Three-thousand four hundred fifty-one dollars and twenty-two cents.
The staggering figure nearly chokes me. That much would buy a farm and a carriage, perhaps even a lifetime of bread and meat. For me, it brings to mind the children outside the church selling flowers. The boy at the market whose mother couldn’t send him to school. Perhaps we could help. Perhaps that could be our penance.
I swallow, clutching the robe closed at my breast. “Kodiak…” My voice wavers. “What do you intend to do with it all?”
His hand stops at my waist, grin fading into something sharper. “Why are women always thinkin’ there’s a deal to strike?” His thumbs press into my sides, firm enough to remind me I’m held.
I sit up straighter, affronted. “Don’t you dare suggest I’m one of your prostitutes. I thought only of children. The ones with nothing.”
For a long breath, his eyes search mine, suspicion and something wounded flickering there. Then the hardness eases. His mouth curves again. “Only you’d sit in an outlaw’s lap drummin’ up a deal for charity.”
My shoulders sink with relief, but then his grip tightens, drawing me closer. Kissing my cheek, he mumbles against me. “Suppose you got the notion that givin’ a cut to save the world’s orphans”—his breathy husk descends to a spot beneath my ear, the bass of each word humming through me, coursing with desire—“will redeem your soul for associating with the likes of me?”
He toys with the sash of my robe, mesmerized by the sliver of skin at my collarbone. Before I can answer, his lips brush that very spot, and I forget what I meant to say.
When hunger grips Kodiak, he becomes altered, unknowable, as if the wild itself had claimed him. His lips hover,exhale drifts along my collarbone as he asks, “Do you remember what you said to me last night?”
My ribs jolt. “What did I say?”
“You called me yours,” he murmurs, mouth grazing higher, skimming the hollow of my neck. “Said the stars themselves sent me.”
I told him?
Aloud?
He must think me mad.
I’d once read of stars imploding, their pull so fierce they devoured even light. Now, with my chest folding inward and my air strangled, I understand it. I press my face into his shoulder, as though I too might vanish into that consuming force.
“I didn’t know I spoke it,” I whisper into the tweed seam.
But he won’t let me hide. His hand anchors beneath my chin, tilting me up.
The kiss strips me of breath, intoxicating, relentless. When he tears away, it’s only to drag his teeth along my cheek, lower, tracing the line of my jaw until I shiver. I grip his shoulders, but it only drags me nearer. With one violent tug, he rips the robe open. It slides down my shoulders, baring me in the ruthless glare of morning.
I gasp, arms flying to shield myself, but he snatches my wrists. A cry rips loose as his mouth descends upon my breast, scorching, merciless, tongue circling rough and wet. The sensation sends a shiver through me.
He growls, the vibration running through my flesh. Every nerve ignites, my body betraying me in ways no prayer could forgive.
His hand presses between my thighs, parting me.
“My God, you’re wet through. Burnin’ for me, ain’t you, little lamb?” he mutters against my skin, teeth grazing my nipple until it hardens under his tongue. “You knew the stars wouldn’twaste no gentle creature on you, but sent a wild one to ruin you proper.”
His fingers glide through my slick heat, circling my swollen nub with slow, maddening strokes. I arch into him, chasing more, but just as the pleasure coils tight, he withdraws, leaving me gasping and empty.
He hums thoughtfully, eyes dark as he studies where I’m open and aching for him. “You ever seen a man work a lock?”
Gazing down between my thighs, he explores me, toys with each dip and curve of my tender flesh. “Inside is a puzzle of levers and notches, spindles, and bolts.”
One thick finger teases my entrance, barely breaching. I draw in a sharp breath. “But it ain’t complicated if you can be patient. It’s about noticin’ the tension, the sound.”
He pushes in slow—inch by torturous inch—until I’m stretched around him, clenching desperately. My hips jerk; a broken moan spills out of me.
All of his attention is on me, watching and listening like a predator in the brush as the broad, calloused pad drags across a hidden ridge. He crooks his finger just right, finding that secret place inside that makes stars burst behind my eyes.
“There,” he rasps, satisfaction raw in his voice. He presses again, grinding that place until I buck helplessly. “Knew you carried a soft spot for me.”
A second finger slides in beside the first, stretching me wider. My body tightens, every beat pounding against him. His thumb torments my pearl—light, then firmer, never steady.
