A Dance with Indecency Read online

  Elise arched a delicate brow, and Harry continued.

  “My hotel’s got the best liquor to be had, better than any speakeasy.”

  “But prohibition—”

  “Now, now,” Harry said with a shrug. “Not even our valiant law enforcement agents are above a little...liquid persuasion, shall we say.”

  “How devious!” Elise exclaimed, sidling closer to him. “But still—dinner with a drink? Surely that’s not all you have planned for this evening?”

  “Well, my darling,” Harry said, reaching over to place his large hand on her knee. “Have you ever been to a petting party?”

  “A what?”

  Harry clucked his tongue and gave her knee a squeeze before returning his hand to the steering wheel.

  “I suppose,” he said with a grin, “you’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Elise pursed her lips and held her tongue, not wanting to seem too waspish. And within minutes, Harry had pulled up in front of a towering hotel. Tossing the keys to a valet, he stepped out of the driver’s seat and walked around to help Elise out of the car. He linked her arm in his and walked her up the steps and into the lush lobby of the Hotel Pierre.

  Meanwhile, Elise tried not to gasp at the sheer luxury on display: black-and-white marble floors, rich mahogany reception desks and ornately carved pillars that stretched up to the golden ceiling high above.

  “So,” she asked as he guided her into an elevator. “What is a petting party?”

  As the elevator started to rise with a jolt, Harry turned to her with a devilish grin.

  “You’re about the find out, my dear madame.”

  The heavy steel doors slid open. They walked across a marble foyer and through a set of elegant French doors. This time, Elise could not contain her gasp of delight. The ballroom was huge, edged with wall-to-wall windows that were draped in silver fabric. The high ceiling was painted in silver and gold, and it reflected the light of rows upon rows of heavy, crystal chandeliers.

  And then she saw the guests. A petting party, it seemed, was exactly as the name implied.

  Men and women lounged on widely scattered sofas and divans. Grouped in twos or threes, they were draped over each other in various states of necking. A few were simply sitting very close, others were kissing, and some were passionately twined together with hands disappearing between folds of clothing. Laughter and the sound of jazz filled the hall.

  “Petting parties started in colleges,” Harry said pleasantly as he took her elbow. “And now they’re some of our most attended weekly events.”

  “Positively scandalous!” Elise whispered with a cheeky grin.

  “Now, now,” Harry said with a wink. “How else are young, virile men to meet beautiful girls?”

  Placing his hand over hers, he led them across the ballroom, stopping occasionally to greet some of the guests and ignoring those who were overly...preoccupied. They had made it all the way to the end of the ballroom before Harry stopped. He gestured to a solitary sofa that was half-hidden by layers of gauzy curtains—a sofa just big enough for two.

  “Please,” Harry invited with a charming smile.

  Elise arched a brow.

  “And what if I don’t want to sit with you?” she asked, her tone lightly teasing.

  Harry spread an arm out, gesturing to the crowd.

  “Then, you’re most welcome to find another...conversation partner, Madame Rousseau.”

  Elise appraised his easygoing, confident smile. Surely he wouldn’t want to watch her waltz off with another man if he were truly interested in her. But then, if she did walk away, would he simply find another girl with whom to pass the evening? Not that she cared whom he touched, she told herself sternly, but she needed to have his full attention if she was to seduce him. So, if she called his bluff, would he get jealous or would he lose interest? She decided to gamble.

  “Well,” she said with a shrug of her slim shoulders, “the night is young after all. Maybe I’ll find you later?”

  With that, she turned on one heel and began to march away—only to be stopped when Harry grabbed her upper arm in a firm but gentle grip.

  “Not so fast, my darling,” he said, tutting. “Won’t you first grace your host with even a little bit of your time? Seeing you with another man might make me envious.”

  “My goodness,” Elise said with a smug smirk. “You should have just said so.”

  She eased herself into the plush sofa. Harry sat beside her, casually draping an arm over the back of the chaise. Their knees touched; the seat was barely wide enough to accommodate two people.

