoins the conversation around the desk. I sit heavily back into my seat and catalog everything I can about this man I’m going to marry.
Thick hair, large shoes, back muscles flexing under his dress shirt, cuff links gleaming, and giant hands. My dreams didn’t do him justice at all. I’ve never been so simultaneously intimidated and turned on by someone in my life.
Trying to find fault in his physical specimen, I fail. He’s been nothing but polite and respectful throughout the meeting, as well, always ignoring my father’s opinions to ask for my preferences and advice. It’s not until he’s departed with a kiss on my knuckles and a promise to see me soon that I burst into laughter, realizing that he managed to slip me what he was toying with in his pocket. The chess piece I used to beat him earlier. Holding my new good luck charm, I smile, thinking that this marriage might not be so bad after all.
Chapter six
