Sin took a sip of his drink and raked his fingers through his hair with his free hand. “If the curmudgeon will not go, what am I to do?”
“Perhaps we can persuade him to train a younger domestic in the art of being a butler,” she suggested. “That will give him a sense of purpose and it also may make the notion of leaving here more palatable.”
“You are a clever woman,” he said. “Far more than I originally supposed.”
She was not certain if he meant the words as a compliment or an insult. But suddenly, she did not like the distance between them and what it represented.
Standing where she was felt foolish.
But so did getting in closer proximity to her husband.
Oh, well. Her feet had a mind of their own, padding across the threadbare rugs that would soon be replaced. She stopped a foot from him, her gaze traveling over the handsome contours of his face.
“I am not sure whether I should thank you or chastise you for that,” she said softly.
A wicked half grin kicked up the corner of his mouth. “It depends upon the manner in which you choose to chastise me, little wife.”
Heat flooded her. She was a wanton for him. Always.
“What did you have in mind?” she dared to ask.
He took another sip of spirits, watching her with an intensity that was at once unnerving and exhilarating. “You could tie me to my bed and have your way with me.”
His suggestion shocked and intrigued her. An image of him, gloriously naked, and bound to his bed, rose in her mind.
“I will admit, that would certainly even our scores,” she told him boldly. “I have still not forgiven you for being tied to the bed when you abducted me, you know.”
“Then I shall have to make it up to you.” He placed his drink on the mantel and closed the rest of the space keeping them apart.
One hand settled on her waist and the other took her wrist, raising it to his lips for a fervent kiss.
The soft feathering of his mouth upon her skin made an ache flare to life in her core. But she knew she must not forget her reason for seeking him out. Her tongue flitted over her lips, wetting them. His gaze tracked the movement with undisguised carnal intent.
“Thank you, Sin,” she told him.
He kissed her wrist again. “What is your gratitude for, sweet?”
“Trusting me tonight.”
He stilled, his expression unreadable. “You gave me little choice.”
“How long has your mother been like this?” she asked, instead of arguing.
“The past six years.” He kissed her wrist again, then nipped her skin with his teeth.
“Why did you not tell me before now?”
“Why so many questions, darling?” he returned, kissing each of her knuckles before releasing her wrist and clamping his other hand on her waist.
He hauled her into him. Her breath faltered.
They were pressed together, hip to hip, chest to chest. If she rose on her toes, she could take his mouth. She wanted his kiss, very much. The subtle scent of spirits tinged his breath, suggesting he had not been tippling long. His eyes were lucid and clear. She wondered why he had lingered here on his own when he could have come to her.
“Mayhap I am attempting to understand you,” she told him, irritated with herself for the husky quality of her voice, the overwhelming manner in which his touch, his nearness, affected her.
All her good intentions fled.
Her heart was beating so hard, she would not be surprised if he could hear its frantic pounding.