  A waiter appeared at Harry’s side, bearing a tray of assorted alcoholic beverages. Harry reached over, picked two and offered one to Elise. She took it with a smile, watching him watch her bring it to her lips. With a sly slant to her mouth, she pulled the glass away and ran the tip of her tongue across her full, sensuous lips. Leaving them slightly parted, she leaned back against the arm of the sofa.

  “Delicious,” she murmured huskily.

  Harry quickly tipped back his own drink and tossed it to the waiter, who caught the empty glass easily and turned away. An eager tilt to his lips, Harry leaned over her and reached for one of her curls, twirling it around once before letting his fingertips graze her porcelain cheek.

  “You’re quite the exquisite creature, my darling,” he said, his voice a deep, throaty rattle.

  “I’m sure you say that to all the girls,” she teased, taking another sip of her drink.

  “Only the prettiest ones.”

  Elise barked a laugh and took a long swig from her glass, relishing the way the liquid courage burned a track down her throat and into her belly. A pleasant heat swelled up from her stomach as a telltale, dizzying rush began behind her eyes. She let the glass fall to the plush carpet. Reaching forward with both hands, she grabbed Harry by the lapels of his fine suit.

  “Well, aren’t you just the cat’s pajamas?” she whispered hotly as she pulled him close.

  Harry didn’t need any further encouragement. Looping one arm around her slim waist, he pulled her into his chest. As she grasped for purchase at his back, he brushed his lips against her collarbone. His other hand teased the edge of her skirt, the pads of his fingers tapping a tantalizing pattern against her upper thigh. Elise gasped and let her head loll back as Harry’s hand slid up under her hemline. His lips parting against her neck, he alternately sucked and nipped at the sensitive skin.

  Wait, Elise reprimanded herself, don’t let him seize all the control.

  She lifted herself suddenly, pushing Harry back. Ignoring his stunned expression, she quickly straddled his thighs and shoved his shoulders into the back of the sofa with her open palms. The surprise melted from his face, quickly replaced by hot desire.

  “You little vixen,” he growled.

  Elise stopped his groping hands with hers, catching his long fingers and pinning them back against the cushions. She slowly leaned forward and teasingly pecked him on the cheek. He groaned, and Elise began to shift against his hips in an achingly slow rhythm.

  “This is my party now,” she told him, her lips curving upward as she hovered just out of reach.

  She took his hands in hers and molded his palms to her waist. Refusing to rush, she slowly smoothed their joined hands over her hips and down the outside of her thighs. She stopped when his fingers reached her bent knees.

  “Now,” she commanded in a low whisper. “Keep them there—or I’ll leave you here and find someone else to pet.”

  Then, she planted a hand behind her on his knee and arched backward, rolling and rocking her torso in time to the sultry jazz beat in the background. She slid her free hand up her body, over her bosom and up her neck and into her hair. With an almost cruel grin, she grabbed his tie and jerked him forward. But when his hands left her knees, she tutted disapprovingly and wagged a finger. He begrudgingly dropped his hands. To reward him, she leaned in and ran her fingers through his hair, all the while gyrating over h
is hips. She ran the tip of her tongue up the bridge of his nose and then peppered his brow with light kisses.

  “Is this what you’re supposed to do at a petting party?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Not exactly,” he grunted.

  “No?”

  “No,” Harry bit out as she moved to take his earlobe between her teeth. “You’re supposed to let the man do some of the petting as well.”

  Elise pulled back and fixed a full pout on her plump lips.

  “I’m not sure that sounds like much fun,” she said, her tone challenging.

  “Oh, I assure you that you will enjoy it,” he promised, his grin wicked.

  “And what would you do to make sure I enjoy your...petting?” she asked, walking her fingers up his chest.

  “First,” Harry told her as he licked his lips, his eyes glazed and wild, “I would pick you up and throw you against this couch. Then I would kiss that smirk off your face.”

  “And then?” Elise prompted, leaning in.

  “I would put my hands up your skirt. And I would do things with my fingers that you will never ever forget.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever.”

  Elise threw up her hands in mock surrender.

