He could not be certain if she was teasing him or if she was speaking truth. If any of his acquaintances were to wander to the kitchen to bake a cake in the midst of the night, it would be she.
“Truly?” Even if she did intend to do as she claimed, he would not allow her to flee him so easily. He drew her flush against his body, sucking in a breath when her bountiful breasts met his chest, and his hard cock connected with the sweetness of her curves.
“Not truly,” she admitted. “I was looking for you.”
“Thank Christ.” He found her lips in the darkness, taking them in the kiss he had been longing to give her all damn day.
She opened on a sigh, her arms twining around his neck.At last, was all he could think as he moved them as one, back into the safe haven of his chamber. His mouth never left hers. Somehow, he managed to close the door before it occurred to him he did not know why she had been seeking him.
He ended the kiss and left her for a moment to turn on a lamp. Now that he had her where he wanted her, the darkness was not good enough. He had to see her in the light. And what a sight she was, with her lustrous hair unbound, her smart dressing gown belted at her waist, and bare feet and trim ankles peeking from beneath the hem.
He swallowed, moved by the sight of her. She was different here in the glow of the lone lamp, bereft of her armor. Even her demeanor seemed different. More tender. Adorably uncertain. He did not know which he wanted more—to kiss her or to embrace her.
“Why were you looking for me?” he asked, realizing he could not simply continue pawing at her, regardless of how inviolably strong the urge to carry her to his bed and go about the business of making love to her all night long was.
She closed the distance between them, her gaze never leaving his. “I…I did not want to be alone tonight.”
The question his mind had been wrangling with—to kiss or to embrace—was decided.Both.He took her in his arms once more, drawing her close to him. Their bodies were flush, her curves melding to his sturdy frame. He dipped his head and brought his lips back to hers, kissing her thoroughly.
“Stay with me,” he whispered against her lips. “Please.”
She drew back, her bright eyes searching his. He did not know what answer she found there, if any. In truth, he had no answers for himself. He could not explain why or how he was so drawn to the woman in his arms. Lord knew he had never intended to be. Nor did he know what it meant, this all-encompassing need he had for her. All he knew was that it was there, a burning and aching thing.
“What happens between us, Lucien…” She halted, her words trailing off as she struggled to explain herself. “It can never be more than the physical, an exchange of pleasure. I do not allow myself to make the same mistakes twice.”
He knew she was speaking of what had happened with her betrothed. It had marred her, scarred her forever. Death had a way of doing that to a person. He knew all too well. Scars were reminders that though the skin had healed over, a wound had once existed, and the body would never be the same. Death was no different.
Her eyes were solemn pools, laden with a sadness he wanted to chase. He ran the backs of his fingers over the curve of her cheek slowly, gently. He would not argue with her words, because the physical was all he dared seek from a woman. He did not believe in love, and he had no intention of ever marrying or siring children of his own. His mother had left him a legacy he would not pass on to the next generation.
“Whatever you want, Hazel, it is yours,” he told her. “Take it. There need be no explanation.”
She exhaled, then gave a jerky nod. “Thank you.”
“Come to bed with me?” he asked, mesmerized by a tiny cleft in her chin, so small, it was scarcely visible to the eye.
He traced his thumb over it, wondering what other mysteries she hid. What facets he would learn. The prospect thrilled him. He had not taken her in the manner he would have had he known she was inexperienced. He had been too bold, then too abrupt. Tonight, he would make amends. He would learn every bit of her body, devote himself to what made her sigh, what made her moan, what made her lose control and spend.
“Yes,” she said simply.
He kissed her again, long and slow, taking his time. He explored the velvety insides of her lips, sliding his tongue against hers. Her mouth was meant to be savored. He would not rush this, he promised himself. He would bide his time. Cherish every second. She was a rarity, and he appreciated her in a way he had never before been grateful for another woman. Her honesty, her vulnerability, juxtaposed with her undeniable intelligence, determination, and drive, undid him.
No other woman like her existed, and he was certain of it. Just as certain as he was that no other woman would ever compare to her in his arms. No other woman could ever match the incredible compliment of her capitulation, her hands upon him. Her mouth beneath his.
She was real, and she was true, and she was smart and fiery and fierce, and in this moment alone, she washis. All his. He intended to keep her that way for as long as possible.
Her tongue moved, slowly at first, then with greater intent. Their grapple for control had begun once more, and it was the sweetest aphrodisiac. He groaned as he slid one of his hands up her spine to just beneath the heavy, silken strands of her hair. Her nape was soft. He cupped the base of her skull and angled her head toward his as his fingers gently tightened on a handful of wavy tresses. Holding her still, he ravaged her mouth.
She made a sound, half-mewl, half-moan. Pure sensual frustration. Anticipation sent an arrow of heat to his groin. The knowledge she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her was heady.
Hazel was not shy about her physical wants, needs, and desires, and he not only applauded her forthright nature…it made him so hard, he ached. She met him touch for touch, stroke for stroke, and kiss for kiss, thrust for thrust.
He could consume her as if she were the most decadent dessert ever laid before him. He wanted to bite her, to lick her, to fuck her, to kiss her, to own her. She overpowered his instinct, his sense of duty, his mind. He wanted her beneath him, atop him. He wanted her hair wrapped around his fist, her mouth on his cock. He wanted to spend his seed and watch as she swallowed it down.
But for now, he had to temper himself. To rein in his sweeping desires and intemperate longing. Control. He needed control. Coolness, calm. He could hold himself back. He could keep himself from blindly driving onward in full charge. They were not at battle, after all. They were lovers. She wanted nothing more than pleasure? He could give her that.Hell, it was all he could give her. They were two jaded hearts, finding mutual solace in each other.
He kissed his way down her throat. Smooth and taut, the cord of her neck a delicacy he nipped with his teeth before soothing with the blunt strokes of his tongue. Her pulse was fast. Beating like the wings of a butterfly. Delicate and intoxicating yet strong and sure, just as she was. He wanted more.
Proceeding slowly would be torture. His hands traveled over her body, shaping and molding her curves through the fabric of her dressing gown. After all they had shared today—the painful revelations of their pasts merging with the present—this intimacy seemed even more potent.
