A Promise of Passion Read online

  “I like it already,” she sighed, and staring out the window she felt a wave of relief; the green meadows reminded her of the wide spaces of home. “I feel like I can breathe when I get out of the city.”

  “This is how I feel when I come out here, or when I am home in Hesperange, or visiting Itzig. The mists there are so soothing, and the forests, so lush and inviting.”

  “I think I would love it there.”

  “Yes, I believe you would,” he replied, turning the car down a dirt road.

  Driving slowly forward, carefully avoiding the mud puddles, the car moved a short distance through some trees, and as it turned around a sharp curve, a white, two-story farmhouse with a thatched roof came into view.

  “Oh, my gosh, Dominic, it’s just beautiful,” she exclaimed. “It looks like it’s out of a fairytale.”

  “It was left to me by a great aunt,” he said wistfully, pulling the car to a stop. “I spent many happy summers here as a child. It is called Heather Cottage, because in the spring there is heather everywhere.”

  “Do you know when it was built?”

  “In the 1800s. I have done a lot of work to it over the last three years, without changing how it looks, of course.”

  Stepping from the car, she stared around at the surrounding countryside. The highway was out of view, and the noise from the motorway was barely discernible. Pulling a key from behind a rock he opened the door, and once inside she felt as though she’d been transported back to another era. Wandering into the living room, she watched him move around and open the drapes, filling the house with light, and hardly believing her eyes, she gazed around in wonder.

  “Most of the furniture is from when my great aunt lived here. I just added a few things.”

  “Dominic, it’s absolutely gorgeous, I love it.”

  “The whole house could fit in the front wing of your fiancee’s home,” he remarked.

  “I love it,” she repeated, turning and staring at him, “and truth be told, this is much more comfortable. This is a home, Robson’s place is like a museum.”

  “I would like to take you up the small hill behind the house. Are you interested? Do you like to walk?”

  “Absolutely, my parka is in the car.”

  He opened up a window to let in the fresh air, then following her outside, he stood back as she reached in the car to retrieve her jacket. The cable-knit sweater moved up as she bent forward, and her perfectly shaped, round backside, was deliciously presented in front of him.

  Vivien, how I would love to explore you, and caress you, and most of all I would love to spank you. My instincts are never wrong, and I am sure you would love it. The flower needs the heat of the sun, and you would discover you need the heat my hand.

  “Let me help you,” he said, watching her grapple with the jacket as she attempted to push her arms down the sleeves.

  Stepping behind her he held the jacket open, but paused, and lowering his head, he lightly breathed upon the side of her neck. The kiss of his warm breath made her long to lean back against him, close her eyes, and feel his arms engulf her.

  Oh God, what he’s doing to me? Maybe I should ask him to take me back to London.

  His hands fell on her shoulders, and turning her around, his intense brown eyes stared down at her.

  “I like you in this jacket,” he remarked, a soft smile curling the sides of his mouth.

  “You do, why?” she managed.

  “I don’t know. I think it looks like you. I think you are liking the outdoors.”

  “I am, I mean, I do like the outdoors,” especially with you standing there gazing down at me. I wish you would kiss me. I know it’s wrong, but I don’t really care.

  “Come, I’ll take you to a special place,” he murmured, and somehow I’ll find a way to fight the invitation I see in your eyes.

  Leading her to the back of the house, he started up a well-walked trail towards a small knoll. As they moved up the hill, he reached for her hand to help her step over a group of branches strewn across the path.

  “Please,” he insisted. “I don’t want you to have a sprained ankle.”

  “Thanks, I don’t want me to have a sprained ankle either. I guess I should have worn better shoes, but a certain someone wouldn’t tell me where we were going,” she quipped.

  “You are effrontee,” he grinned.

  “What’s that?”

  “I think the word is, cheek, no, cheeky. You are cheeky.”

  “So I’ve been told,” she giggled.

  Extending her hand, she held her breath as his fingers wrapped around hers. His palm was soft and warm, but his grip was strong, and her mind flashed to the fleeting fantasy she’d had about him the night before. The sensuous thought caught her by surprise and she faltered, tripping over the last branch.

  “It’s all right, I’ve got you,” he said quickly, catching her as she stumbled.

  His arms were around her, and as she straightened up she lifted her head, gazing up at him.

  “What do you want, ma chérie?”

  “I, uh, what I want is wrong,” she whispered, wishing her heart would stop thumping against her ribs.

  “You want to know what it is like for me to kiss you?” he said softly, moving his hands to cup her face.

  “Yes, how did you…?”

  “It is in your eyes, you are letting me see you.”

  “I know I shouldn’t, but I want you to.”

  “If you still want this later,” he swallowed, “but for now-”

  “Please,” she interrupted, “I have to know it feels. It won’t change anything, I just want to know. I need to know.”

  “I cannot deny you,” he breathed, “it is simply not possible.”

  His hands gripped her hair, and as she felt the pressure of his fingers lock in place, and his lips move towards her, she closed her eyes, waiting for the touch of his mouth. It barely brushed, pausing, resting, lingering, and she heard herself utter a small cry of need. Her stomach was churning, her pulse racing, and when at last he pressed his full, smooth, moist lips fervently against hers, insisting she surrender, she felt her body grow weak, and a hot, wet heat burned between her legs.