  “Very well, I suppose you could try to—”

  Before she could finish what was bound to be a witty retort, Harry had surged upward, his arms locking around her waist. He spun her onto her back so that her head rested against the arm of the seat. He knelt above her prone form, nudging his knee between her slightly parted thighs.

  “Now,” he said, taking in her flushed expression, “that’s much better.”

  Without waiting another moment, he bent down and captured her lips with his. Cupping her nape with his palm, he pulled her into the kiss more deeply, his tongue tangling with hers. His kiss was wild and insistent, his teeth and lips working against hers with frenzied abandon. Enveloped in a haze of passion, Elise let herself be swallowed by desire. Her skin was alight with a pleasantly electric tingle, her ears buzzing with lust.

  Then, suddenly, Harry pulled back slightly. He took in her wide, dazed eyes, her rosy cheeks and her moist, slightly bruised lips. His face lit up with a satisfied smirk.

  “Much better indeed,” he murmured as he lowered his face to hers.

  He sank gently onto her, his hips meeting hers with a sensuous twist. He began to trail kisses down her neck as his hand pushed up her thigh, sliding under her dress. His fingers traced dangerous circles from her outer thigh to her inner thigh, reaching higher, higher, and higher until...

  Harry jerked back suddenly, meeting her eyes.

  “You’re not wearing knickers!” he exclaimed without thinking.

  She met his shocked expression with a wicked gleam in her twinkling eyes.

  “You did say to dress indecently,” she said with a wink.

  Harry felt himself go even harder, until he was straining against his trousers, begging for release. He brought a hand to the apex of her thighs and carefully brushed a knuckle over her, and her moist warmth nearly brought him to completion right then and there. His vision grew clouded with desire. He wanted nothing more than to drag her up, spin her around and lay her over the back of the sofa. He wanted to push her skirt up over her hips, rip open his trousers and thrust himself into her until she begged for release. She would cry his name, clutch at the cushions and throw her head back as he made love to her. His eyes slid over her perfect face: her parted lips, her lusty gaze, her heaving chest. She was willing; yes, she was definitely willing...but perhaps it might be beyond the scope of a petting party. Frustration welled for a moment. Then Harry remembered—he practically lived in the Getty Suite of the hotel. He had the lush rooms permanently booked for himself, and the suite already housed many of his personal effects.

  “Madame Rousseau—”

  “Call me Elise,” she whispered, her breath warm on his face.

  “Elise,” he amended, cupping her cheek. “Would you like to retire to my—”

  His question was abruptly cut off as fireworks exploded outside. The other guests could be heard rushing out to the terrace to enjoy the nightly display of lavish pyrotechnics.

  Harry sighed. With the first, deafening crack of the fireworks, the magic spell between them had lost its power. He rose to his feet and offered her his hand. Elise took it and stood, straightening her dress. They followed the crowd out onto the large stone balcony, their eyes immediately drawn upward to the colorful display. Harry pulled her to the front of the crowd, right in front of the terrace railing. The noise was so thunderously loud that Elise could hardly hear the exclamations of delight all around her.

  Harry stood behind her and pulled her into an embrace, her back to his chest. He looped an arm around her waist, anchoring her to him.

  “What do you think of New York so far, Elise?” he asked, his lips at her ear so she could hear.

  Elise hummed noncommittally. In her four years away, the city had changed; the lights were brighter, the venues fancier and the diversions more sensual. But still...

  “You miss Paris.” Harry voiced the very thought lingering in her mind.

  “Yes,” she admitted, turning to answer, “I do miss Paris.”

  “And what do the French have that I can’t give you?”

  Elise closed her eyes and thought back to many mornings spent sitting on the terrace of a café, sipping a coffee and eating brunch. The crispness in the air, the buttery croissants and the simple pleasure of an outdoor meal...a perfect foil to raucous nights.

  “I miss the Café de la Paix,” she answered quietly, a faintly trembling stutter in her voice.

  Harry paused. For a moment, he thought there had been something achingly familiar about her voice. Then he brushed the fleeting thought away.

