Discovering the Devil

F o u r t e e n

"Yes!"

"Or is it what you want me to do?" Penelope asked. She took a step closer to him.

"What are you talking about?" he growled.

"You're so afraid to touch me." Her words did not even reach a whisper. "You're afraid of what you want to do to me." Desire was beginning to swirl inside of her. Her eyes grazed hungrily over his semi-nakedness, lapping up taut muscles and broad shoulders before ending at his waist. That delicious, heady haze was beginning to sink over her. She wanted to undo his towel. "Admit it."

"That's a bald-faced lie."

"Really?" A seductress' whisper. She looked into his eyes. They were getting hotter and blacker by the second.

"Really," he echoed. His voice was taut.

They both watched as her fingertips gently grazed his stomach. ""You don't like this?"

He was very close now. He was hot against her. He was hers. There were lips against her ear. "You must stop this," they said.

She did not stop. Greedy fingers slid up up and down; exploring, drinking, eating. And then they undid his towel.

"Penelope." His voice seared her. Her fingers snaked down until they took him into her hands.

"Look at me." He obeyed. His face was choked with lust. "I want you to remember this. I want you to remember that you are firing me because you're scared you want this, not because you want to protect me."

And then she left.

***

HARRY took twenty minutes too long to calm down after she left. Even afterwards, he vibrated with longing. He couldn't concentrate on the rest of his tasks that day and it was infuriating. He kept thinking about her. The whisper of her lips against his skin. Gliding fingertips. Drunk, starving eyes. The feel of her hand around him. It was delicious and agonizing. Harry waited for these feverish yearnings to melt away. He wasn't a little boy that had never been touched by a woman before, surely he could control himself. Harry found that he could not.

When he dreamt of her illicitly purring beneath him, Harry woke up livid. Why would she do this to him? How was she doing this to him?

Moreover, why couldn't she appreciate what he was doing for her? It was bad enough that everyone thought he was sleeping with her. Now, she'd probably been seen leaving his room. They didn't even have plausible deniability anymore. Of course, Harry was most angry with himself. He could've shouted at her. He could've pushed her away. But he didn't.

Harry squashed down a thread of heat as he thought again of those gliding fingertips. It would've been one thing if she had just been teasing him...but he saw it. Felt it. She wanted him too. Even now, in the midst of his anger, that knowledge sent a gratifying rush down to the tips of toes. Harry shrugged it off. He couldn't have her, no matter how much he wanted too. And damn her for making him feel for a moment that he could.

That day, he paced his study trying to think of a way to get rid of her. He cornered her in the hall once he knew he came up with a plan that might work. As he approached, he felt a flush of anger as the events of yesterday played in his mind once again. He forced a polite smile. He had to be nice. He was the only one of them who was sane. If he barked, she would bite, and where would that leave them? Once his housekeeper saw him, she stiffened. She was having none of it. "I have something to attend to," she said brusquely.

"Seeing that I'm your employer, I think whatever task you have can wait."

Miss Redwood tried to leave anyway, but he blocked her path. She sighed. "What do you want?"