Celta: Heart Choice Part 7

"I want it changed." His voice was even rougher. "Especially the ResidenceDen, my sister's rooms. I never want to see the ballroom as it is or was again."

Mitch.e.l.la exuded sympathy, as if she'd thrown a soft, warm cloak around him. He liked the feeling. Concentrate on her instead of his raw memories. Think of the last septhour, how they'd walked the Residence together and it hadn't been as bad as he'd dreaded.

Yes, they'd collaborate well-and be fiery in bed.

"Then I won't consult the ResidenceDen records," she said. "We can start from the ground up, literally."

She made a note on the papyrus tablet. "Most of the furniture needs only to be cleaned or have minor repairs, then you can choose which to use and which to store."

That sounded like another in-depth tour. It wasn't something he'd subject himself to. He sat up straight. "I don't want the ResidenceDen, the Master- or MistrysSuite, my sister's rooms or my old Heir'sSuite to remain the same in any way. As for the ballroom-" he sucked in a deep breath "-I will not step into that room. I'm not sure I want it to remain one room." He waved a hand. "Consider alternatives."

Mitch.e.l.la decided to find out what had happened in the ballroom as soon as possible. She tapped the drawstick on the papyrus. "GrandLord-Straif, why don't we work this way, I'll oversee the cleaning and refurbishing of your Family's possessions in those chambers, make an inventory, and arrange the items to be stored. Then I'll work up a proposal for each room for us to discuss and present you with holomodels. Does this sound acceptable to you?"

Straif thought a moment. "Yes."

She nodded. "Very well."

"Ahem," said the Residence, in general audio mode.

Mitch.e.l.la jerked a little.

Straif thought it was good that the Residence went audio. Mitch.e.l.la was someone else for it to talk to. He was feeling surly to his home, and Lady and Lord knew that Drina was only interested in topics that related directly to her.

Shaking her head, Mitch.e.l.la laughed a little. "I'm not used to being addressed by Residences. Please feel free to advise me-"

"Wait." Straif lifted a hand. "The Residence can advise, but I don't want you making any changes based solely on its notions. All the final decisions are mine."

Her manner cooled before his eyes. "Of course. As you wish," she said.

"Residence?" Straif asked.

"I need more energy from you."

"I hear you. We'll discuss this later."

"Fam Drina is now in the Heir'sSuite playroom, demanding a better cleaning. I will need Flair to inst.i.tute a complete molecular cleaning of that room and the MasterSuite," said the Residence.

"I don't want the MasterSuite-"

"Straif," Mitch.e.l.la said softly, rising and crossing the room to stand in front of him. He took her hand, keeping his fingers entwined with hers, and looked up into her deep green eyes. "Yes, Mitch.e.l.la?"

She inhaled, and her magnificent b.r.e.a.s.t.s rose. A beam of sunlight lit her hair and highlighted the red of her lips. He felt better already.

"Everyone with any sensitivity knows that this will be difficult for you-physically, mentally, and emotionally. Not to mention what it will cost you in energy and Flair. I'll do everything possible to make your Residence a home for you."

Her words comforted him. More, her concerned expression, the way her body leaned forward in sympathy. Her very presence soothed him-the soft, beautiful curves of a civilized woman, her pale skin and big green eyes.

As the silence grew he found that though being with her calmed his raw feelings, it aroused in him something else. Attraction, l.u.s.t weren't the right words. Something about her stirred his deepest self.

Using the skill of a hunter on the track of a wary animal, he stood slowly, so he was a hand's breadth from her. One large breath of hers would brush her magnificent b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his chest. Sparks of pa.s.sion sizzled through his blood, concentrated below his belt.

She didn't back away, but her eyes narrowed.

He curved his hands around her face, and the softness of her skin against his calloused palms was so sweet it closed his throat. He bent his head, not much, for she was a tall woman, a woman who'd match him.

His lips brushed hers, and they, too, were soft. Pliant, rich, tempting beyond measure. A groan of appreciation tore from him. He needed more. He needed all. But she was a woman who deserved the best he could give-tenderness, respect, not rough and wild pa.s.sion.

Not yet.

His fingers plunged into the lushness of her hair, the silken glide of it over his hands was rich beyond belief. It glinted a hundred shades of red in the sun, and he was nearly dazzled enough to forget his intention to kiss her. Nearly.

His lips slid across hers once more, and the scent of her, floral and earthy-and womanly-spun in his head until he had to taste her or die. Gently, gently, he swept his tongue across her lips, and the unique flavor of her flashed through him until he shuddered.

She wasn't responding. She stayed still under his hands, his mouth, but did not yield. Did not partic.i.p.ate. He groaned again, in despair. This woman was everything he'd missed for so long in his self-imposed banishment. Yet he dared not touch her roughly. He dared not lose her.

