Her lips curved, “Something you have made into an artform. But again, thank you—” She paused as the idea that sprang to her mind felt utterly scandalous, but felt to be exactly the sort of thing Cassian was needling her to do.
Be spontaneous.
Before she could overthink it, Cecilia slid from her seat across him and straddled his lap. Cassian’s left brow shot up while his hands dropped on her hips. “What is your plan here, Cecilia?”
“I thought maybe a verbal thank you might not be enough,” Cecilia breathed.
Resting her hands on his shoulders, she molded herself against him at the same time as she slanted her lips across his. Brazenly, she licked against his lips, feeling strange for being the initiator—but the power was heady.
Cassian followed her lead patiently, allowing her to do as she wanted while she felt his tightly restrained urge to take over. Pulling away, she whispered an inch from his mouth. “You think I am doing this wrong, don’t you?”
“Not necessarily,” Cassian’s hand snuck up her back to wrap around her nape. “There are a few things you can work on, but—”
His lips found hers again, and then instantly, her tongue twined with his in a molten dance. This waspreciselywhat she needed, and she let herself melt into him. He knew without words what she felt, what her breathy sighs and unconscious movements conveyed.
Cassian let his mouth wander from her mouth to her neck, licking and nibbling his way down her throat. She squirmed in his lap, and he groaned as the curve of her derrière pressed snugly against his filling length.
He flicked his tongue against the throbbing pulse at the junction of her neck and collarbone. She gasped, her neck arching to the left, giving him more access.
He obliged her, his mouth sealed over the spot, sucking hard while a hand snuck between them and cupped her breast. Heat sizzled under her skin, pooling in her breastbone and belly; dimly, Cecilia realized she was rocking on his lap.
Cassian hissed softly. In her ear, he murmured, “Stop asking for what you cannot handle, sweetheart.”
Before she could categorize the sudden shift, she felt Cassian pluck the earrings out and gently deposit them on her original seat. Reeling, she watched as he dropped the jewels back into their soft suede pouch and tucked them into his inner pocket.
He met her wondering gaze. “Only safeguarding them until we get home. They are very expensive.”
She could not make heads or tails of Cassian’s confusing actions; did he not want her as he had made many references to in the past?
“Cassian…” she hesitated. What did she want to say? What did she need to tell him? What didhewant? Once again, she opened her mouth, but the words would not come out. Resigned, she sagged back into her seat, “…you confuse me.”
She heard the regret—and frustration?—in his low sigh. “That is not my intention.”
Stepping out of his bathing room, Cassian ruffled his damp hair and peeled his robe away. Clad only in a pair of loose trousers, he doused the lamp on his end table and flung the drapes wide to let the moonlight in.
Atticus, his faithful companion, padded to his side and nosed at his knee, and Cassian sank to the side of his bed. Hunching over, he braced his elbows on his knees and rubbed the hound’s ears.
“I wish I had such simple desires like you,” he murmured, “Eat, sleep, sniff a female in heat and excise the call of nature to propagate your breed. You’re not bogged down with emotions and feelings—” he paused, “—or maybe you are, but you do not process it the same way I do.”
The hound only tilted his head up, craving more scratches, fully oblivious to what Cassian was saying.
“You are not burdened with responsibility to people who look to you for help,” he said. “Nor do you have to wrestle with unexpected feelings for a woman you promised to love in name only.”
Something prickled on the side of his neck, and Cassian realized he was being watched—and not by another set of canine eyeseither. Belatedly, he remembered asking his butler to carry in a bottle of brandy after his bath.
He grunted, “How much of that did you hear, Andrews?”
“Not much,” his staid butler intoned. “Only the part I suspected.”
He stood and took the bottle. “Not a word.”
“My lips are sealed, Your Grace,” Andrews promised.
Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, Cassian asked, “Did you receive a reply from Mr Douglas?”
“Not yet,” Cassian replied. “But I am sure your man-of-business will reply promptly.”
With a smile that Cassian did not trust, Andrews bowed out of the room, and Cassian poured out a glass. He swallowed half of the glass, reveling in the warmth that spread through his body.