  It was a kiss she never wanted to end, a kiss she’d never imagined or had dreamed of, a kiss that pulsed through her temples, a kiss that sent waves of tingles down her arms, a kiss that made breath impossible, and a kiss that she knew held the power to change her life forever.

  Sliding his mouth from hers, he traveled it to her neck as his fingers gently pulled her head to the side.

  “Ma cherie, you are honey,” he murmured, his warm breath in her ear sending a shiver down her spine. “I want to lick your sweetness for hours, I want to move my lips over every part of you.”

  “Dominic,” she breathed, “what’s happened, what’s happening?”

  “You are coming alive,” he whispered, “at last.”

  “I feel so weak,” she muttered, and with every bit of strength she could muster, she softly pulled back, then rested her head against the soft fuzziness of his sweater.

  Wordlessly he held her, his heart full, his hardness pulsing, his need for her almost impossible to bear.

  “Back to the cabin, or up the hill?” he asked softly.

  “Maybe up the hill,” she managed, loathe to let him go. “I’m afraid if we go to the cabin…”

  “Perhaps the hill is the wise choice,” he replied, and tenderly breaking their hug, he reached for her hand.

  Moving slowly, they traversed the narrow trail to the top of the gentle knoll, and as they reached the flat summit, Vivien stood beside him, gazing out in wonder.

  “You can see forever,” she murmured, casting her eyes across the undulating fields beyond.

  “It feels that way,” he said softly. “We brought many picnics here, I have seen many sunsets with good wine, and took naps, too many naps,” he sighed.

  He had an arm around her shoulders, and she moved her eyes from the stunning vista to s
tare up at his face.

  “It must be amazing here on a beautiful day,” she remarked, and women? Have you brought women here?

  “It is,” he nodded, his voice low, “and I would love to bring you here in the spring,” he continued, then dropping his gaze to meet hers, he saw the question in her eyes. “I have only been up here with family. It would be very special to be up here with you.”

  “Dominic, what are we doing?” she asked urgently. “I’m engaged, this is impossible.”

  “Impossible? This depends upon what you want. I don’t think you know what this is yet.”

  “I, uh, thought I did,” she muttered, sending her eyes back to the endless view.

  “We have just met, you know nothing of me,” he said soberly.

  “You said to paint me you have to know me, so we have to spend time together.”

  “Yes,” he nodded, “if you still want me to paint you.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because being together so much could be…”

  “Be what?” she frowned.

  “I don’t know the English words, I think this could be a dramatic time if continue down this path. I do not think I can simply be the artist who paints you.”

  “I need to…know…more…” she stammered.

  “More? More about me?”

  “Yes, but more even more about me.”

  A chilly wind abruptly swirled around them, and sprinkles of water began to dot their coats.

  “We must head back,” he frowned. “I think this could be big weather.”

  “Yes, I think you’re right,” she agreed, but as they moved down the path, the chorus from one of her favorite songs, Counting Stars, began playing in her head.

  I feel something so right

  doing the wrong thing.

  I feel something wrong

  doing the right thing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Coffee or tea,” he asked, moving into the kitchen.

  “Whatever you’re having,” she smiled, pulling off her parka and hooking it on the well-used hall tree by the door. “Either sounds divine.”

  “I have some excellent French coffee; I think you’ll like it,” he nodded, “and a fire might be good, yes? It feels chilly in here.”

  Moving past her he closed the window, then threw some kindling into the large fireplace. Striking a long, thin match, he held it to the thin strips of wood, waited until they began to flame, then carefully added few logs from a pile that was nestled in an alcove by the hearth.

  “Let’s sit for a minute, then I will put the kettle on,” he suggested.

  Dropping into an enveloping couch, she smiled across at him.

  “This is a slice of heaven, you must love to come here.”

  “Yes, this is my, what you American’s call, my getaway place,” then studying her for a moment, he added, “you look more calm.”

  “It’s calmer, and you’re right, I do feel calmer.”

  “Ah, yes, calmer, of course. I think this is good for you, to be calmer.”

  “You have no idea,” she murmured.

  But how can I be? I was so sure about everything, and now I have this longing inside me, and yet I do feel calmer. This is just weird.

  “I am going to make the coffee. I’ll be right back,” he promised, and standing up, he moved through a door behind her.

  Staring at the crackling logs and dancing flames, she pondered the twisting tornado of thoughts spiraling through her head. Her future was assured; she was to be married to Viscount Parker-Jones. Very soon she would be a wife of a nobleman, and a mother to his children, living a life her father wanted for her, a life most women would be thrilled to have, a life she’d been sure about, but with one kiss Dominic had-

  “It will only be a minute,” he announced, walking back in and interrupting her thoughts. “I see you are thinking too much.”

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  “Your face,” he said, dropping back into his chair, “it was soft when I walked away, now the frown is there.”

  “You’re right, I probably am thinking too much.”

  “About your future? About the wedding? Your fiancee?”

