He did not want to feel himself softening toward her.
She was so damned pathetic. And… so much more.
“I promise to try tothinkmore in the future. To think aboutyou.” She reached a finger up to dab at each eye. “It’s just that I hate imagining that you hate me now.” Her fingers were not going to be enough. Marcus reached into his pocket and then handed her his monogrammed handkerchief.
He swallowed hard when she removed her spectacles. Huge tears continued to well up and overflow from her normally steady, comforting gaze. She wasn’t used to this. He wondered how often she’d allowed herself to cry.
“I don’t hate you, Emily,” he said on a harsh breath. God, he could never really hate her. But he could not allow himself to love her either. Love was the quickest way to ruin for both of them. Except he could not keep himself from taking her into his arms and dropping his lips to the top of her head. “I don’t hate you,” he whispered.
Holding her. He ought to have known what that would do to him. Her scent, the ease with which she melted into him. For now, she owned his body. Could he leave it at that?
Marcus tipped her chin up so that she would be forced to meet his eyes. “Don’t keep secrets from me. And, Emily…” He needed her promise on this. “Do not manage me.” He’d seen enough female meddling over the past two weeks to last a lifetime.
She nodded. “I promise, I’ll do my best! I want to promise you I’ll never do it again, but to be perfectly honest, I don’t know that I can do that.” At his stern look, she rushed forward with her words. “But I promise you.” She took a deep breath. “I promise you that if I have an idea that feels like it might possibly result in meddling, I will come to you with it. I will stop myself. I will ask, ‘Is this meddling?’ If I’m not certain, I’ll check with you. If you’re available, that is. Of course, if you aren’t accessible… I just want to go back to…” Her fingertips grazed tentatively along the line of his jaw. “I promise, Marcus.”
He couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t sure what the hell she’d just promised him, but his own body wanted to go back in time as well. Back to when he could touch her at will. To when he’d coaxed uninhibited sounds of pleasure from her lips.
He wanted her hands on him again.
When he finally allowed his lips to claim hers, the chaos within him calmed. The feeling of impending disaster evaporated.
None of it made sense.
Because at the same time, he felt a need unlike any other. The need to claim her again. The need to fill her. The need to connect with her.
“No more scheming,” he growled against her lips.
She groaned and clutched at the back of his head. “No more scheming,” she repeated back to him.
Marcus backed her against the trunk of the large tree he’d stopped beneath. While he hitched an arm under her knee, she grappled with his falls.
Both of them moved frantically, undeterred even knowing the Nottinghams sat but a few hundred paces away. They could be interrupted at any moment.
None of that mattered.
They hurried because of their own need.
Marcus found her opening easily. He did not coax her; he did not fondle her.
He drew back and thrust.
Yes.“This.” He thrust again. “God, Em.” She matched his strokes evenly.
“Marcus.” She had both legs wrapped around him.
He somehow managed to drag her bodice down and bury his face in her breasts. She clutched around him. Squeezing and pumping inside.
“God.” His savage need took over. He adjusted her position and pumped deeper. Harder. “Mine.” No reason. No logic.
Like lightning shooting along his spine, his release walked him to the precipice of life itself. “Fuck.”
Emily’s breathing sounded ragged by his ears. Or was that his own? Neither moved even a muscle for several moments.
When Marcus opened his eyes, he noted that she seemed almost to be sleeping, standing up in his arms. His gaze took in her hair, tumbled down and with leaves and bark caught up in it. Her dress was even more of a shambles.
She’d require a bit of work.
“Emily?”
