Page 8 of The Secrets He Keeps

He appreciated that.

He admired the severity and tenacity it took for a woman to gain the kind of wealth and power this one had in a world so dominated and desecrated by men. But he also knew such endless ambition and resolve often required a person to sacrifice—or at the very least, carefully conceal—their softer elements.

After their stouts were brought out and the manager retreated once again, Erik raised his glass in a toast. “To the next twelve days.”

She lifted her glass in a graceful salute. “Eleven, Mr. Maxwell.”

He smiled. “The day is not over yet.”

“True,” she acquiesced, “but I hardly think you’ll have me splayed across this table before we finish lunch.”

She accented the statement by brushing her hand across the table. She wore red gloves today. Satin, reaching up to her elbows. Erik immediately envisioned her wearing nothing but the gloves, her lush body draped in sultry abandon across the bare wood surface of their table as he stepped between her parting thighs.

The woman’s gaze narrowed. A knowing smirk twisted her reddened lips. “I can see you are now imagining exactly that, though I struggle to believe you are the type of man to indulge in even a little bit of daytime debauchery.”

He lowered his chin to reply in a tone of dark confession. “You know better than to judge a man by his outward presentation, madam.”

She searched his gaze for a long moment before replying in a heavy murmur, “I do indeed.”

Their conversation was briefly paused as a wide tray of chilled oysters was brought to the table.

As his dinner companion removed her gloves by tugging at each of her fingertips before sliding the satin free, Erik was surprised by what was revealed. A tattoo of a black winged dragon graced the pale skin of her inner arm. The serpent’s tail encircled her wrist like a permanent bracelet while the creature stared out with green eyes as sharp and penetrating as the lady’s own gaze.

He glanced up to see she had noticed his intent perusal. Rather than feign disinterest, he reached his hand across the table and tilted his head in question. “May I?”

A fine blonde eyebrow arched and he got the impression most people did not openly comment on the tattoo. Without a word, she extended her hand toward him.

Her hand fit perfectly in the cradle of his. Pressing his thumb to the soft center of her palm, he slowly drew her hand closer so he could study the intricate detailing in the creature’s scales and wings and its noble expression of disdain. The artwork was stunning. Though it was a decidedly European depiction of the mythical beast, Erik hadn’t seen a tattoo of such quality since his years in Asia. Unable to stop himself, he lifted his other hand to trace the design with his fingertip. From the dragon’s angular head, along the curving coil of its powerful body, following the elegant lines of its tail around the delicate bones of the lady’s wrist to the spiked, arrow-point tip.

A flawless depiction of grace, power, violence, and sensuality.

Though he perused the tattoo intently, he did not miss the subtle rise of gooseflesh on her skin in reaction to his light touch, nor did he miss the way her fingers curled involuntarily toward her palm when his fingertip reached the delicate skin of her wrist. When he shifted his hold to continue the soft caress along the individual lines of her palm, he was immeasurably pleased that she did not pull away.

“Why the dragon?” he asked as he lifted his gaze back to hers.

The green of her eyes had darkened during his exploration and her eyelids had grown slightly heavy, shielding the secrets of her thoughts. Heat swirled instantly through his blood in response. It amazed him how swiftly and intensely his lust was triggered by this woman.

“Dragons guard their treasures fiercely and indiscriminately,” she replied. “Any fool who’d covet the dragon’s possessions can expect a fiery death.”

Erik gave a short nod. “You chose the symbol as a warning.”

Her hand tensed briefly in his. “That’s correct.”

“How many men have you been forced to light aflame?”

Her lips twitched as she gave a graceful shrug of her bare shoulders. The gesture was both dismissive and suggestive at the same time. “I’ve lost count.”

He had no doubt of that. “Fools,” he murmured thickly.

“Every single one,” she agreed in voice of subtle steel. Her green eyes stared intently into his for a long, silent moment before she withdrew her hand from his. He knew better than to try to hold her.

The oysters were the best he’d enjoyed since arriving in England while the stout proved to be a perfect pairing. They ordered a second round as the remnants of their meal was cleared from the table.

Erik relaxed in his chair as his body embraced the languid aftermath of a good meal. In contrast, his mind remained fiercely alert and focused on the enigmatic woman across from him. He’d known from the onset that seducing the celebrated madam would not be easy. He didn’t want easy.

He wanted her. Plain and simple. From the moment he’d watched her approach him in his office the previous day. The undeniable strength of purpose she possessed and the dynamic, sensual, almost ruthless confidence she embodied made his blood simmer and his cock stand. But more than the lust she inspired, it was the way she ignited his mind that attracted him most intensely.

In her presence, he had to be vigilant and shrewd. He could not rest on a superior intellect to retain an upper hand as he so often did. He enjoyed the way she challenged him with her jaded disbelief and brash arrogance. She was formidable. No doubt.

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