Exclusive Peek: The Tutor by Hope Tarr

From Hope Tarr:

A family supper and reunion between former “friends” takes a steamy turn:

“Cake, Ralph?” 

Ralph looked up to see that Beatrice had rounded the table to his side, a dessert plate in either hand. “Thank you,” he said, gazing drinking in the sweet curve of her cheek, the lovely long column of her neck, and the shadowed swell of her breasts where the gown’s simple square cut neckline dipped ever so slightly. 

She set the dessert down before him and slipped into the empty seat beside him. “I made sure to find you a piece that wasn’t squished.” 

“Squished?” he echoed, feeling his pulse pick up and his blood heat.  The cursed cake was the very last thing on his mind but at least it had them talking. 

“Yes, squished.  You know, from the baby.”  She forked up a bite of cake and smiled at him, not only with her mouth but with her eyes. 

The temperature inside him spiked another notch, and he slipped a finger beneath his starched shirt stock.  “Oh, right.”  He forced his gaze downward to his dessert plate. 

His slice was one of the more pristine specimens being served.  It even boasted an intact pink rose atop.  Would Beatrice Lindsey’s breasts be tipped in a like shade of pale pink or were her areolas and nipples more the coral color of ripe peaches?  Roses, he decided, and forked up a bite, rose and all.  Chipmunk-cheeked, he chewed, hoping his lark wouldn’t end with a tooth breaking off. 

“Hard as a bloody brick,” he said beneath his breath and only afterward did it strike him he wasn’t only speaking of the confection. 

Squalling from the end of the table announced that, so far as the guest of honor was concerned, the evening was at an end.  The company set their napkins aside and rose.  Hattie collected the cake encrusted infant and carried her off to bed.  The doting parents followed her out, the sleepy-faced dog bringing up the rear, but not before Kate announced they would reconvene for coffee and a very special surprise in the library. 

Secretly delighted to be without a chaperone, Ralph offered Beatrice his arm.  “Shall we?” 

She nodded and laid her smooth hand and slender forearm atop his sleeve.  The frisson of awareness that light touch set off was almost alarming.  It was alarming. 

She blushed becomingly and lowered her gaze though he noted she looked up at him through her lashes, the old shyness spiced with a knowingness that was refreshingly, intriguingly new.  “Tell me, do I seem dreadfully grownup to you?” 

“Dreadfully.” 

She rolled her eyes.  “You’re making fun of me.” 

His eyes found hers.  “No, I’m not.  Not really.” 

Her heeled slippers put them on equal footing, reminding him of all the many advantages being of a like height might bring when seeking to have sex standing.  Feeling as though his flesh was afire and his clothes too tight, he led them out into the corridor. 

The library was on the same level.  They had to cross the minstrel’s gallery to get there.  Moving them along at a slow stroll, Ralph pointed out the various improvements made since her last visit. 

Halfway through, she stopped and turned to face him.  “You have a spot of frosting on your cheek.  May I?”  She moved to the front of him. 

Feeling like a fool, he nodded.  “Thank you.” 

She slid the tip of her forefinger into her mouth, whetting the digit.  “Sorry, I don’t have a handkerchief at hand,” she said, swiping at the spot. 

“I don’t mind,” he said.  Had he suspected such a happy outcome, he would have smeared himself with the stuff. 

Her upturned face brought their mouths all but meeting. “There, I’ve got it.”  She stepped back, licking frosting from her finger and like as not the salt from his skin, too.  “Now you’re perfect,” she added, her grave gaze traveling over him and, he fancied, lingering on his lips. 

“Thank you…milady.”  Even with nine months’ of shored up fantasies involving every exotic sexual position he could grasp with his mind, still he couldn’t afford to allow himself to forget the gulf in their stations. 

She tilted her face to the side.  “So formal you are, Ralph. Shall I address you as Mr. Sylvester then?” 

“I’d rather you didn’t.”  He took a step toward her, his pulse thrumming. “It’s one thing for a married matron such as your sister to call me by my surname, but a beautiful unattached young woman doing so would have me feeling old.” 

A funny look crossed her face.  Like a lamp being turned down, the teasing light in her eyes dimmed.  She stepped back, spoiling the moment. 

“Yes, well, I suppose we should be getting on.  Surely Kate and Rourke will have tucked Lucy in by now.” 

He reclaimed her arm, and they walked the rest of the way in suddenly awkward silence.
Reaching the library, he saw that Rourke and Kate were indeed within.  He released Bea with reluctance and stepped back for her to precede him inside. 

“There you are,” Rourke called from the rose marble mantel shelf upon which several silver-framed photographs of Kate and Baby Lucy commanded pride of place.  “Och, Sylvester, you must have taken the lass the roundabout way.” 

“Yes, we thought you two must have gotten lost,” Kate chimed in, sharp-eyed gaze darting between them. 

Ralph slanted his gaze to Beatrice, who’d slipped behind the camel-back sofa as though seeking to set some barrier between them. “Lady Beatrice was catching me up on London gossip.” 

Plucking at the sofa back, she sent him a grateful smile.  “Were it not for Ralph guiding me, I should have found myself quite lost,” she said brightly, too brightly.

Hattie entered followed by a parlor maid bearing a silver tray of champagne flutes. Ralph accepted his flute, wondering what more wanted for celebrating.

Pushing away from the fireplace, Rourke raised his glass and turned to Bea who, along with Kate, had drawn up by his side.  “Katie only just told me your grand news. If you and your Mr. Billingsby are half as happy as your sister and I, then it’s blissful you’ll be indeed.” 

Ralph cinched his fingers about his flute and focused every fiber of his being on not snapping the fragile stemware in twain.

Beaming, Kate piped up, “To think that in but three weeks our Bea-Bea will walk down the aisle as a bride!”


Book Summary:

"I wish you to tutor me in...sex."

Lady Bea Lindsey is desperate. She's newly engaged to a very nice but dull gentleman and is fully aware that if she wants any joy in her marriage bed, she'll have to call the shots. But first she needs to be taught. And who better to instruct her than irresistibly sexy rogue Ralph Sylvester?

Ralph is surprised by Bea's request, but he can't turn down the woman he's lusted after for the past nine months. He agrees on one condition. For the next seven days and nights, Bea must relinquish total control to him. No pleasure will be off-limits, no act of lovemaking forbidden, no desire too shocking.

It's every man's fantasy... until the student surpasses the teacher...

Available in Book Depository (print, ebook).