Disguised Enchantment Read online

  Feeling a little better, she started her car and headed out of the parking lot. She thought about stopping at a local fast-food restaurant for a quick dinner, but her stomach wasn't in agreement--so she drove on, turning onto a street that would take her out of the city limits. The thought of returning to a dark, empty house, however, made her realize that home was the last place she wanted to be. What was she going to do there anyway? Sit in the dark and dwell on her fabulous career? Or even worse, work on her worthless designs? Slamming on the brakes, she skidded to a halt in the middle of the road. Suddenly, the blaring horn from an angry motorist behind her made her jump, and she burst into tears again as he roared past her, shouting crude obscenities.

  With shaking hands, she steered the battered sedan to the side of the street and leaned back against the seat. The horrible feeling that she'd nearly caused an accident only added to her misery and she sobbed even harder. Gradually, she became aware of a chilly breeze as it pushed through the auto's partially open window, prickling Shannon's wet, tear-streaked face with its icy fingers. Sitting up, she wrapped her wool blazer closely about her and then cranked up the window. It was twilight and pleasantly warm when she had left the Mall, but now nightfall covered the city with a blanket of cool, obscure darkness that sent shivers through her lithe body, but more alarmingly, left her quite uncertain of her whereabouts. The street before her looked vaguely familiar, as did the huge mansion on the corner at the end of the block. Something about the candles glowing softly from its many windows made it appear so beautiful, so romantically inviting.

  Starting the engine, she inched the auto along the curb until a tall, iron gate displaying an ornate white sign imprinted with the words CHATEAU L'KOST came into view. At first Shannon's startled eyes couldn't believe what they were seeing. Had she taken a wrong turn in town and just ended up here by mistake? Or was it some cruel twist of fate that brought her to this neighborhood? Easing to a stop, she lowered her head to the steering wheel as her eyes filled with tears. She knew exactly why she found herself at this forbidden place. Even though her days were exhaustingly busy with not a moment's time to dwell on the Marquis, her nights were just the opposite--her dreams were filled with him. Not in fear like before, but in a more romantic fashion that conjured up sweet memories of the Sunday afternoon she spent with him. The feeling of his arms around her and his lips on hers still lingered in the depths of her soul and abided in the secret corners of her subconscious and, despite her misgivings, she found she was sorely in need of those things again.

  Another chill skittered down Shannon's spine as the night air seemed to grow even colder. She glanced longingly at the mansion and then released an anxious breath. She knew it was risky, but perhaps she could slip inside without notice. Just long enough to warm herself, then leave without anyone being the wiser. The Marquis, she reckoned, would be otherwise engaged and therefore not aware of her presence anyway.

  Putting the car in gear, she moved slowly toward the gate and turned into the driveway, making her way to the parking lot where only two other vehicles occupied spaces. Quickly alighting, she tiptoed around the side of the house to the front door and, after taking a nervous gulp of air, she lifted the latch and scooted inside. To her relief, the foyer was vacant and she immediately decided to slip into the ballroom where she hoped to find refuge. Before she could take another step, however, the heavy mahogany door at the other end of the foyer that led to the Chateau's kitchen swung wide, emitting a certain Scottish housekeeper. Her twinkling eyes fell upon Shannon's startled form and she hurried toward her.

  "Shannon, lass! It's so good to see you again!" She hugged her enthusiastically. "Now you just take yerself into the sitting room and have a seat. I'll go tell the Marquis yer here!" Whirling around, she lifted her skirt and scampered up the staircase.

  "No, Mattie ... wait!" Shannon called out to her. "I didn't come here to see the Marquis!" But it was too late. Mattie had already disappeared into the shadows at the top of the stairs.

  Shannon wandered across the hall to the sitting room and peered inside. Like the first night she had come here, the small candlelit room was unoccupied, resurrecting an eerie sense of déjà vu. But as she stepped through the doorway and moved toward the windows where she stood staring out at the darkness, a feeling of panic gripped her heart. What if Marsha found her here? Or even worse, what if the Marquis assumed... "Oh, God!" she mumbled to herself as tears wet her eyes anew. She had to get out of there before he came downstairs!

