relaxing when I finally make it home at night.”
The black mirrored tile from the foyer gave way to glossy wood floors in the living areas. Royce walked over to the bar in the far corner. “Having you here gives me a chance to use the bar. I hardly ever have company.”
He fixed the martini she requested while she strolled along the long wall of windows, skirted the corner bar and continued along the shorter wall. “Incredible.”
“Thank you.”
“And thank you for inviting me here.” This time her look was more straightforward, promising.
Royce felt his insides heat up. “Well, thanks to you, I’m learning to mix business with pleasure.”
She lifted the martini glass in salute. “Me, too.”
If he let this go much farther, dinner would be burned beyond recognition. “I’d better finish up the food.”
As he turned away, he heard her footsteps behind him. “Mind if I join you?”
He paused, giving her a chance to catch up. “Please feel free.”
As they walked down a short corridor and into his designer kitchen, he had to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“I just realized.” He paused, then let a long, slow breath ease out, surprised he was admitting this. “I just realized that, besides my mother and the cleaning lady, you are the first person to ever join me in my kitchen.”
“Wow. Really?”
He watched as her blue gaze roamed over the mahogany cabinets with their black hardware, the cream ceramic appliances and the black tile on the walls. She made a beeline for the stools on the other side of the kitchen island. The large room was designed for social gatherings, but Royce had never used it as such.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Really.”
But what was even odder was how comfortable he felt with her in his space, if comfortable was even the word to describe the electrical connection that continued to surprise him.
But it wasn’t the only thing that surprised him. He was also bemused by how completely at ease they were with each other. They ended up eating at the island in the kitchen, seated across from each other on stools. Her eyes sparkled just as much as her wineglass under the lights. Their conversation flowed naturally from the upcoming masquerade to other events they’d attended.
After exclaiming over the food with genuine enthusiasm, Jasmine took her wineglass and wandered back down the hallway to the living room. Night had taken full hold. The mature trees below and the climbing ivy overflowing the outer walls onto the windowsills gave the impression of being protected by nature as they looked onto the lights spread out before them. Savannah was a city of hard brick and lush greenery. “It really is beautiful, Royce.” She half turned toward him. “I can’t believe your mother loved the manor house more.”
“She did enjoy the view here, but I think Keller House made her think of a time when she was happier, when life had possibilities.”
Jasmine was nice enough to add, “But in the end, she was left with the knowledge that she had raised a fully capable young man who would take care of himself and her.”
He glanced down into his glass, feeling a familiar mixture of sadness and pride. “She didn’t have to worry anymore.”
Suddenly he felt a brush of warmth on his arm. Through his dress shirt, he could feel the outline of Jasmine’s hand. He couldn’t count the number of times recently he had dreamed of how soft her skin would be against his. How those perfectly manicured nails would feel against his back. Or how the curves of her body would feel pressed against his.
She was offering comfort. He needed to remind himself of that.
Then she stepped closer. Any effort at restraint became exponentially harder. He allowed himself a glance, only to find her gaze locked on him. And it wasn’t overflowing with sympathy. With just one look they both knew exactly where this was headed. “Will you stay the night?” he finally asked.
“Do you really need to ask?”
That amused him. “Sweetheart, with you I never assume anything.”
Her smile was a concession to everything they’d been through so far. “Then let me make myself plain. Assume all you want.”
* * *
Royce may have been cautious about getting to a more intimate stage, but when the time came, Jasmine found he was as focused in the bedroom as he was in the boardroom.
One minute they were facing each other, then he took a few purposeful steps to bring her within reach. She barely had time to blink before Royce’s hand was in her hair and his mouth once more covered hers. The heat that she remembered from their first kiss was there, this time underpinned by a purpose that made her insides melt.
He tasted spicy, which ramped up the temperature inside her. There was nothing tentative about his kiss. Instead, he conquered her with smooth glides and strong pulls. There was nothing more for her to do than enjoy.
When he pulled back, she was tempted to beg him not to stop, but she clamped her teeth over her lower lip to keep the words inside. Her body was anxious, aching for the race to be finished. But Jasmine wanted to savor the ride. She glanced up to find his gaze glued to the deep V of her neckline—a design she’d deliberately chosen with him in mind.
Then her own gaze dropped and she glimpsed the edges of his neck tattoo above the open collar of his button-down shirt. Curious, she let her fingers trail over the skin of his neck to push the material aside.
To her surprise, the elegant tendrils she’d often glimpsed above his collar gave way to a solid shield, an old-world symbol emblazoned with a brilliantly colored dragon. It stood for strength. Protection. Not what she’d expected, but somehow very fitting for the man she was coming to know.
Her smile gave him all the permission he needed. His palms slid from the back of her neck down over her collarbones, leaving warm trails that quickly faded. When he finally reached her breasts, she gasped. Her nipples tightened in a quick rush, eager for attention.
He simply held them, each mound a handful. The heat from his hands soaked into her skin through the layers of her clothing. She couldn’t stop her back from arching just a little. Then his thumbs began a dedicated exploration that made her wish her clothes would just disappear.
She had no recollection of ever needing someone to see her, touch her, this badly. It was scary—just as much as it was exhilarating.
After long, long moments of exquisite torture, his devilish hands moved down—tracing her generous curves. His touch wasn’t simple. No. It was magic. The pressure and heat imprinted the feel of him on her skin.
How could a seemingly innocent touch make her knees go weak? Cause her bones to melt until she leaned forward, her hands braced on his shoulders as he knelt before her?
He eased off one of her high-heeled pumps. His thumbs traced the line of her foot before he squeezed hard into the arch, surprising a gasp from her. Maintaining the pressure, he
