His breathing began to even out. She tilted her face up slightly, saw his closed eyes, and realized he’d gone to sleep. If she didn’t feel so lethargic herself, she might have been disappointed that their night together was already over.
Instead, she pressed a kiss to his chest and joined him in slumber.
Luke awoke with a start. Usually he didn’t sleep when he came to the estate because the dreams were so disturbing. He was always being chased, trying to hide—
But it wasn’t a dream that woke him this time.
He looked down on the woman sprawled halfway over his body, her small hand curled in the center of his chest. If he’d not encountered her maidenhead, he’d have thought she was as experienced as any courtesan. But then he wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t been timid. Not his Catherine.
His Catherine. She wasn’t his. At least not beyond their time at Heatherwood.
True to the brand that marked him as a thief, he was stealing moments with her, moments that didn’t rightfully belong to him. He should have resisted her, but he had no regrets. He’d have always wondered. And now he knew. In all things, she was
incredible.
Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him. “I was right. A devil is better than a saint.”
He rolled until she was on her back, and he was on his side. “How do you know? You’ve never had a saint.”
“But I can’t imagine that he could bring me as much pleasure.” She took his hand and pressed a kiss to the scar that marred the inside of his thumb. “I hate that they did this to you.”
He took her hand, unfolded it, and looked at the angry red scar. He ran his tongue over it, thought of all she’d risked in order to save him. “I hate that they did this to you.”
“I’m not. You might not lick my palm otherwise.”
“I shall lick your palm and a good deal more again before the night is done.”
“I think you talk a good deal more in bed than out.”
“Not usually.” He grimaced. It was bad form to refer to being with other ladies, but the truth was that tonight had been very different from any previous encounter with a lady that he’d experienced. Catherine was remarkable. He wasn’t certain that he could ever have enough of her.
He cradled her breast, flicked his thumb over her nipple, took delight in watching it pearl. “It shouldn’t hurt so much the next time.”
“Will there be a next time—with you, I mean.”
His stomach knotted with the thought of her having a next time with someone other than him, but he thought he successfully managed to keep his thoughts from showing.
Instead, he grinned at her and said, “If I have my way.”
“Tell me what I can do to make it better for you.”
“If you make it any better for me, Catherine, I’m likely to die from the attention.”
She smiled, and he saw how his words pleased her.
“But it would be a lovely way to go wouldn’t it?” she asked.
“I’d rather stay around if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t. Not at all. But I want to know that I please you.”
“You do. Very much. You never struck me as a woman who needs reassurances.”
“Whether or not a woman needs them, she likes to have them.” She skimmed her fingers over his chest. “I like touching you.”
“I like you touching me.”
She furrowed her brow. “I wish you hadn’t had such a harsh life.”