  Turning on her heels, she spun away from the window, but her haste was for naught. There, standing just inside the doorway, was the infamous Marquis. His eyes held a look of both surprise and delight as he smiled at her. Shannon halted in mid-stride and a small gasp slipped from her lips as her eyes came to rest upon the royal blue and black velvet trimmed, long-skirted coat he wore over a chest-baring, black nylon body suit and black cire jeans.

  "Mattie told me you were here," he said softly.

  For a moment, the urge to run to him burned strong within her, but she quickly decided revealing such vulnerability could prove quite detrimental.

  "I-I was just out driving," she explained feebly, struggling to keep her voice steady. "I-I didn't intend ... I mean, I don't know how I ended up here, but I caught a chill and just came inside for a moment to warm myself. I never meant to disturb you."

  "You're not disturbing me, Shannon. In fact, I'm glad to see you're all right. I was very worried that you had become lost or hurt after you ran out of here that Sunday afternoon. Beverly Hills can be a confusing place if you're not familiar with it. How did you get home, anyway? I trust you didn't walk the whole way to the Valley?"

  "Of course not!" Shannon chuckled. "An acquaintance just happened to be passing by and he was kind enough to drive me."

  "He?" The Marquis' voice held a note of indignation. "Then you do have someone special in you're life. You've just neglected to tell me about it!"

  Again she shook her head laughingly. "Nooo, it's nothing like that. He was just a customer from the Boutique. I helped him find a gift for his sister's birthday. Besides, he's an actor and certainly isn't interested in me."

  "You underestimate yourself, Shannon. A man would have to be both blind and stupid not to be attracted to you ... actor or not."

  Shannon glanced up at the ardent look in his eyes, and then quickly lowered her gaze to the floor. "Thank you for saying that, but I'm afraid I don't feel very appealing to anyone at the moment."

  The Marquis moved toward her, observing the distress hardening the delicate features of her face. "What is it, Shannon? Something's troubling you."

  Shannon lifted her shoulders in a brief shrug. "It's nothing really. I-I just had a bad day at work and ... and thought a drive would lift my spirits."

  "It doesn't appear to have helped much," he said, gently brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. "You've been crying."

  The warmth of his touch went through her like a surge of electricity and she glanced up at him, meeting his steadfast gaze with a look of unmistakable pain and confusion.

  "Tell you what ... I was just about to have some tea. Why don't you come upstairs and have a cup with me? It will make you feel better," he grinned at her solicitously.

  "I don't think so," she shook her head. "I really need to get home."

  "Oh, come on," he cajoled, "it will help warm you."

  Shannon chewed the corner of her lower lip as she contemplated his offer. "Well, all right," she acquiesced shyly. "I-I guess I can stay long enough for that."

  When the Marquis pushed open the heavy, wooden portal to the dungeon entry room, Shannon's eyes were met with darkness. She started inside, and then froze in terror as her imagination took flight, hurling one hideous image after another at her mind's eye.

  "Hey, it's okay." He spoke close to her ear. "It's dark because I'm off duty."

  "W-what?" She half turned, straining to make out his masked visage in the obscure blackness.

&nb
sp; "I'm not working anymore tonight," he whispered seductively.

  Despite the darkness, Shannon blushed at the meaning of his words. The color still splotched her cheeks as she continued into the candlelit drawing room where she eased down on the oyster-white settee. "I ... ahh ... hope you like spiced green tea," he said, grinning at her disconcerted expression.

  "Yes, th-that's fine," she nodded tensely.

  The Marquis walked to the silver tea service setting upon a small serving table, poured two cups of the aromatic brew, then strolled back to where she sat. Demurely accepting the cup he offered, she watched him seat himself in a cane-backed chair directly across from her.

  "Now, why don't you tell me about this bad day of yours." He gazed at her warmly.

