Commencement

I felt his hands on my waist, gliding up my back to the zipper, and then he pulled it up and leaned his weight against me, his lips pressing to the nape of my neck as he fastened the hook at the top of the dress.

I shivered and turned in his arms, my eyes lifting to his. Even with him in bare feet and me in five-inch heels, he towered over me. I rubbed my arms, my eyes roaming from his lips to the sexy lines of his jaw and throat.

“Cold?” he asked.

“Not at all.” I smiled, shaking my head.

“Nervous, still?” he said, arching his brows, blue eyes flashing with amusement.

“Definitely.”

“Good,” he said and pressed his lips to mine softly, his hands circling my shoulders, holding me tightly to him and deepening the kiss. His tongue teased and promised, his hands ambling over my backside, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touched me.

He broke the kiss and I felt bereft, my lips plumped and primed, ready for more.

“Come on,” he said, taking my hand. “Our food is getting cold.”





8





He led me down a hall into an enormous dining room filled with the largest table I’d ever seen. The table was empty.

“Oh,” I said, surprised that there were no place settings laid out.

“We aren’t dining in here,” he said, pulling me towards a bank of French doors at the back of the room. “Too stuffy and formal. Instead, we’ll be in the solarium.”

“Nice,” I said. “Although with tonight’s weather, it’s more of a rainarium, I suppose.”

“Too true,” he said, opening the door wide and ushering me through. “But it’s also magnificent.”

“Oh my God.” I gaped at the scene in front of me. “It’s like being in a genie’s bottle.”

Beams and columns of etched silver steel framed panes of glass that fit together in geometric patterns reminiscent of a Moroccan oil lamp. The perimeter of the room was lined with deep benches, sumptuously upholstered and piled with pillows. The sky bellowed, a crash of thunder that signaled the storm was upon us. Lightning cracked and strobed through the glass, casting shadows through the rain—writhing rivulets that ghosted over cushions, our skin, the floor, and the white cloth that covered the table at the center of the room. A single elegant chandelier hung high above us, its crystals sparkling in the flickering light from the candles on the table below. The table was set simply, with fine white china and polished silverware.

“I’m glad you like it,” Thomas said as he pulled out my chair for me.

“I do, it’s incredible,” I said as he tucked me in.

“Wine?” he asked, moving to a sideboard behind me to retrieve the bottle.

“Definitely.”

I watched as he sliced the sleeve from the neck of the bottle and twisted the corkscrew. Strong lithe fingers pulled the cork firmly from the bottle with a pop.

“I love watching your hands,” I said. “You have sexy hands. Very expressive.”

“Thank you,” he said, reaching out to caress my cheek before retrieving my wine glass and filling it. “These hands can’t wait to express themselves all over you,” he said, smirking.

I shivered at his words, took the wine glass he offered, and drank deeply.

“Easy now.” He laughed as I gulped, a rich husky sound that sent a thrill of anticipation up my spine. “Now, I hope I can get this right,” I heard him say behind me. “Chef was very explicit in his instructions and I hate to think I could ruin his masterpiece with a simple misapplication of sauce.” He lifted a plate over my head and set it in front of me.

Thinly sliced medallions of duck breast, their skins crisp and shining, lay on a bed of roasted root vegetables and haricot vert. A deep crimson sauce glazed the edges of the plate.

“Wow.”

“I hope you like duck?”

“Yes, absolutely.” I nodded. “What is the sauce?”

“A reduction of port wine and mixed winter berries,” Thomas said as he placed his own plate on the table and sat opposite me. “Chef was adamant that I put the sauce on myself, just before serving. Otherwise he was concerned the duck skin would go soft.” He winked at me. “Can’t have that, can we?”

“Certainly not,” I said, slicing into the duck for my first bite. I chewed and moaned with pleasure.

“So I did alright, then? With the saucing?”

“I think your expert application of the sauce is what sends this meal right over the top, really.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He laughed as he chewed and reached for his wine glass. “Tell me, how does my gift fit?” He arched a brow and took a sip of his wine.

“Like I’ve been dipped in a vat of liquid silk. I love it, thank you. How did you guess my size?”

“I confess, I cheated.”

“You called Sasha.” I grinned and popped a forkful of roasted potato into my mouth.

“I did.” He nodded.

“Smart man,” I said. “I really love the lingerie, it’s beautiful and this place,” I said, gesturing with my fork, “it’s amazing. I wouldn’t even know how to go about finding a place like this.”

“Another confession,” he said. “I wouldn’t either, but my mother’s best friend is something of a private concierge.”

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