One Night Is Never Enough by Anne Mallory Page B

reached beneath the table, and she could hear a series of snaps. He lifted the top of the table and stood. She stared at him. At the stump of the table left. Neck and legs without a crown.
    “Come with me, Charlotte.” The words sang of sly promises and seductive creatures of old, almost making her squirm on her chair.
    But she looked to his eyes, to the circles that had gathered beneath. Strangely, they made him look more like a fierce, sleek predator.
    Was he done with the game then? Exhaustion pushing to other things? Falling back to the threat of leaving her virginity on his sheets?
    He balanced the tabletop on one hand, like a servant carrying a platter. He bent, and his fingers curled around hers, sneaking beneath her palm, slowly lifting it and her to standing.
    “Come.”
    She didn’t know if she would have had the remaining presence required to extricate her own hand, so when his just as slowly descended, still wrapped around hers, softly leaving it at her side, his fingertips pulling along hers, the hoarse words popped forth.
    “Where to?”
    “It draws toward morning, and like all creatures of the night, I find myself wanting a darker, softer place to hide.”
    He carried the board gently, balancing the pieces on top, and walked toward the room at back. The navy-and-red coverlet sang of illicit purposes.
    “I promise I only have a continuance of this game in mind,” he called over his shoulder. “For now.” The last was lower in both volume and register. Almost as if she weren’t even required to hear it. It being more of a stated promise.
    He turned the corner with the board, disappearing from view.
    She approached the room at a much slower pace. Curious and apprehensive. Wondering where this night would lead. A faint flicker built within her as she stepped through the portal.
    The bed was large, and it was hard to notice anything else in the room at first. She and Emily could share it with an extra person to either side. She didn’t think her own room was large enough to accommodate such a massive piece of furniture. Dark pillows scattered the top as if hastily thrown on. She thought she saw a tucked trouser leg sticking out from under the bed where the coverlet brushed the boards.
    That small peek of disarray allowed her to draw a shaky breath and continue forward.
    The counterpane itself was magnificent. The scarlet-and-navy pattern wove together into a tight sculpted print, like an oriental rug shot through with gold. She had never seen such exquisite cloth. She touched it with her finger pads, running them along the surface. The fabric was silky, smooth, the gold threads making just the slightest hitch. She curled her fingers into the fabric, feeling the layers beneath. He sat upon the bed, sinking heavily into the layers before arranging the chessboard on top, situating it in its own divot of goose down.
    He scooted up and reclined on his side, a charming smile about his lips. “Much more comfortable.”
    Decadent. Lush. Not comfortable.
    She perched on the edge, determined not to be enveloped. A part of her, here in the illusory night, wanting the opposite. Just a little part.
    “Come now, Charlotte. You can hardly see from that position, much less reach your pieces. It will be detrimental to your play.”
    “I find myself thinking this change of venue can hardly be anything but detrimental to my play. Or to me.”
    He raised a brow. “Not up to the challenge? Even with my most gentlemanly promise?”
    She frowned and scooted up, dragging herself across the luxurious fabric half in protest, and sat with legs tucked to the side on the decadent bed, her voluminous, prim black skirts spread about her, her back ramrod straight, as her undergarments dictated. He reclined on his side, propped on one arm, shirt open at the collar and hitching beneath him. Creasing the covers under and around him in a depraved way.
    She pulled her lips between her teeth, wetting the undersides, a feeling she could