  "I-I really don't want to bore you with my problems," she stammered, quickly taking a sip of the hot liquid.

  A smile touched the corners of his mouth as the blue eyes behind the mask sparkled in amusement. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that," he chuckled. "It surely can't be all that bad."

  Shannon drew in a sharp breath and took another sip of tea. "It's my co-worker, Donna," she began. "She's always trying to do something to irk me, and today she really outdid herself."

  "Let me guess," he interrupted, "this Donna ... Could she possibly be the one who gave you that fake business card for the Chateau?"

  Shannon nodded briefly then continued. "She knows I've been urging Mrs. Phillips--she's the owner of the Boutique--to sell my original cross-stitch designs in the shop. But nooo. Good old Donna managed to persuade her to package and sell these ... these stupid little motifs that she designed instead. I couldn't believe it!" she scoffed. "There they were on a big display rack just inside the front entrance when I came to work this morning. Dozens of little brightly-colored packages just waiting for all those eager stitchers...

  "Well, I just lost it," she confessed, the fire flashing from her emerald eyes. "I told her in no uncertain terms just what I thought of her and her so-called designs."

  "Sounds like someone else besides me was on the receiving end of that fine Irish temper of yours," he said grinning at the indignation on her face.

  Again she colored deeply, realizing he was referring to the tongue-lashing she had given him not too long ago. "For all the good it did me," she grumbled. "Mrs. Phillips heard us arguing and called me into the stockroom for a lecture of her own. She said my designs weren't right for selling in a simple craft shop. That they were unique and belonged somewhere special. She feels I just haven't found that somewhere yet."

  "Perhaps she's right," the Marquis concurred. "She obviously feels your talent deserves more recognition than her store offers." Discouragement deepened the sadness on Shannon's face. "I don't believe that. I think it's just her way of politely telling me she's not interested in helping me advance my career. I would be grateful for a start anywhere and she knows that."

  The Marquis studied Shannon's melancholy demeanor for a long thoughtful moment, then rose from his chair. "You're going to give yourself another one of those dreadful headaches, if you don't lighten up," he chided, squatting down in front of her.

  Shannon's downcast eyes lifted to his masked visage, driven by the intense concern in his voice. "I'm fine. Other than feeling a little tired," she smiled wanly. "I think I'd just better be going now before I waste any more of your time."

  "You know you really don't want to do that," he breathed, holding her gaze with such an unwavering look of ardor it made her flinch. Wordlessly rising to his feet, he took her hands in his and pulled her off the settee into his arms. "Your neck and shoulders are so tense, sweetheart," he whispered as his fingers gently caressed her upper back. "I know someone who's an expert at relaxing all those tight muscles."

  "Who?" she uttered, dumfounded.

  "Who do you think?" he grinned, a roguish glint dancing in his eyes.

  Chagrin washed over Shannon like a rain-swollen creek escaping its banks, and she stood there riveted to the floor while waves of hot crimson flowed upward from the slender column of her neck to her face.

  "You're exhausted, Shannon. Let me give you a massage before you go. I guarantee it will help you sleep better tonight."

  Shannon's emotions churned inside her and clamoring words of subconscious warning tormented her. He's a devil! Don't give in to him! they warned. She opened her mouth to decline, but his lips smothered the words as they closed over hers in a soft, inviting kiss. Finally his lips reluctantly lifted from hers and he pulled back slightly to gaze down at her. His eyes held hers with a promise of tenderness that shredded to bits the last of her resistance. Silently she moved back to him and, laying her head against his chest, she nodded in reply against the plush fabric of his coat, knowing full well that would be the only response he needed.

  Without further hesitation, the Marquis lifted her into his arms and carried her across the threshold to his bedchamber. Soft candlelight radiated from the room's interior as he proceeded to the huge brass bed, where he gently placed her upon the deep purple comforter. Shannon's eyes, wide with measured uncertainty, followed his every movement, diligently searching for a clue to his intentions. He returned her apprehensive perusal with a reassuring wink, then slipped off the blue velvet coat revealing the clinging body suit that clearly defined the bunches and ridges of his powerful body.

