So close.
His warmth and his scent were enveloping her, trapping them both in some strange sort of bubble, removed from the rest of the world.
As though...
Almost as though he meant to kiss her.
Nonsense. Impossible.
And yet...there was something else in his eyes now.
Heat.
The shimmering gold flecks had melted, become pools of glistening, molten liquid. Rebecca felt her breath catch as she watched his eyes roam across her face down to her lips. Watched the question form behind his eyes in the almost imperceptible twitch of his eyebrow.
And if he did? Rebecca would not stop him. She would welcome it. Though every bone in her body told her it would be wrong, and bring only agony, she would welcome it a thousand times over.
But it never came.
Only coldness as Liam turned away, almost flying back to the window, hands firmly clasped behind his back, once again the master.
‘Good day, Miss Merrickson,’ he said dispassionately.
‘Good day, my lord,’ she breathed, her voice cracking with the feeling of utter loss that swept over her.
Rebecca bolted from the study, stumbled down the corridor, and out into the garden through the conservatory. She breathed in deep, welcoming the daggers of cold, frosty air into her lungs. She welcomed the nip at her nose and ears, and the shiver which ran through her, unclouding her mind.
No matter how whatever had just happened came to pass, what mattered was that it must never happen again. That way lay only destruction. Broken lives and broken hearts—neither of which Rebecca could afford. Temporary insanity, weakness of the flesh, exceptional circumstances—whatever it might have been, there was no use trying to make sense of it.
Whatever closeness she had allowed thus far, must cease. Things would return to the way they were meant to be. Master. Servant. Invisibility. Speak only when spoken to. Nothing had happened, therefore returning to normality would not be a problem.
Wouldn’t it?
For she had promised herself just that before, and failed miserably.
Liam stared out the window, seeing none of the wintry landscape. All he saw was Rebecca, the image of her as she’d been in those fateful seconds before he’d turned away. It had taken every ounce of willpower he had to do so, to turn away from those eyes gazing up into his own, filled with the same heat which had risen from the very depths of his soul.
So close he’d been to crossing that final line, to giving in to his now undeniable need to touch, to kiss, to possess. She would not have stopped him. He’d seen surrender in those fathomless inviting eyes, and it had nearly been his undoing.Theirundoing.
How had he let things go so far? Desire, lust, need... These were not things he’d never felt before in his life. These were not feelings he was unable to conquer—though admittedly he was used to conquering them by surrendering. But when that had not been possible? He had walked away. Closed his mind to the possibility. Distracted himself.
Was the problem simply that he could not walk away? That he could not be rid of her? He should have dismissed her when he’d had the chance. But even then...
Even now. Hecouldwalk away. She was his servant, she belonged below stairs, out of his realm, out of his reach—and yet every time she retreated there, he found ways to seek her out. He enjoyed her company. She brought him comfort, and was a witty, intelligent conversationalist. So he’d indulged in what he’d thought to be a harmless relationship.
Friends...
Only, he’d been lying to himself. It had never been harmless, or meaningless, or trivial. Nothing about the damned woman was.
Contradictions.
That was what he’d seen from the first, what had attracted him. There was danger in indulging himself, in getting to know her better. He’d knownthatvery well from the start. Why else had he been so intent on pushing her away? But he’d seen too much, and she...had seen too much. Of him. Pieces he’d never shown to another soul, he had shown her, and she’d not turned away.
The woman had wormed herself into his very being; he knew that now. He’d known it the night he’d gone after her. He’d known then that her loss would leave in him another void impossible to fill. Break him in ways that could never be repaired. But just because he’d grown attached, it did not mean he should give in to his baser instincts.
He could have her body; he knew that now, too. Or, he could haveher. He could not have both. That thought had been the only thing to pull him back from the edge, to force him to wrench himself from the nearness of her, her intoxicating scent, the welcoming heat of her body. The thought that surrendering to his animality would mean jeopardising everything else. She would not risk dishonour, or discovery, or shame. Their relationship as master and servant would be broken. She would leave him.
And so, even as his body had screamed out in pain, as though he had torn flesh from flesh, he had stepped away. He would not lose her. He had sworn that in the snow. So he would keep his distance. They would return to the way things had been—or at least should have been.
