Powder of Love (I) by Summer Devon Page B

that?”
    But she apparently didn’t hear the question, for she left without answering.
    Soon after she left, Reed gave in to curiosity. He fished through his jacket pocket and pulled out a ring that held keys and other useful items. Really, the desk presented no challenge at all.
    Even as he fit the pick into the lock, he wondered why he was doing it. She’d asked him to leave it alone, and he wasn’t a thief. This was not the sort of behavior he was used to in himself, and he wondered if perhaps he’d spent too many hours in Clermont’s company.
    He just wanted to see the powder that had caused her worry. She seemed such a levelheaded woman. He’d wager that a woman who had dealt as efficiently with Clermont as Miss Ambermere had could not be easily rattled. Yet when it came to talking about this “substance,” she paled, almost got the wide-eyed twitchy look of a cornered rabbit. He’d do her a favor, relieve her anxiety. And he looked forward to seeing her grateful smile.
    The only thing in the bottom drawer was an object wrapped in newspaper. As he unwrapped it and stared down at the little well-polished box, he felt a frisson of unease. He was not a susceptible man, but perhaps her fear was contagious. Such a small box couldn’t be dangerous, but it was so…unusual. He stroked the wood, cool and silky, and the feel of it thrilled his hand. He pried it open and saw another box inside. Such an urge to bring it to his face, rest his cheek on that slick surface…
    No! He had to fight the bizarre desire. He forced himself to push the lid down, drop the box, and shove the drawer closed. His fingers trembled slightly as he relocked the drawer. Curiosity and longing raged through him. Had the damned thing called to him to break in? Nonsense. It had been an unfortunate impulse of a man who’d spent months holding impulsiveness and animal behavior at bay. The thin screen of civilized behavior was crumbling.
    He’d be damned if Clermont won. He’d pick a woman for Reed, he’d said. And watch him fuck her. A woman.
    Then the image of her filled his mind. That hair, thick and glossy, down and spread by his fingers. Her skin would be soft and supple, and he’d feel it with every sensitive nerve, now alert with need. His hands, his tongue, his cock—on her.
    Reed gasped. He rubbed his face, and that didn’t seem to help. He groped for tea and drank the whole scalding cup down.
    Jesus, even the pain in his mouth seemed to increase the pleasure—or rather, the longing for pleasure. He didn’t have many calluses on his fingers now that he had a soft job, and the warmed, slick porcelain begged him to feel the texture of the rounded curve of the cup, the complex texture of the handle.
    Holy mother of God; the chemical was real. And if he didn’t do something about his raging erection, he’d never be able to stand up in front of decent people. That part of him begged for release. Her. He wanted her. His cock needed her.
    He forced himself to think. Combating sensation and desire so he could think proved almost impossible. He’d bring himself off. That would be the best answer. Once drained—Oh God; unless it was with her, it would never be enough. And why couldn’t he touch her? Their bodies were made for this.
    They could touch and taste, and he would at last bury himself in a warm, silken woman. Slide over her skin, slide into her , deep. So many women every day paraded in front of him. Naked or in the thinnest of gowns. During his time keeping watch over Clermont, he’d seen so many breasts, hips, curves, backs and bottoms and cunts. Once, and only once, at the start of his job, had he grown so desperate he’d indulged with a woman, and that was months ago. Alone for months. And now the months of deprivation hit him hard—and the one woman he wanted most was just rooms away.
    He grew dizzy as he fought back and reminded himself this hunger was only part of him. He was more than need.
    The door opened, and she