He could only court her, ignore the wild clamoring of his blood to take and ravish and forget everything of himself in her. He would not be rough. He nibbled at the corner of her mouth, once again tasted her.

And her b.r.e.a.s.t.s touched his chest, withdrew, brushed him again. Her mouth opened, panting.

Yes!

He wanted to yank her to him, feel all of her against him. Instead he thrust his tongue into the dark, damp hollow of her mouth, learned her taste that sank deep into the core of him.

Her tongue slid against his, then she was against him, her arms wrapped tight around him, so he felt enveloped by sheer femininity. Her body pressed against his, her hands set against his head for a kiss-a kiss so deep he thought he'd perish.

All thought fled. All control. His hands went to her lush bottom and squeezed, hauled her close so he could feel the soft warmth of her stomach against his erection.

Her long leg slid up along his, and he shuddered with desire. She hooked her thigh over his hip and pressed herself against him, and the hot, damp softness between her thighs was rubbing his arousal, and his head exploded with pleasure, and he took her mouth, plunging his tongue in and out, and he kneaded her bottom, and she slid her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his chest, and they toppled and fell onto something soft and dusty, and her fingernails dug into his back, adding a sweet tang of pain to the pleasure, and his hands pushed up her tunic, and his fingers curled over the top of her trous, and he felt the pliant flesh of her stomach and- What are you doing to My pillow! Drina screeched. It is time for lunch, too.

Mitch.e.l.la shot off him. He didn't know how she untangled herself so quickly. He reached, but she was beyond his grasp.

She stared down at him. Her tunic fell over her trous, and she looked well-clothed, but her fiery hair tumbled around her shoulders, bright in the sun. Her bosom rose and fell. Her face was flushed, her eyes luminous-with shock and anger.

Straif opened his mouth, but his mind wasn't working and he had nothing to say. He was wrecked, angled half off the twoseat, only conscious of the throbbing of his body. The agonizing cold of being alone. The sunbeam didn't reach where he lay.

Drina hopped up to the arm of the twoseat and stared down at him. She looked upside down.

You are squashing My pillow. It may never be the same.

Straif was sure he'd never be the same.

Mitch.e.l.la stalked over to the desk. He could only glimpse the movement of her bottom beneath her clothes. His senses clouded.

Drina jumped onto his chest. His breath whooshed out. He sat up, and she fell to land four-footed on the floor. She glared at him.

Papyrus rustled as Mitch.e.l.la stacked them together, inserted them into her carrycase along with an audio note flexistrip. With deliberate movements, she set imaging spheres inside, too. Then she walked over to the twoseat, still keeping her distance from him, and whisked Drina's pillow off the couch. With a small shake and a Word from Mitch.e.l.la, the pillow plumped, the golden ta.s.sels smoothed. The pillow looked better than it had when he'd gotten it from the Hollys.

She dropped it on his lap. "Send it to Drina's room."

Since she was in a dangerous mood, and he sensed she might just walk out on him and the job, something he didn't think he could bear at the moment, he did so.

Looking down at the little cat, Mitch.e.l.la said, "Residence, how clean is Drina's room?"

"A deep housekeeping spell has finished. Molecular cleaning-"

Mitch.e.l.la said, "That can wait until later. Drina, why don't you inspect your room and see if you want any of the current furniture?"

Did that mean Mitch.e.l.la would stay on the job despite his lack of control? Straif sucked in his breath and shifted on the seat.

Drina sniffed, but glided to the door. She threw a glance over her shoulder as if she expected Straif to open it for her. He grunted, but didn't move. With a flick of her tail, she teleported away.

When he looked for Mitch.e.l.la, he saw her behind the desk again, her carrycase tucked under her arm. Her face was still flushed from pa.s.sion, but now her gaze was cold.

He didn't like the look in her eyes, but he kept his mouth shut.

"I don't want you to kiss me again. I want no more incidents like the one on the twoseat, you understand?"

Straif stood. It was difficult to saunter with an erection, but he managed. Her gaze didn't drop below his face. He admired the professionalism of that, even though he wished she'd show she wanted him.

When he reached the desk, he stopped. "I understand, but I don't agree."

"If you don't agree, then I must resign from this project. You have a HeartMate and a duty to your Family. I will not be a simple fling for a bored n.o.ble."

Anger shot through him, and he clenched his fists but kept his voice quiet. "Nothing about you is simple. An affair with you would not be simple, but deep and pa.s.sionate. I promise to cherish you as long as we are together." He needed her.

