But what did you do if you were the only one who wanted to hold on?
She faced away from him, silhouetted against the window that looked out over the mews.
“Win,” he said, “I don’t think it’s such a terrible idea.”
She didn’t turn.
“We won’t be able to keep an annulment out of the papers,” he said. Stupidly. Pleadingly. “If it becomes connected to your business, it could harm you. We might just… continue on as we’ve been. It hasn’t been so bad, has it?”
These last weeks had been the best of his life. He had felt more himself at her side than he could ever recall feeling, and when they’d tumbled together into each new adventure—into the carriage—into his bed—none of it had felt like a mistake.
He had never felt that he was fit to be the Earl of Warren. But to be Winnie’s? Yes, he could believe that he’d been made for that.
She spun on her heel, and he could see that she’d been crying. Her nose was red and her eyes were swollen, and she was still the most exquisite woman in the entire world.
“Stop,” she said fiercely. “Stop trying to rescue me.”
“I—” He hesitated, struck by the vehemence in her voice. “I’m not.”
“You are,” she hissed. “I am not one of your sisters. I am not part of your earldom. I am not your responsibility. I am not yourwife. None of this is real!”
It felt like a slap. He took a step backward from the force of her words. But—damn it—he loved this woman, this stubborn independent scoundrel of a woman, and he was not going to let her go without a fight.
“None of it?” he said. “Because it felt awfully goddamned real to me.”
He crossed the room to where she stood at the window. She didn’t step back—she didn’t cower, not his Win. She only stood, her green eyes wet and blazing as she met his gaze.
He took a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “You feel real,” he said. He let go of her hair and ran his thumb up her throat. Brushed the soft skin beneath her ear. “It feels real when I have my mouth on you and you’re begging me not to stop.”
She reached up and caught his wrist in her firm calloused grip.
“Tell me what you want.” His voice was harsh—a demand. He didn’t care. If all she wanted from him was this—mouths and limbs and sweet screaming pleasure—then by God let her say so.
“I don’t want anything,” she said. “I don’t need anyone.”
“Damn it!” His voice snagged on the words. Broke. “You’re allowed to want things. Nothing terrible will happen if you let someone in. The world won’t fall apart.”
Her fingers banded his wrist. He could see the taut muscle of her upper arm flex and then release.
Don’t let go. Don’t let me go, Win.
She looked up and met his eyes. “The world won’t fall apart,” she said, “but I will.”
His other hand came up and cupped her face. “What do you want, Winnie? Tell me what you want, and if it’s within my power, I’ll give it to you.”
“I know you will,” she whispered, as though it broke her heart.
He bent his head and kissed her mouth. He tasted salt on her lips, and the frustration and hurt that had snarled in his chest seemed to loosen—went feather-light and tender, like his hand on her cheek. Like the shifting grip of her fingers upon his wrist.
“Winnie,” he murmured against her mouth. “Win. My Win. Tell me what you want.”
She didn’t answer, not in words, but she caught his shirt in her free hand and pulled him closer, harder, dragging the edge of her teeth across his lower lip.
She was a fever in his blood, need clawing into his belly. The incandescent ignition of flint on steel. He thought there might never be an end to wanting her.
He put his hands into her hair, and she gave a tiny gasp that raced across his skin. Her hair was soft and heavy, sliding between his fingers. He gripped it harder, so that it would not slip away. Her mouth was open; her tongue touched his lips. Her give, his take—a shared and mounting need.
He pushed her back against the wall with his body. She gasped again as her back met the unyielding plaster, gasped and then moaned. Her fingers yanked his shirt out of his trousers and coasted against his skin. He felt the small bite of her nails along his spine.