  “What about it do you miss?” Harry asked, rubbing his hands up and down her forearms to keep away the chill.

  “It’s a beautiful little café outside the Opera House in Paris. Wrought-iron fences, little tables and lots of coffee. I loved having brunch there.”

  “You woke up early enough for brunch?” His hands stilled in surprise, and then dipped to her waist.

  Elise smiled to herself.

  “We do things differently in Paris, monsieur,” she said, leaning her head back on his shoulder to look up at the fireworks. “We know how to cool down after dancing the night away. New York is not nearly as entertaining.”

  Harry’s arm snaked around her midsection, pulling her even closer.

  “Are you sure?”

  His breath warmed the shell of her ear. His free hand smoothed down her thigh and then up again, sliding under her skirt.

  “What are you doing?” Elise hissed, her eyes darting to the people standing a little way away.

  “I did promise you something that you would never ever forget,” Harry whispered back, his fingers inching upward. “And they can’t see what I’m doing anyway.”

  He kissed her nape as he pressed a knuckle to her moist folds. She bit her lip as he stroked her gently. Whispering encouragement at her ear, he pushed a finger into her core as his thumb circled her nub of pleasure. She barely stifled a cry, wondering if she would be heard above the bright explosions of light in the sky. Pleasure spiked up her belly and shot down into her toes. Harry’s fingers worked her relentlessly, and the pressure was building to the breaking point. Elise began to pant, her fists clenching around the bars of the railing in front of her. Her thighs trembled—and then she cried out suddenly, her voice muffled by the sound of the crackling fireworks. As she climaxed in his arms, bright lights burst in her vision—brighter than all the fireworks lighting up the sky.

  Elise sagged bonelessly against him, her breathing rapid. Harry smiled smugly to himself as he slowly pulled his fingers away and wrapped both strong arms around her to keep her standing.

  I have her now, he thought to himself. Now to seal the deal.

  “Shall we retire to my suite?” he murmured at her e
ar.

  Elise nodded, strength slowly returning to her limbs. The pair turned away from the fireworks and headed for the elevator. Elise leaned against Harry, her hand curled around his bicep and her hip grazing his as they walked. The touch was electric. Elise glanced up at him to see a faintly proud smile lighting his eager face.

  I have him now, she thought to herself. A little more and you’ll be mine to break!

  Chapter 4

  Harry waved the attendant away from the elevator and ushered Elise into the steel box by himself. He would rather not have an audience to what he was about to do. After hastily punching the button for his floor, he turned to Elise. If he remembered correctly, he had approximately a minute and a half until they reached his top level suite—that was a minute and half to render the woman speechless in weak-kneed passion.

  It wasn’t hard to get started.

  She responded as soon as he buried his fingers in her hair, knocking away her hat and pulling her close. Elise met his kiss with a fervor all her own, her arms winding around his neck. He pushed her back against the wall of the elevator, his hands sliding up her legs. Pushing her skirt up over her hips, he lifted her bottom and hooked her knees around his hips. She twisted her ankles at his back, locking him to her, and they ground against each other hungrily. Moans of pleasure escaped between hot, wet kisses as they rocked fervidly against the wall.

  Up, up they rose—both in altitude and in passion.

  And when it seemed that they would burn up from the pent-up desire to be even closer still, the elevator pinged its arrival at the top level, and the doors slid open.

  Harry pulled them away from the wall, still holding Elise fast in his arms. They stumbled from the elevator and down a short hall toward the double doors of the Getty Suite. As they knocked back against the doors, Harry fumbled for his key. They barely kept from tumbling to the floor when the door opened, and Harry kicked it shut fiercely. Elise slid from his grasp, latching on to his tie and tugging him toward the nearest soft surface in sight. But lust made them clumsy, and they bumbled their way toward the lounge area of the suite, bumping into walls and furniture all the way. Just before they reached a divan, Elise cracked her hip against a side table. She yelped and turned in time to see a series of photo frames tip over like dominos. She was about to let herself fall back onto the divan when one of the photos caught her eye. She froze, the passion draining from her in an instant.