“I should not be here,” she said simply.
“I do not want to be alone tonight.” The admission seemed torn from him. Pink stained his cheekbones.
The Duke of Westmorland was flushing.
Not long ago, such a weakness would have been unthinkable. But she knew him now. He was the older brother who adored his sister. The younger brother who mourned the brother he had lost. He was the man who had swept her into his arms when she had returned from the cold. The only one who made her feel safe. As if she belonged.
Leaving him in the morning would be akin to tearing her beating heart from her own breast. And still, she knew she had to do it. For the both of them. She loved him enough to see what he could not.
“I do not want to be alone either,” she admitted at last.
“Good,” he said, tugging her into him.
Her heart gave a pang at the way he looked at her, his expression as unguarded as she had ever seen it, raw and real. She took his handsome, strong face in her hands then. “Kiss me.”
The request had scarcely left her lips before he was chasing it with his own. This kiss was deep, branding, powerful. She came to life. All the fire burning inside her, all for him, reignited. An inferno, that was what she was. For this man. All for him.
How she loved him.
Their tongues tangled. The belt on her dressing robe came undone. He slid it from her shoulders. She shrugged it away. His fingers found the buttons on her night rail, starting at her throat. When his touch grazed her bare skin, she shivered and sucked on his tongue.
She wanted his skin. If this was to be her last time with him, she was going to forget her inhibitions. She was going to be reckless and bold and wild as she had never been before, and she was going to revel in every second of it. She would remember it forever, carry these memories inside her heart when she returned to her staid life as Miss Isabella Hilgrove, proprietress. She would remember the man who had turned her to flame with his clever hands, wicked mouth, and impossible heart.
She attacked the buttons on his shirt with equal fervor, all while she drank in his kiss. Benedict’s kisses ruined her for all others. But his kisses ruined all those which had come before his as well.
Together, they shed his shirt. Her night rail went next. Then his trousers and smalls. Until they were naked. Completely, gloriously naked as they had never been before. Bare skin on bare skin. He was a marvel of planes and sinews, his skin dusted with fair hair on his chest. She kissed him everywhere her lips could reach, in a delicious fever. His flat nipples, his sculpted shoulders, the protrusion of his collarbone, the jut of his Adam’s apple. And then she was feasting upon his beautiful face, his jaw, his ear, his chin, the corners of his lips. His brow. She kissed his slashing cheekbones, the perfectly carved philtrum that rendered his mouth so tantalizing. She used her teeth on him, feeling wild. Feeling dangerous.
He made a low, keening sound of desire when she nipped his shoulder. Because she liked the way his skin tasted, she licked away the sting. He was salty and masculine and Benedict.
Delicious.
He caught her face in his big hands, holding her still while he devoured her with his gaze, as if committing her, this moment, to memory. “You make me mad with wanting you.”
She was about to tell him he made her feel the same way, but his mouth was on hers in a kiss of bruising force. He moved them across the chamber without taking his lips from hers. With a gentleness that belied the urgency of his passion, he helped her onto his massive bed.
He joined her, all lean, hard angles and imposing strength. She ran her hands over him with wonder, enjoying the contrast between his body and hers. But when she reached for the part of him which jutted tall and proud and thick, he caught her hand.
“If you touch my cock, I will lose control.” He lifted her hand to his lips for a reverent kiss. “And I want to take my time. I want to savor you.”
His words made her throb between her legs. She longed to have him inside her again. Once had not been enough. She did not lie to herself that twice would be either, but it was all she could allow herself.
“But I want to touch you,” she protested.
“Not yet.” He kissed her wrist. “Hands at your sides, darling.”
She obeyed, pressing her restless palms flat to the bedclothes. Watching him. He lowered his head to her breast and took the aching nipple into his mouth, sucking. On a hiss, she arched her back, her hands going instinctively to his hair.
He raised his head. “Stubborn darling. No touching yet.”
When she hesitated, he caught her nipple in his teeth and bit. Painful pleasure seared through her. He flicked his tongue over her lazily, as if this night would go on forever. Her hands went back to her sides. His demands heightened her awareness. She was at his mercy, breathless, ravenous for him.
He suckled her other nipple greedily, a sound of approval rumbling from deep within his chest. His hands were everywhere, sending frissons of desire in their tantalizing wakes.
He kissed her breasts, then replaced his mouth with his hands, cupping them, rolling her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He kissed to her clavicle, then kissed the hollow at the base of her throat. He kissed her ear, her hair.
Her fingers itched to touch him, but she remained still beneath the torture of his traveling mouth and hands. He kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered.
