Decker was right. He needed to be wary where she was concerned, especially after all the trouble she had caused him. But that was a worry for another day.
“I see you are not willing to test your theory this evening, darling,” he could not resist adding.
“You are insufferable, my lord,” she accused.
But there was no heat in her voice. In truth, she sounded wearier than he was. Still, he could not let hermy lordgo unanswered.
“Sin,” he prompted.
For an indeterminate span of time, she said nothing. There was no noise between them save for the slow, even sound of her breathing.
Stubborn wench.
Just when he was about to slide into slumber, her dulcet voice interrupted the night.
“Sleep well, Sin.”
He smiled. “And you, Callie.”
He fell asleep to the soft sound of her breathing alongside him, and her presence did not feel wrong at all. Rather, it felt far, far too right.
Callie woke witha foot pressed against hers. And a hand on her hip. And something thick and long nestled against her bottom.
Her eyes fluttered open to early morning sun.
For a moment, she was disoriented, forgetting where she was and why.
Slowly, reality returned to her. It was her second morning as the Countess of Sinclair. And she was in the earl’s bed. In herhusband’sbed.
But this time, unlike the morning before, he was here as well.
And that was his foot large and warm and yet also somehow comforting against hers. That large hand splayed possessively on her hip was his as well. And as for the thick and long object prodding her…
Dear heavens.
She knew precisely whatthatwas.
His hand moved then, traveling from her hip in a slow, seductive path to her breast.
Was he awake? His breaths were even and rhythmic, suggestive of slumber. Surely she ought not to disturb him? She should lie still lest she wake the sleeping beast. Yes, that was the only reason she remained as she was whilst his hand cupped her breast. Whilst his thumb moved slowly over her nipple.
Heat pooled between her thighs.
His nail grazed over the taut bud.
She arched into his touch instinctively. It felt so good. Too good. His long fingers tightened on her breast. She swallowed and tried to recall all the reasons why she should not indulge in the wicked sensations he brought to life within her. All the reasons why she should disengage and quietly slip from the bed.
But his presence, hot and warm at her back, kept her here. She liked his foot against hers. She liked his hand on her breast, his slow and even breaths stirring her hair. She liked his nearness, his scent, his bed.
Something was wrong with her, surely. This was the man who had spirited her away from London and coerced her into marrying him. The man she had once believed capable of murder. The man she had vowed to destroy.
She had changed, however. Her feelings had changed. Despite everything, she was attracted to him, and she could not deny that magnetism. But it was more than the physicality of their union. There was good in him; she felt certain of it, even as she feared what it meant.
As his thumb continued to lazily stroke her nipple, she thought back over the curious events of the day before. His disappearance. His return. His claim he had been with a friend. Amalefriend. His insistence she sleep in his bed. Did she dare allow herself tender feelings toward him? Dare believe him? Dare suppose he would be a faithful husband?
More remembrance washed over her.
The sight of him, naked.
