But she kept that to herself, for whatever it was that had sparked to life between them, she had no inkling of where it would go. If it could be anything more than these precious, stolen moments. She did not dare believe he still cared for her all these years later. They had both changed.
So much had come between them. And for all that the connection they shared had never faded, they were both very much strangers to each other in so many ways.
“I believe you, Ara.” His hands continued up and down her back, soothing her. Calming her. Making her feel cared for in a way only he could. “I believe you.”
She held him tighter still, her face buried in his hard chest, and even with the shock of everything she had just learned, even with the specter of the men who wanted her dead haunting her, she had never felt more comforted and protected. She had never felt more at home.
Clay woke toa dream.
It was a dream he’d had countless times over the years. He was lying on his back in his bed, and his bed was dressed with the most sumptuous of linens, and his mattress was a soft cocoon around him. He had slept more deeply than he had in as long as he could remember.
Most miraculous of all was the lovely feminine form draped over him. One of her legs was tangled with his. Her breasts were crushed to his side, her head lay on his chest. Copper-colored curls spilled over him like fire.
He plucked a curl between his thumb and forefinger, rubbed it slowly, pulling it straight and then letting it fall to his chest. Summer roses in bloom perfumed the air, and it was coming from her. Roses with a dash of something else. Sunshine? The gloriousness of the sun? The sweetness of Ara?
All of it.
He stroked her hair. Watched her sleep. Tried to ignore his cock, which was painful, erect proof he was not dreaming. Rather, he was awake. He was awake, and he was grateful. So bloody grateful.
And angry too. So bloody angry.
Angry at himself for believing Ara would be capable of such treachery. For leaving when he should have remained and demanded answers. It did not matter that he’d been beaten and carved like a damned Bayonne ham. He ought to have known better. He ought to have been the man who married her.
He had missed so much.
Watching her belly grow full with his child. Loving her. Thousands of kisses and nights spent with her in his bed. Holding his son in his arms. Seeing the lad toddle on his legs for the first time. Hearing the lad call himFather.
Damn it.He wanted the lad to know he was his father.
He wanted to be a part of Ara and Edward’s lives forever, and not just as their protector but as husband and father. He wanted to give her another babe, a daughter with her ethereal eyes and fiery hair. Another sylph for him to love. And then at least a half dozen more babes after that.
He wanted them to be what they were always meant to have been. A family.
He swallowed down the lump in his throat, still playing with Ara’s hair and listening to the rhythmic sounds of her breathing. The vehemence of his emotions as he held her in the early morning light surprised him. Their late-night revelations had rocked him.
But not just him. They had rocked Ara as well. She had been shocked to realize the full extent of her mother and father’s betrayal. She had spent eight years believing he had taken what he wanted from her—her innocence—and then fled to the Continent, leaving her to contend with a babe in her belly, parents who threatened to turn her out, and scarcely anyone to trust.
Mutually drained, they had fallen into bed, holding each other. Inevitably, comforting had turned into something more. Their mouths had fused, and their hands had begun to wander, and he had rolled her gently to her back, sliding home inside her as she writhed beneath him.
She stirred on his chest now, making sleepy kitten noises in her throat that were so bloody adorable he could not contain his smile. His fingers sifted through her hair, discovering her bare back. It was too soon, he knew, to feel this much for her again. But he could not seem to help himself where she was concerned.
She had ever been his weakness, and nothing had changed.
She moved restlessly, and then woke with a jolt. “Clay!”
He could not seem to stop grinning as she blinked sleep from her eyes, her cheeks flushed, her lips full and pink and deuced inviting. “Ara.”
Her brows shot up her forehead. “I am in your bed.”
His grin deepened. He could not help it. “Aye.”
“I should return to…the other chamber,” she stammered, blushing furiously. “That is, to the chamber you assigned me. Over. There.”
“Or you can remain in this chamber,” he said, feeling wicked. One hand found the sweet nip of her waist and the other found her thigh. He guided her until she was atop him. “Right. Here.”
As he said the last, he rocked against her, suppressing a groan when he felt her slick heat on his cock. She gasped, her own hands flitting to his shoulders to steady herself. “Clay, what are you doing?”
For a widow, she was certainly an innocent.
