Page 13 of Carbon

“Dr. Fitzgerald, may I have a quick word?”

“Of course, Alicia. What can I do for you?”

She stepped closer, and I strained to hear her words. “It’s a professional matter.” Her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink, and she glanced at the cleavage spilling from the top of her dress. “Perhaps we could go somewhere more private?”

A boob job? She wanted to chat about a boob job? How much bigger did she want them to be?

Gregory turned and shrugged. “Sorry, Augusta, but work calls. I’ll be in touch during the week.”

And that was it—dismissed. At least I knew where I stood, and at least I was free to make my escape. Dumping the dregs of my wine on the nearest waiter’s tray, I dashed off like Cinderella, only I was heading towards my Prince Charming rather than away from him.

Okay, so not Prince Charming, exactly, but then I was hardly the stuff of fairy tales either.

I checked my phone as I slipped out of the side door. No more messages, and five minutes left to get to the guest cottage. I’d hoped to change my shoes because my feet were killing me, but would Midnight wait if I was late?

I couldn’t take that chance.

My breath puffed into the cold night air as I rounded the corner of the cottage, balancing on tiptoes. He hadn’t thought this through, had he? Lawns and stilettos certainly didn’t mix.

“Augusta.”

A whisper from beside me made me jump, and I whipped my head around in time to see his silhouette step from the shadows by the back porch. He’d picked a moonless night again, but I could just about make out the white “V” of a shirt under his suit jacket. So, a party guest?

I wobbled on my heels, and he reached out to steady me, one hand on each of my arms. Even that innocent touch through my velvet dress made me tingle all over.

“I’m here,” I whispered back.

His lips slammed down onto mine as he kissed me with an intensity bordering on painful, a clash of teeth and tongues that had me melting at his feet. No, not melting. Sinking. Sinking into the damp earth at his feet.

“Shit,” I muttered. “My heels are stuck.”

This never happened to Lady Anne.

I felt him smile against my mouth, and a quiet chuckle escaped his lips. “Ever consider flats?”

“I’m quite short enough already, thank you.”

Angie and my mother were both five feet eight, and my father four inches taller still, but by some fluke of genetics I’d ended up at five feet four with most of the other debutantes towering above me.

Midnight’s response? He dropped to a crouch and ran his hands up my legs, lifting my dress with them until it bunched around my waist. Only his hands on my ass cheeks preserved any kind of modesty because the black lace thong I’d worn didn’t leave much to the imagination. My plain white undies were now stashed firmly at the back of my wardrobe. He drew my bottom lip into his mouth and sucked as he lifted me clear of my shoes and carried me towards the cottage, pressing me to the wall next to the back door.

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he commanded, and I was only too happy to comply as his hard cock rubbed against me through the thin layers of material. The friction of the lace drew another gasp from me as he gently bit down on my lip. I might even have moaned.

“What’s with this dress?” he asked. “It leaves everything to the imagination.”

“Uh, I could take it off?”

“Not in this temperature,mon cœur, and not with those bricks against your back.”

“We could go inside?”

He grinned against me. “Where would be the fun in that? Besides, I like the dress. It means none of the lecherous bastards at that party got a good look at you.”

“It means you can’t get a good look at me either.”

“I don’t need to. Not when I can feel you.” He dropped one hand and ran a finger between my legs. “And I can feel you spent the last two hours getting yourself worked up.”

“I...” I couldn’t lie. “I totally did.”

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