This is a bad idea, a tiny voice in my head reminds me. Stop him. Push him away. You're supposed to be the one in control. You're supposed to get him to…
But for the life of me I can't seem to think of anything but the feel of his flesh on mine, the hardness of him at my back, the ache of pleasure building between my legs. I want him to touch me. To tug and push and pinch at my flesh. To take me to the brink and back.
Fuck all the rest.
I press harder against his hand. He obeys my silent order, moving his fingers more quickly. The heel of his hand finally slides against my clit, and I shudder.
"You're close," he observes. "The tension has swelled and swelled and there's only one way out. You'll do anything for release. Anything to ease this frustration. Your body is ready for it, tense for that one touch that will take you over the edge."
Yes! my mind screams. Yes! Take me over the edge!
"Tell me what you want, Lily," he asks again, his voice deep and throaty.
"Do it," I rasp. "Please…”
I'm shaking. Just one more touch, one more ounce of pressure. I'm so close, so close…
But instead he releases me, so suddenly that I nearly fall over. I reach out and catch myself against the wall before my trembling legs collapse beneath me. I still ache, terribly, between my legs. I was there, right on the cusp of letting go. Why did he stop?
I turn, still leaning against the wall for support. Calder stands behind me, his shirt rumpled and his hair disheveled. He looks so fucking sexy I want to throw myself at him. His eyes are half closed, darker than usual, but I don't miss the devilish gleam in their depths.
"What—what was that?" I ask, my voice hardly more than a squeak.
He steps closer. For a brief, fluttering moment I think he means to finish the job, but instead he only brings his lips to my ear once more.
"That," he says huskily, "is the frustration I see in the painting."
CHAPTER EIGHT
What the fuck just happened?
I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath, while Calder holds his hand out to me as if we were just having a perfectly normal conversation.
"Ready for the rest of the tour?"
Like fuck I am. I can hardly stand upright. He just had his fingers inside me and now he wants to pretend like none of it ever happened? My breasts are still hanging out, for fuck's sake.
I straighten and quickly yank my dress back up.
"What the hell was that?" I say.
He withdraws his hand. "A lesson."
"A lesson?"
"You asked me why this painting was my favorite. I was only answering you." He rubs his jaw. "You seemed to be enjoying it well enough."
"You too," I counter, but honestly he doesn't look half as flustered as I feel. How the fuck did he manage that? I know he wants me too, that he was aroused by the way I let him touch me.
"Is this some sort of sick game?"
"Not at all," he says, leaning toward me again and dropping his voice. "I only wanted you to realize how much you want me."
I open my mouth to deny it, but I know it's a lost cause. I can't bluff my way out of this, and Calder knows it. He's watching me with an infuriating mixture of smugness and amusement. I can't decide which I want more: to slap him or to grab him and kiss him.
His dark eyes are scanning my face, waiting for acknowledgment of my attraction. Despite the fact that I basically begged him to make me come only about a minute ago—not to mention my other behavior of the last twenty-four hours—I can't bring myself to say the words. Not now. Instead, I push myself away from the wall and extend my hand to him.
"I'm ready to continue our tour," I say. "I imagine there's a lot left to see."
I'm rewarded, briefly, by the look of surprise that flashes on his face. He recovers quickly, but it makes me feel better to know I've knocked him off balance, if only for a moment.
He takes my hand.
"There's lots more to see," he says cheerfully. "Where would you like to go next? The stables? The kitchen?" He flashes a flirtatious smile at me. "Maybe you'd like to visit one of those secret passages? I think you'd find it quite stimulating."
I feel like someone's dumped a bucket of cold water on my head. He’s toying with me. He has to be.
My eyes leap to his, and he's still wearing that self-satisfied smile. He has me in his power, and he knows it. He's enjoying it.
There's only one way to fight that.
"The secret passageway sounds amazing," I say. "Let's start there."
If my quick agreement surprises him, he doesn’t show it.
"Of course," he says, holding out his arm to me. "This way."
I hook my hand around his elbow, praying that he doesn't notice how shaky I still am. His skin is fire-hot beneath my touch, but he appears perfectly calm and collected. The bastard. He must get off on making me squirm.
He leads me from the gallery, and as we pass a long window I crane my neck to peer outside. The sky is still dark, the rain still pouring down. Thunder rumbles in the distance, suggesting that the storm won't be ending anytime soon.
How much longer I can survive in this place with Calder, I don't know, but one thing's for sure: I'm in way over my head.
* * *
I spend the afternoon in my room, thankful for the time to myself. Calder's gone off to take care of some "business," though what that could possibly mean from him—a guy who's never had to work a day in his life—beats me. Maybe he hopes to break more of his father's promises.
There’s a knock on my door about an hour after I’ve retired, and for a moment I think he’s come to tease me some more. I consider pretending to be asleep, but I refuse to play the coward. Instead I run a hand through my hair, smooth the wrinkles out of my skirt, and pull open the door with a smile.
It’s not Calder. Instead, I find a tray of food waiting for me. I stick my head out and glance down the hallway, but whoever left this here has already gone. It’s funny—all this time I’ve been here I’ve only seen Calder and Chef Martin. In a house this size, I expect it would take a small army to keep things running smoothly, but instead the place feels deserted.
In the end, I decide not to eat the food. I don’t have much of an appetite, anyway. I’m too distracted.
I sink down on the bed and throw my arm across my eyes. I don't know what I'm doing here. I've only made our mess worse, and now I've played right into Calder's hands. This is not how things were supposed to go.
I can still feel his touch on my skin, feel the heat of his breath along my neck. I found Garrett attractive, but I never responded to him like this. This thing—this crazy, twisted thing—is way more intense. I feel like I'm dangling over the edge of some bottomless chasm, and that terrifies me.