She bit her lip. Her gaze scanned the room. He felt her Flair probing the Residence. When she met his eyes again, a hint of vulnerability showed in them, and his gut tightened with the need to protect her.

She took a deep breath, and he struggled to keep his gaze on her face. A lovely face, mouth swollen from the wild kisses they'd shared.

"I need this job," she said.

He didn't like that she thought of it as a job.

His face must have changed, or she read him better than most, because she lifted her chin.

"More, I believe the Residence needs me. I think I'm the best person to restore it." She touched fingers above her left breast and Straif couldn't help it. His glance fell to watch her gesture, and he stared at those large, full b.r.e.a.s.t.s that he hadn't really gotten his hands on yet, let alone his mouth. At the thought of suckling her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, saliva pooled. His body, which had begun to ease, tightened again.

Her nipples peaked under her tunic at his stare, and he suppressed a groan.

"No more pa.s.sionate interludes." Her tone was a little unsteady, but the resolve behind it firm.

He met her gaze. "I can't promise that." His hands itched to touch her, so he hooked his thumbs in his belt. "I want you." He needed her-everything she was. "There's desire between us; has been since we first laid eyes on one another."

She dropped the carrycase on the desk and started unloading all her work. "I'll leave you my notes and bill you for the time I spent on them."

He set his teeth. "I can promise not to put my hands on you." He could last until she broke, he hoped. "Not to put my mouth on you." This wasn't helping him keep cool. "But if you put your hands on me, I won't stop. We'll be lovers, and not one-night lovers."

"That could jeopardize this project."

It wasn't life or death. What could happen, the place could look tasteless, bad? No worse than now. Another reason he needed her. But she took her work seriously, so he just nodded. "I accept that." He wanted her more for a lover than for her skills, now.

Her lips thinned. What a shame, flattening a mouth like hers. She should never do that, but he wasn't about to tell her. Hesitation flickered in her eyes.

"It will be your decision, Mitch.e.l.la. It is always a lady's decision." Nothing wrong with trying to tempt her, though. Her pa.s.sion was hot. He wondered what experience she had with resisting temptation. Not much, he fervently hoped.

He held out his hand with a charming smile he'd learned from his mother, a Holly. "You're a professional. I respect that. We can deal with each other professionally. Sign the contract."

She stared at his hand. "No fraternizing outside the project."

He could work around that. He lifted his brows. "I think restoring my Residence to its former beauty will take up most of our time. We'll be working closely together. I repeat my promise, I'll keep my hands to myself."

Mitch.e.l.la's stare fixed on his mouth.

"And my mouth." He wiggled the fingers of his outstretched hand. "You'll be the one to make the first move. Everything will be in your hands."

She grabbed his hand and shook it, once, stuffed the papyrus and holostones back into her carrycase. With a scowl, she looked him up and down. "You don't think I can resist you?"

He was praying she couldn't.

"The Residence needs both our best efforts," he soothed.

Looking around again, she sighed. "Yes." She signed the contract, glanced at a timer that wasn't working, then at the one on her wrist. "I'll purchase everything for Drina's room this afternoon and have it delivered. Drina can supervise the placement of the furniture." Mitch.e.l.la's lips curved. "The bedroom in the model used the top line of furniture from my family's factory, from Clovers. If you object to giving them business, let me know. I a.s.sure you everything will be completely honest-no inflated prices."

For the first time since their kiss, she met his gaze, her own earnest.

"And I trust you completely," he said, wanting to bend the short distance to put his lips back on hers. He already missed her taste.

She pinkened at his compliment and smiled fully, openly. It caught at his heart.

"We'll do right by you," she said with a middle-cla.s.s sincerity that charmed him.

"Of course."

"I'll be back in the morning with an excellent Flaired wall tinter. We should be done with Drina's room in a couple of hours." Then she turned and opened a door in the full-length, multipaned gla.s.s windows that he hadn't even known was there. Spine stiff, and her fine bottom moving nicely beneath her clothes, she left.

She needed the job. Nice of her to tell him. He wondered why, but he'd find out. He could certainly use the information.

Straif inhaled, drew her scent deep within himself. With unfocused eyes, he studied interweaving aura-trails-Mitch.e.l.la's, his deep silver-blue-green, Drina's dainty light blue mincings. Near the twoseat, and on it, were huge streaks of red so hot it nearly seared his eyes. He grinned. He'd used his tracking Flair all his life and never seen anything like that red.

Who could resist pa.s.sion like that?

Briskly, Mitch.e.l.la walked down the long gliderway, a thousand plans for the Residence flitting through her head. It was always this way with a new job. And what a project this was! It would definitely bring her fame and fortune. There was nothing she couldn't do with a "no-expense-spared" budget.