  He came toward her, his eyes smoldering like glowing embers internally sparked by his audacious sexuality. Shannon gulped nervously as he knelt down in front of her and began unbuttoning her blazer. When he had loosened the last, he eased the jacket off her shoulders and down over her arms, then slowly ran his hands back up over the sleeves of her blouse, slipping his fingers inside the crisp, white collar. She felt him brush aside the wispy tendrils of hair that had escaped the pins of her French-braided coiffure before beginning to stroke the taut cords on either side of her neck. The warmth of his fingers made the skin beneath them tingle, and she couldn't suppress the soft moan that slipped unwittingly from her lips.

  Rising to his feet, his head dipped to brush a feather-soft kiss on her cheek as he moved to the bed where he knelt close behind her. Again his fingers found the soft, sensitive curve between her neck and shoulders and renewed their sensual kneading, each stroke venturing a little further down inside the front of her blouse. Another moan broke from her throat as his hands skimmed lightly across the top of her breasts, and she let her head fall back against his shoulder, allowing his roaming fingers complete access to her bodice. She was vaguely aware of him flicking open the fastenings of the soft, white garment and then it, as well as her lacy bra beneath, being removed, but after that specific details were lost to her. A lazy, languid feeling seemed to envelope every fiber of her being, and it wasn't until she felt him smooth a warm, sweet-scented liquid over her back that she realized he was massaging her with oil.

  Suddenly, the room whirled and the candlelight dimmed as he hauled her backward into his brawny arms and lifted her up, gently re-positioning her on top of him so that her back rested upon his massive chest. A molten layer of oil oozed from the tiny spaces between their bodies, and it slowly dawned on her that they were both naked and that he must have slathered himself with the slippery substance as well.

  Once more his hands began their journey, moving with agonizing slowness over her shoulders, down her arms, across the flat plane of her abdomen, then up over her breasts where they lingered, gently massaging her nipples until they were hot and throbbing with exquisite sensations. With one hand, he continued to caress the sensitive crests while the other slid seductively down over the curve of her waist to the mass of silken hair between her thighs. Gently, his fingers slipped into the soft, moist folds of her labia and massaged the area with a slow, circling motion before moving away to bring something much larger and warmer to pleasure her.

  A strange quivering sensation surging upward from the pit of Shannon's stomach spread a sweet, consuming ache throughout her body as he rubbed every inch of his hot, oile
d penis up and down, back and forth over the inside of her thighs and the outside of her vagina. Moaning softly, Shannon writhed against him as he shifted her higher up on his chest and pushed the tip of his penis against her clitoris holding it there while his fingers moved in and out of her in a slow, rhythmic motion. Shannon moaned again, arching her back as she pushed her pelvis against his hand, wanting more of the ever increasing pleasure that was slowly driving her crazy. Those frenzied movements relayed her increasing state of arousal and, if she had been any other woman, he would have eagerly continued. But with Shannon, he knew he must go slowly, exercising patience and restraint. Immediately, he lifted her off him and laid her on the cool, satin sheets. Shannon's eyes fluttered open and a look of perplexity formed on her flushed face as she gazed up at him. Unbridled passion still blazed in his eyes, temporarily breaking through his self-imposed control. Gently taking her hand, he pressed a kiss to her fingers, and then unabashedly placed it on the warm, hard flesh of his penis.

  A gasp caught in her throat from the sheer size of him. He was so big. Thicker and heavier than her maidenly innocence led her to believe any man could be.

  He must have sensed her awe, for his response was gentle and definitively sincere. "I want you to know all you can have with me, Shannon," he whispered huskily. "There's nothing I want more than to make love to you here and now, but I know you're not ready. You need time to sort out your feelings, decide if you truly want a sexual relationship with me or merely a platonic one. Either way I'm willing to abide by whatever choice you make."