Leslie Lafoy by The Perfect Desire

Author:The Perfect Desire [Desire, The Perfect]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

What Alex had sent, Barrett decided as he stood in the doorway and surveyed the newly furnished surroundings, was basically a harem room in a box. Although “boxes” was the more accurate term. Twelve to be exact. Each of them labeled with grease pencil as to their ultimate destination. There hadn’t been any need for Aiden’s wife to indicate her intent. That had been obvious the moment he’d pried open one of the crates marked “domestics” and seen the huge copper bathing tub.

The tub over which Belle had exclaimed in delight and immediately hauled off to the kitchen. The tub in which she was currently soaking. Barrett glanced back over his shoulder and down the stairwell, listening to the soft notes of her song. Smiling, he leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and went back to studying the room he’d put together while Belle had toiled at composing a functional kitchen and preparing a meal for them.

A fire was blazing in the hearth and a stack of splintered crating sat waiting to keep it going through the night. Alex had sent six three-stem silver candelabra and a sufficient number of sandalwood tapers to burn into the next century. He’d lit eighteen of them. The scent was heady and heavenly and the softly flickering light glowed over the silk bedding. Belle’s pallet was white, heavily embroidered with trailing green vines and bright pink flowers of some sort. His was a deep maroon, starkly plain and masculine.

He’d placed the beds on either side of the hearth and then built them a nest in front of it. Bless Alex and her sense of the necessary, he mused, grinning. A huge, thick rug, at least three dozen brightly colored, fringed and tasseled pillows, a low and beautifully carved little table … At the moment it held two place settings of fine china and a pair of crystal goblets. The copper-clad brazier was on the hearth, the silver coffee urn on a little carved barrel off to the side.

He hoped Belle liked the arrangement. Actually, he amended, he hoped that she heard the same seductive whisper he did when looking at it all. He’d be willing to surrender gentlemanly restraint if she asked him to. Hell, he admitted, shaking his head, he’d hand it up if she even looked like she might be about to hint at it. There was something incredibly erotic about a woman who delighted in even the smallest things, who laughed over copper tubs and reveled at the prospect of peeling carrots and potatoes.

He’d spent the better part of the evening marveling at that discovery, alternating between deliberately triggering her joy and resisting the urge to slip his arms around her and see if her delight extended to him. In short, Barrett realized, chuckling darkly and shoving himself squarely onto his feet, he’d spent the last several hours torturing himself.

The rest of the evening would go as it would go, he warned himself as he made his way down the stairs.

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