Page 39 of Mistletoe Mistake
I couldn't help smiling back at her, feeling rather pleased that she remembered our earlier conversation about my aversion to clowns. “I trust you a little more than that, Gemma.”
The words surprised me as they came out of my mouth, not because they weren't true, but because they were. I did trust her, at least enough that I hadn't even looked up the place that we were going. For me, that was very unusual. Who else would I trust enough to let them take me somewhere without doing any research first? I couldn’t think of many others.
“It's called Dennis Severs' House,” she explained. “It's a Georgian house here in the east end of the city, bought by an American man about forty years ago. He refurbished it in a way that the whole house tells a story, through a few different time periods. You walk through it in complete silence and there are sounds and smells all the way through to make it seem as if you've walked in just as the people who live there left the room. The whole house is meant to feel alive, not like a museum at all, and at this time of year, they do a special Christmas installation, all by candlelight.”
That actually sounded quite interesting and I could see how it appealed to Gemma as a designer. “We can't speak at all?”
She shook her head. “No, they're quite strict about it. I've been to the house several times, but never at Christmas. And tonight, we actually have a private booking. We'll be the only ones there, other than the staff.”
I hadn’t really thought about why she would already have tickets to this and be in need of a companion, but when she mentioned a private booking, it clicked into place in my head. “You were supposed to be going with Edwin.”
“Yes. Last night was meant to be with him too. This whole month, really; we booked things almost every day in the lead-up to our wedding, maybe just to distract ourselves from what lay ahead.”
“And you were going to go on your own, before you asked me?” It surprised me that she still wanted to go.
“Yes,” she repeated. “I’d been looking forward to some of these things more than the wedding itself, to be honest, and I don't want to let him stop me from doing them. Still, I'm glad to have some company.”
I respected the hell out of her for going ahead with her plans anyway, and I felt equally glad that she didn't have to go alone. It seemed our meeting had been lucky in more ways than one.
Once I’d paid the bill, we left the restaurant in the car I called for us. The drive over to the house only took a few minutes, and a woman in 18th-century dress stood outside when we arrived, standing between two Christmas trees and holding a lantern. Her eyes widened at the sight of our rather formal evening attire as we stepped out of the car, and I couldn’t blame her. Gemma looked truly stunning. After greeting us, she took a few minutes to explain how the tour would work. As Gemma had already told me, someone would accompany us from room to room but we were expected to remain silent in order to absorb the atmosphere that had been created.
The tour started in the cellar of the house, down a cramped staircase where I had to duck my head to keep from hitting it on the ceiling. From there, we moved into the warmth of the kitchen where the enticing smell of gingerbread filled the air, and a wave of nostalgia hit me: memories of Christmas time with my grandparents in upstate New York, baking gingerbread men and the feeling of belonging that came with it. The potency of the connection caught me completely off guard. I hadn’t thought about that memory in years, and definitely not since I had started avoiding Christmas things in general.
That must be the whole point of the place: evoking memories and feelings through the sights, sounds and smells that both rooted us in the moment and pulled us into the past. Since we couldn't speak, we had only our own thoughts for company, giving them even more power over us.
My eyes wandered to Gemma as we entered the third room, the dining room, wondering what thoughts were going through her head. What did the room make her feel? Being unable to ask her about it only made me more curious.
For my part, the sight of the table made me flash back to the table at the restaurant where we had just shared our meal. Specifically, I thought about the way she came for me there, silently, just as silent as we had to be on the tour. Had the fact that she needed to be silent affected her the same way it affected me at that moment? Did it heighten her other senses, making everything feel more intense?
As much as I tried to pay attention to the rest of the tour, I couldn't stop my mind wandering to the different ways we could test out my theory and all the different things I could try on her. By the time the tour finished, my anticipation had reached a new high.
“You did very well,” Gemma teased me as we settled back into the car that would take us back to the hotel. “I didn't know if you'd be able to follow someone else's rules.”
“I do prefer setting the rules,” I admitted, placing my hand on her knee. “But actually, I really enjoyed the house. The whole experience was unusual, and rather inspiring.”
“Inspiring?” She seemed surprised at my choice of words. “What kind of inspiration did it give you?”
A wide smile broke out across my face. She couldn’t have phrased it any better. “You'll see.”
Only one photographer waited for us at the hotel, presumably someone who had missed our earlier appearance. Already, their interest had started to wane now that they had their photos, just as I’d predicted. I took Gemma's hand as we stepped out of the car and held it all the way until we got to the door of my suite, looking calm and controlled on the outside even as my heart raced with excitement and expectation.
As soon as we were inside, I pulled her to me, claiming her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. I'd been wanting to do that ever since I had laid eyes on her in the lobby, what felt like a million hours ago, but I waited until now, until I knew that we wouldn't have to stop. Because now that we'd begun, I didn't know if I would even be capable of stopping.
The desire to possess her, to have her submitting to me and putting herself entirely in my hands and knowing that she would,couldn’t have been a more powerful turn-on.
That night, I owned her, and damn it, I was going to make it count.
~Gemma~
Cole's kiss overwhelmed me. I lost all sense of time and place and direction as his mouth moved against mine, hungrily and possessively. It felt like he wanted to devour me entirely, and I wanted to let it happen. I wanted to give him everything I had.
When he finally pulled away, we were both struggling for breath. He leaned his forehead against mine for just a moment, a gesture that somehow seemed more intimate than everything that had come before, but when he pulled back further, his eyes had taken on that hard, controlling edge that thrilled me so much.
“The bedroom, Gemma. Go.”
I didn't hesitate, turning on my heel and making my way to the room where he had taken me so hard the night before. Was that really only twenty-four hours earlier? It felt like so much had changed since then. Cole knew so much more about me than he had, and yet, he wanted me just the same. I could hardly believe it.
When I reached the centre of the room, I turned back to the door, watching Cole enter. He moved with the grace of a jungle cat stalking its prey, his eyes fixed on me.
