LITMIR.BIZ

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he opened the door, he was instantly reminded why he should never, ever make vows.

      The woman standing on the other side of the door was Alexandra.

      “Do you have company?” she asked.

      He shook his head.

      “Good.”

      She entered without waiting for his invitation, breezing past him and into the center of the room. “So sorry to intrude. I went out on the green to track a celestial object that was passing out of my view upstairs. In my haste, I locked myself out of the house. The night is unusually cold. Thank goodness you were awake.” She looked around her. “And alone.”

      She wore only her nightclothes, and her arms were crossed over her chest to soothe her shivering. Good Lord, he’d seen her in her shift entirely too many times. All he could think of was seeing her out of it. He’d spent days struggling to banish this fantasy from his mind, and it was all for nothing in the end. She stood before him, a dream come to life, and he was seized with desperation to take her in his arms and hold her tight, lest she vanish.

      He plucked a blanket from the chaise longue and wrapped it about her shoulders, in the interests of self-preservation.

      “So was it a comet?” he asked.

      “Not this time, I’m afraid.” She hesitated, looking him over. “I’m glad to see you.”

      His heart made an embarrassing, giddy flip.

      “We haven’t spoken in some time,” she said. “And the girls have been missing you.”

      “Is that so?” he said in a low, flirtatious drawl. “And you, Miss Mountbatten? Have you been missing me, too?”

      She looked away, flustered.

      He was a coward, burying that question beneath jaded swagger when he secretly longed to hear the answer. For his part, he’d been missing her intensely.

      She turned her gaze about the room. “My goodness. You’ve been busy, haven’t you? So many improvements. Have you done all the labor yourself?”

      He shrugged modestly. “Most of it.”

      All of it, but he didn’t want to sound as eager for her admiration and approval as he felt. He’d been telling himself he’d done all this building to take his mind off her, and now he wondered if he’d been telling himself a lie. Maybe he’d done it for her. Not to seduce her, but to impress her. She’d complimented his carpentry, after all. Even named it as one of his redeeming qualities.

       You’re good with your hands.

      Her gaze landed on the hammer and nails he’d just set aside, and she walked toward his just-finished project—a wide, tall cabinet with two shuttered doors.

      “Is this a new wardrobe?” She put her hand on one of the door handles.

      Bloody hell.

      “Alex, wait.” He lunged forward just as she gave the handle a pull, catching her in his arms and drawing her to the side. Just in time. The contents of the cabinet fell forward as designed, spilling into the center of the room and landing with a crash.

      His heart pounded from the urgency of whisking her to safety. It pounded even harder from the thrill of holding her in his arms.

      She didn’t seem in a hurry to leave his embrace. Instead, she stared at the room’s new centerpiece and gave a little laugh. “Oh, my. Now that is impressive.”

      Alex was awestruck.

      A bed.

      Really. A secret, stashed-away bed. This was beyond antlers, beyond bawdy house paintings and velvet draperies. He’d tucked a mattress and bed frame in the cabinet, standing it on end so that when the doors were opened, the bed folded down from the wall—ready for use.

      It was ingenious in its sheer depravity.

      His strong arms remained about her. She probably ought to express some thanks for his swift move to save her from being crushed by the thing. But at the moment, she was too transfixed by his invention. Extricating herself from his embrace, she strolled around the perimeter of the bed, peeking under the frame and investigating the mechanics.

      “Did you devise this yourself?”

      “I’m not the first to think of a folding bed, if that’s what you mean—but I made my own customizations for this one.”

      “Where did these wooden legs come from? The cabinet’s not deep enough to fit them.”

      “They’re tucked under the bed frame. When the bed is lowered, they unfold to support it.”

      “Remarkable. And it’s even made up with bed linens.” She trailed her fingertips over the satin sheets. When she came to the end of the bed, she peered at the back of the cabinet. “Oh, look. There’s a mirror. You truly are shameless, aren’t you?”

      “Never claimed otherwise.” He moved behind her, stepping into the reflection. “There’s meant to be a strap to secure the thing. Keep that sort of accident from happening. But I hadn’t installed it yet. I only completed the thing today.”

      If he’d only completed it today, and he didn’t have company tonight . . . that meant the bed hadn’t yet been used.

      Good.

      The thought of him occupying this bed with another woman made her tremble with envy.

      She wanted him for herself.

      There was no denying it any longer. Only deciding what—if anything—she meant to do about it.

      Alex regarded herself in the mirror, consulting her conscience. In years to come, her memory of the next few moments would either be cause for pride and satisfaction, or a source of profound regret. One way or another, her life would be altered forever.

      “The other night, in your bedchamber . . .” She turned to face him. “You told me there were many ways to give and receive pleasure. A great many ways.”

      He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

      She steeled her nerve. “Teach me a lesson.”

      As Chase stared at her, Alex’s nerve endings tied themselves into knots. Individually. By the time he finally spoke, she was nothing but human carpet fringe.

      “You can’t mean that,” he said.

      “Before you argue, let me assure you—I’ve thought it all through.”

      He looked dazed. “But of course you have.”

      Alex navigated around him and went to the well-stocked bar. “Let’s count the advantages.” She slid a whisky decanter toward one end of the counter. “There’s too much tension between us. If we can dispel it, why shouldn’t we? We’re both adults.” She sent a bottle of champagne to join the whisky. “You’re frustrated”—a jug of apple brandy—“and I’m curious.”

      He had no response.

      “You said yourself, you’re scrupulous about preventing conception and disease. That does away with those risks on my end.” She moved a few more bottles to join the rest, then stood back. “Look at the tally. The conclusion is obvious.”

      He blinked at the row of bottles and decanters. “What I’m concluding here is that I should send you to bed and then get roaring drunk.”

      “Don’t be absurd. I can’t think of any disadvantages at all, unless . . .” She gave him a coy look and pushed a wine bottle toward the “against” direction. “It might be bad?”

      With a huff, he crossed to the bar, grabbed the wine bottle, and plunked it down solidly among the “for” arguments. “It would not be bad.”

      “Or maybe . . .” She reached out and nudged the bottle back toward the negative side.

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