I watched Ivan’s eyes flare before going dark and predatory. He leaned down further and boxed me in, his hands planted firmly on the bed, even with my shoulders like a panther about to spring. A gorgeous wild panther I wanted to pet and lick and have purring against my leg. I could feel the body heat radiating off him and smell the sex in the air from what we’d been doing for the last hour. And in spite of all the orgasms he’d already given to me in that time, I could still be aroused by him, as evidenced by the delicious shiver that rolled through me from him devouring me with his gorgeous green eyes. His effect upon me sexually was immense, and I was certain he knew it.
His harsh expression softened. “Perfect answer, kitten. Now I think I’ll have a shower and dress myself before I consider what else I might like to do with you behind the door. I really would like you to see more of my home than just this bedroom.” He gave me a final thorough kiss to my lips, and also a lick and a suck to each of my breasts, murmuring, “Such spectacular tits,” before pulling away and boasting a pleased grin on his handsome face.
I suppose my admission of being submissive only “when we fuck” had made his day.
He was still grinning smugly when he sauntered into the bathroom after that snazzy little speech, his tight bare ass looking mighty fine from my view as I tilted my head to admire. What a gorgeous man he was, and amazingly he didn’t act like most guys who knew they were hot and tried to pull off being artificially humble. Ivan just behaved like a man who was completely comfortable in his own skin. A confident and easy man. Must be nice, I thought—with a bit of envy thrown in—to feel so confident.
As I got up from his bed and drew on the cerulean blue silk smoking-jacket he’d gifted to me, I decided I wouldn’t tell him his habit of calling me “kitten” had a very nice effect on me.
Mr. “my lord” Everley would just have to work for the right to that knowledge.
Chapter 3
GABRIELLE
Ivan left me in privacy to shower and dress, asking me to meet him in front of the pool house when I was ready. I thought it was considerate of him to give me some alone time, because I was feeling more than a little self-conscious after all the sex. Not shy so much, but rather more of an awareness of what we’d been doing a lot of since last night. It had been a long time for me, and I had the delicious aches and soreness to prove it.
After a luxurious shower taken in the equally luxurious and recently remodeled marble bathroom, I remembered to give thanks about being so careless as to leave my muddy clothes behind when I was here before. That and Mr. Finnegan’s laundering skills had me dressed in the same jeans and emerald green shirt I’d worn the night Ivan found me lost on the road, just sans the mud. Underwear and socks included. He’d even polished up my leather ankle boots and laid out a new toothbrush for me. I really needed to find out what Mr. Finnegan’s guilty pleasures were so I could buy him a thank you gift. He was the kindest man.
I realized as I checked myself in the mirror that Ivan was going to get a dose of me au naturel today. No makeup, and damp hair that had been combed out and French braided into one braid on the side. I found a hair band in the pocket of my jeans, miraculously still in there after laundering. There wasn’t a thing I could do about it, though, and I decided if he didn’t like me this way, then it was going to be his problem. He’d seen me a mess already anyway after our swim and he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Ivan went out of his way to tell me I was beautiful. I switched off the light in the bathroom and set out to find him, thinking it was really nice to be told you were beautiful. I wanted to believe it. So badly, I wanted to believe it. My problem wasn’t the beauty on the outside though. I could deal with that. It was the inside part of me I doubted. I'd been very selfish and sinful once, and for that I still must atone.
I retraced my way from what I remembered this morning when we went to the pool house for our swim. As I made my way down, I allowed myself to really take in the art displayed everywhere around me. The walls were covered and so was the grand staircase. In the daylight I could see the beauty in the paint, and it made me giddy. My throat got tight and I had to forcibly keep my excitement under control because there was so much. I knew I could get lost in these works, and it had nothing to do with the, oh-so-charming and sexy owner. He helped of course, but Ivan’s art collection could hold its own no problem whatsoever.
My eyes found a painting on the stairwell with a subject I recognized immediately. It was a slightly different version of my favorite Mallerton on display in The National Gallery. What we call a simulacrum in the art trade. The young bride on the white horse—Mrs. Gravelle. Same beautiful girl with long dark hair in her wedding finery riding a magnificent white stallion decked out for the occasion. Only in this version, the pose was altered somewhat for the horse and rider. I stared in awe. Holy shit, I was looking at another Mallerton which wasn’t even in the archives. I found his signature and leaned closer to scrutinize the structure of the letters without the benefit of my glasses. It absolutely presented as authentic from first glance. The painting was in need of general cleaning, but otherwise perfectly gorgeous decorating the grand stairwell of Donadea. I wanted so badly to take it with me back to London for further examination. It would be a dream job to bring this version of Mrs. Gravelle back to her original glory. And this was just one single painting of many, many more just waiting for some attention. I was still reeling from the discovery of the Mallerton at Hallborough this weekend at the wedding. The family portrait of Sir Jeremy and Lady Georgina Greymont with their children. That made two uncatalogued works of Mallerton's discovered in as many days. Crazy. I might need to bring in someone to help me, or at least ask Ben to come and take initial inventory photos—
“There you are.” Ivan called up from the bottom of the stairs. “I wondered if you got lost, and now I can see you’ve found something to distract you.” He looked gorgeous smirking up at me in worn jeans and a cream linen shirt, and I couldn’t help imagining him as he’d been with me just an hour ago—without the expensive clothes that he wore so well. That was the thing about Ivan. He wore everything, or nothing, so very well.
“Mrs. Gravelle is here on your wall. This is a Mallerton in your house, Ivan, and nobody knows it exists except for me,” I told him as I continued to study the painting in awe.
“Ahhh, you like that one, do you? Good, right?”
“I wouldn’t use ‘good’ to describe this discovery,” I answered sarcastically without looking at him. The horse was depicted mid-step with his front leg held high, while Mrs. Gravelle sat serenely in her ivory wedding dress looking beautiful and happy. I wanted so badly to know more about her. “Please tell me you know something about the woman in this painting,” I said pleadingly. “There’s a different version of this portrait in The National Gallery and it’s my favorite Mallerton out of all of them. The bride, the white horse, the romance of it all—everything about it…”
My words were utterly lost as I tried to explain. It was impossible to make anyone understand the significance of what I'd just discovered in his house if they didn't already know fine art. Mallerton wasn't even constrained in part to the realm of fine art. He surpassed it. His works were straight up national treasures.