“You are the right man.”
“Hush,” he said again, leaning back against something and carrying her with it. “Just hush. We’ll wait till the rain stops and then we’ll get you home, and Martina will make a big fuss of you, and by tomorrow you’ll be much more sensible.”
“Tomorrow I’ll still be in love with you.”
“I thought I showed you what kind of man I am last night. It was supposed to scare you off.”
“You did,” she said. “Show me again.”
“Christ,” he muttered, and she felt his lips against her temple, meant to calm, to soothe. “Christ,” he said again, and set his mouth against hers.
It was cold and wet from the rain. It wasn’t hard and punishing, like the night before, it was soft, sweet, tasting her, his tongue running along the seam of her lips. His hands came up to her face, and he gently levered her mouth open, to deepen the kiss, and she felt the warmth begin to build inside her. She wanted to kiss him back, but she had no notion how to do it, so she merely let him kiss her, slowly, thoroughly, his heart pounding against hers.
He shouldn’t be doing this. The words ran around in his head, while his body paid no attention. He was lost in the touch of her, the taste of her, sweet and untutored and so eager to learn. He wanted to turn her in his arms so that she straddled him, he wanted to reach between her legs and give her a taste of what he could do for her, he wanted to push her down on the filthy floor and fuck her, fuck her till she was out of his brain and his heart and soul.
He pulled back from her, dumping her unceremoniously on the hard floor as he stood and paced several safe feet away from her. He didn’t want to look back at her, but he was no coward, and he turned. She had the brightness of tears in her eyes, and he hated himself all the more.
“Why did you stop?” she asked in a small voice. “I didn’t want you to stop.”
“Another moment and you’d have been flat on your back with your skirts above your waist. I’m not about to take your virginity on a filthy warehouse floor,” he said brutally.
“Then where will you take it?” She sounded damnably hopeful.
“I won’t. When will you learn that I don’t love you, I’m not going to marry you, and I don’t even belong working for you? I’ll be leaving in a matter of days, and I’m leaving you untouched.”
“Too late,” she said in that even voice. “You’ve already touched me.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“Yes, it will.”
He wanted to beat his head against a wall, he wanted to roar out his frustration. Instead, he took a deep breath. “You don’t want it,” he said. “Not really. Not if you knew what you were asking.”
“I know perfectly well what I’m asking. I want you.”
The words were like a razor blade to his soul, and he could make no response. Instead, he walked to the shuttered door, opening it and staring out into the pouring rain. If it would just stop, he could take her home, put her safely away from him. As long as they were trapped in the darkness, he was more vulnerable than even his worst enemy could wish.
He heard her move behind him, and he closed his eyes in despair. He wasn’t a good man, not even remotely. He wasn’t a man who ignored pleasure when it was offered to him, he wasn’t noble enough to leave her pure and untouched. He’d already touched her, she said. He wanted to touch her everywhere.
He felt her come up behind him, and he opened his eyes, breathing in her scent—flowers and rain and warm skin. He wanted to drink her in.
“Get away from me, Georgie,” he warned her in a low voice. “If you know what’s good for you, move back.”
“You and I have different opinions as to what’s good for me,” she said, and she didn’t sound like the child he kept wanting her to be. She sounded like a woman, a woman he craved with every breath he took, a woman who was warm and yielding.
Frighten her, his brain said. Take her, his body cried out. Pushing her up against the wall, he moved his hands up the bodice of her dress, the whalebone corset like a prison around her ribs, and if he had a knife with him he would have cut it, and the dress, off of her. He covered the swell of her breast his long fingers, and knew it wouldn’t be enough. The dress was cut low, and he dipped his hand inside, feeling the warm skin, the pebbling nipple, and he needed to put his mouth on her.
It was a simple enough matter to pull the dress down, exposing her to his hungry eyes, his hungry mouth. She let out a little gasp, but she made no effort to cover herself, she simply stood there, offering herself to him, and he wanted to say no, damned well should say no, but he couldn’t. Just a taste, he told himself, and he took her nipple into his mouth, sucking at it.
She let out a cry of surprise, and he would have made himself pull away, but her hands reached up and cradled his head, held her to him, and he sucked harder, using his teeth, and her quiet moan of pleasure went straight to his groin.
He’d never heard her moan before, and it lit a flame that burned brighter still inside him. Common sense and even sanity seemed to have left him, and he ran his tongue over her, drinking her in.
He slid his hands down her body, to her ruined skirts, and began to pull them up, exposing her legs to the cold night air, but she didn’t stop him. Why didn’t she stop him? He was rapidly getting past the point of no return, and he’d do just what he’d promised he’d never do, and take her virginity on the wet dirty floor of this old warehouse.
With a muttered curse, he tried to pull away, but her fingers tightened on him. “No,” she whispered in a rough little voice. “Don’t stop.”
Her own words should have shocked her, but Georgie was past thinking calmly. She only knew she loved the feel of him, of his mouth pulling at her breast. Of his hands as they skimmed up her legs, taking her petticoats with them. She wanted his hands on her bare skin, she wanted to lie naked in his arms, she wanted to do everything she only half understood. When Bertha had explained to her what happened between men and women, she’d been horrified. Now she was melting, wanting everything.