  “All of the above,” she sighed. “I have to go to Paris on Sunday night, I have a shoot with Gustav. I’m really glad I’ll be getting away. I haven’t worked in a while. Robson doesn’t want me to work at all.”

  “I know Gustav, he’s a good friend of mine. I can imagine his style would make the Viscount frown,” Dominic remarked.

  “Definitely,” Vivien nodded. “He doesn’t even know it’s Gustav I’ll be working with. He knows it’s a designer based in Paris, but I didn’t tell him who it was.”

  “Tell me more about Robson.”

  “I’m not sure what to say,” she began. “He’s a very important man, and I try very hard to be the kind of woman he needs, but sometimes I don’t think I’m good enough for him.”

  “If I may, I believe it is the other way, I believe he is not good enough for you,” Dominic said softly.

  “I’m not sure about that,” she mumbled, feeling her face turn warm.

  “Is that because of his money and his title, or the man he is?”

  Vivien frowned, Dominic’s question ringing strange bells in her head.

  “Perhaps you should think about this question,” he suggested, standing up. “The water will be boiling now. Do you want cream? Sugar?”

  “Both please.”

  He entered the kitchen, made the coffee, set the mugs on a tray, along with the cream, sugar, and a plate of his favorite cookies from Paris, and gazing out the window, he found himself reliving the kiss; the amazing, soul-stirring kiss.

  Dominic had enjoyed many women in his life, and had always hoped he would find someone to share his many interests. A woman who would appreciate the charming cottage, a woman who would be his muse, a woman who shared his dark, lascivious desires, but most of all, a woman with whom he could fall crazy in love. Vivien had touched something inside him, and the idea that she was engaged to the nefarious Robson Parker-Jones was almost too much to endure.

  You are an international model, Vivien, but you seem so young, almost innocent. How can this be? How can you not know the truth about your Viscount? You must find out before it is too late, but must I be the one to tell you? What a muddle.

  Taking a deep breath, he returned to the living room carrying the tray, and placed it on the coffee table.

  “Wow, they look yummy,” she grinned.

  “Yummy, what an excellent word. Yes, they are yummy,” but not as yummy as you! “Tell me, how did you find yourself engaged to an older noble like the Viscount. He is very, what is the word…particular. You are from a small farm, yes? It seems you wouldn’t have much in common.”

  “Um, I can’t really explain it. He was very persuasive. We do get along very well, at least, mostly, I mean, nothing’s perfect.”

  There is no sparkle in your eye when you speak of him, no passion.

  “What is the thing you like best of him?”

  “Best of him?” she giggled.

  “Yes, the best thing about him, what you like the best.”

  “Sorry, I know what you meant, I just like the way you phrased it. I guess, I like how he’s very protective. He watches out for me, although I would have to say, sometimes too much.”

  “How too much?”

  “He insists I be driven everywhere, and sometimes I just want to take my own car, but he says he worries that something will happen to me.”

  “You think he is too controlling?”

  “Yes, but I like that,” she admitted. “He’s just over the top.”

  He paused, staring at her. The confession suggested something far more important than she could have realized; she had opened a door, one he felt compelled to enter.

  “Now I will be bold,” he said quietly.”You want to feel the control, but I think you do not know the kind of control you really want.”


  Staring across at him, Vivien felt a shiver of pleasure.

  “Like, what, exactly?”

  “Vivien, if I tell you, it might cause, certain thoughts, perhaps you don’t want to have these thoughts.”

  “I can be the judge of that,” she replied firmly, and maybe I’m already having those thoughts.

  “Perhaps I have already said too much.”

  “No, no, really,” she said hastily. “I want to know what you mean. The thing is, it feels kind of good, what Robson does, sometimes very good, but other times it just feels annoying. Please tell me what you think?”

  “Again, it is impossible to say no to you,” he sighed. “You want to feel that your man cares for you very deeply, and when I say this, I am not suggesting that your Viscount-”

  “No, of course you’re not,” she interrupted.

  “When you feel that connection, perhaps you would like him to tie you up,” he asked softly, “and tease you, blindfold you? Should I go on?”

  She couldn’t answer. The gentle suggestions were flooding her sex, and all she could manage was a small nod of her head.

  “Maybe spank you when you are naughty or difficult, and sometimes, just for the pleasure of it.”

  Her eyes were sparkling back at him, and he could see her breathing had quickened. It was as his instinct had told him; Vivien wanted his special brand of dark pleasure.

  “I think this is enough,” he smiled. “Enjoy your coffee, and I want to hear about your life. How you are such a big model, so famous, and how you were found.”

  Vivien barely heard his request. She was imagining his hands in her hair, him pressing her against the wall, kissing her, demanding her response.

  “Vivien?”

  “Sorry,” she muttered, and reaching for her mug, she took a large gulp of the rich coffee.

  “I said too much?”

  “No, not at all,” she replied. “I, uh, probably shouldn’t tell you this,” she continued, dropping her eyes, “but what you said, it, uh, those are things that I would like to…uh…some day.”

  “Perhaps your Viscount-”

  “No,” she interrupted, “I don’t think that would appeal to him, at least, I don’t think so,” she mumbled, thinking about his tentative, gentle way of making love.