“And don’t you forget it.”
“Impossible.”
She’d never forget the moment he’d emerged with Fiddlesticks safe in his arms.
He dragged his chin downward, his whiskers scraping her skin as he tugged at her bodice with his teeth.
“Impossible,” she repeated even as his hands soothed her arms, her front, her legs…
“You’ve tied me up in knots.” He was half laying over her now, his weight pressing her into the sofa. “Do you realize that?”
“I don’t mean to,” she admitted. Because she was tied up in knots as well. And why?
Priscilla groaned. If she’d known how good it felt to have this man touching her, perhaps she’d have followed Fiddlesticks into the lake.
Lucky little dog. With Emerson’s touch lighting her veins on fire, Priscilla ignored the niggling guilt that threatened to ruin everything.
She arched her back. When was the last time she’d felt so free? When was the last time she’d wanted anything or anyone so badly?
Thick strands of silken hair threaded between her fingers. This feeling was different than before. This was special. He dragged his open mouth along the tops of her breasts, almost exposed, but not entirely. His breath was hot, and his tongue rough and hungry.
“Allison,” he groaned.
Allison.
Allison?
That name extinguished the fire he’d ignited.
“Wait! Stop! No!” She pushed at him, kicking herself free, wishing she could disappear into the corner of the settee.
The uttering of another woman’s name—of Allison’s—summoned shame, anger, and oddly… jealousy.
He wanted Allison’s father’s money. She couldn’t believe he would compromise her, and yet… He would not be kissing her if he knew the truth of who she was.
And by coming into his chamber like this, she was giving him false hope.
I came to him.
She had stayed when she ought to have left, which was the moment she’d seen for herself that he was going to recover well enough.
She’d been weak before, and that had turned out horribly! She needed to be strong now. What had she been thinking?
The sound of Emerson’s hissing breath drew her attention back to the moment. He was leaning away from her, his face contorted in pain. When she reached out a hand, he blocked it.
To protect himself from her. When she’d come to her senses, she’d knocked his injured foot off the mountain of pillows.
“Have a care.” His face had turned rather pale. “My fault. I realize. But give me a moment if you will.”
“Of course,” Priscilla froze, wincing when she caught a glimpse of his poor foot. If it felt as excruciating as it looked… “Oh, Emerson. I’m so sorry.”
“No,” he said. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she agreed. “But I shouldn’t have either.”
Priscilla abhorred hypocrites. Almost as much as she hated liars.
And the person she hated most at that moment was herself. She’d agreed to the charade and already nearly broken her promise to Primm during her first full day at Cliffhouse.
