She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. Being pathetic was wearing on her. “And you? Will you do the same after you’ve retired?”
He didn’t answer but rubbed his hand briskly up and down her arm.
And when she closed her eyes, Naomi didn’t imagine herself in Arthur’s arms. He made her well aware of that fact.
Luke’s chest was thicker. His shoulders were wider. And his scent was most definitely his own. It was earthier and contrasted starkly with the fragrance on Arthur’s belongings. Naomi turned and wound her arms around his waist.
“Did you bed her as well?” That woman claimed that Naomi could never have him. She’d stared at him with a…knowing.
The question wasn’t a fair one and yet Naomi couldn’t ignore the parting shot Arthur’s lover had taken.
“Who, the barmaid?”
“Her.”She didn’t want to refer to that woman as Arthur’s mistress out loud. Because it made Naomi feel like less of a woman. It made her feel dirty—tarnished.
“No.”
“You know her, though? What’s her name?” Why would she want to know this? It didn’t make sense, but she did.
She felt Luke’s chest fall as he exhaled loudly. “Bridget.”
Bridget. It didn’t sound like the name of a light skirt. It sounded like the name of a perfectly normal woman. Had Arthur loved Bridget?
“I can’t help thinking I’m to blame for it. That she’s right.” If only she hadn’t given in to Arthur’s… persuasiveness. Oh, but he hadn’t had to do much convincing. She’d been curious. He’d promised they’d be together, and she had wanted him as badly as anything she’d ever wanted up until then.
Had Arthur felt trapped by her? And yet, he hadn’t been the only one trapped. She had been trapped as well.
“No one is at fault but Gil.” Luke drew back just enough to stare at her intently. “You both made the decision—"
“Were there others? Before the attack…?” Either she was pouring salt onto her wounds with this line of questioning or cutting something putrid out of her life.
Again, this wasn’t a fair question to ask him. Luke had been Arthur’s friend, and having a brother herself, Naomi understood how men tended to protect one another. But Luke was here. She was touching him. He was solid and alive, and she begged him with her eyes for the answers she needed.
“I know of none since your marriage.” He palmed the side of her face. “And although his reputation as a rogue before then was not unfounded, you must always remember that he did not marry Bridget or anyone else.He married you.”
“Please don’t defend him.” It was easier if she could hate Arthur now. She’d mourned the loss of his life; now she would mourn the loss of what she’d believed had been love.
She wanted to erase Arthur from her life, but he was the father of her child. How dare he do this to her? How dare he pretend to love her and their child? How dare he pretend their marriage had meant something to him? Her heart broke open and released anything she’d ever felt for that lying, cheating, manipulative rogue.
Had he privately mocked her when he’d stroked his body into hers?
She lifted her face to Luke and tugged him toward her. “Hold me,” she demanded. “Kiss me.” Luke was here. He was a good man. He wouldn’t have hurt her as Arthur had.
Suddenly, she wanted to replace the feel of Arthur’s hands on her body with another’s. She wanted Luke to claim her instead. Shewantedhim. Sheneededhim.
And Luke was here, holding her. He’d wanted her earlier when he’d stopped the cart and then kissed her. She’d sensed it by the rasping of his breath and the way his hand had settled on the side of her ribcage. The way his thumb had brushed the tender underside of her breast.
His mouth was hesitant beneath hers. “Naomi,” he groaned.
She hauled him closer and was practically climbing him. “Luke,” she gasped into his mouth, her hands seeking hungrily. “Make love to me. Please.” Was she begging? He would fulfill a desperate need that was also fueled by something else. Something almost violent. She clumsily struggled against her gown until her legs were free so she could straddle him. She wouldn’t leave his embrace for anything.
His whiskers grazed against her lips when she frantically tasted his cheek and jaw—his chin. She found his mouth again and scraped her teeth against his. “Luke.”
Silky tufts of hair slid through her fingers as she clutched the sides of his head. And then she felt it—his arousal straining beneath her. Fueled by this primitive emptiness, she bore down against it. She wanted—she needed…
“I need… I need you.”
His arms tensed around her. He wasn’t pushing her away. But in a wave of shame, she comprehended that he wasn’t participating either.
