“I didn’t mean it, Rhys. I spoke in anger. What I said about presenting myself on Nick’s doorstep…it wasn’t true. I wouldn’t leave you.”
Rhys did not respond to her statement. He finished undressing and put on his nightshirt. He did not join Kenna. Instead he took blankets and a pillow from the base of the wardrobe and walked into the dressing room.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m sleeping on the daybed in here.”
“But why?” she asked anxiously.
He stepped into the doorway. “Because I am so angry with you, Kenna, that I may very well strangle you if I come within arm’s reach.” He disappeared into the room again and Kenna could hear him snapping out the sheets and thumping the pillow.
“Please don’t do this, Rhys. Won’t you say something? Don’t you believe me?”
He stepped in the doorway again. “Did Mrs. Alcott mention where I went this evening?”
“No, I don’t think she knew.”
Rhys spoke in brief, hard sentences. “I went to talk to Madeline and Etienne. They couldn’t remember anything that would help us. Michael Deveraux wasn’t there. He’s already left for London. But what does that matter? Tanner and Alex departed not above an hour ago to bring him back. They abandoned their guests, abandoned their business, just to make certain my wife doesn’t leave me.” It was an exaggeration but Rhys found he wanted to hurt her as much as she had hurt him. “And now she says she didn’t mean any of it. Be certain to tell them that when they return. Oh, and make your apologies to Michael. I’m sure he’ll be very happy about having his voyage home interrupted.” He pulled the door to the dressing room shut, effectively ending conversation.
Kenna had no more tears to weep. She blew out the bedside lamp, then tossed and turned, alternately pressing the compress to her eyes then staring blankly at the ceiling. An hour passed, then another, and she was no closer to falling asleep than she had been when Mrs. Alcott first told her Rhys was gone. When she could stand it no longer, she threw aside the covers, strode across the cool floor to the dressing room, and flung open the door.
Rhys had not had any better luck going to sleep and he knew better than to blame it on the discomfort of the daybed. His entire body jerked when Kenna barged in. “Kenna! What’s wrong?” He sat up. He had discarded his nightshirt and the sheet slid down his naked chest, folding around his waist.
Kenna threw up her arms. “My husband is sleeping in another bed, a full foot too short for him, and he asks me what’s wrong!” She dropped her hands to her hips and peered through the dark, trying to make out Rhys’s outline. She could see the muscular expanse of his chest where it rose above the white sheet and her heart stuttered. “I want to know one thing, Rhys,” she demanded. “Does this mean you don’t love me any longer?”
She held her breath in the terrible silence that followed. It seemed to her that Rhys had no intention of answering her question and every second that passed served only to confirm her worst fears.
“No, Kenna. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you any longer.”
She released her breath and her hands fell from her hips to lie uselessly at her sides. “Well…” One foot rested on top of the other and she swayed slightly, feeling all at sea of a sudden. “That’s all I wanted to know. I’m glad. I mean…thank you. Good night.” She backed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Kenna was within three steps of the bed when Rhys’s hands gripped her waist, spun her, and lifted her the few inches necessary to bring her lips to his. His mouth ground against hers in a kiss that was not punishing, but desperate.
Rhys swallowed Kenna’s soft moan as he lowered her to the floor. Stunned by the quickening of her own desire at Rhys’s demanding caresses, Kenna guided him into her, unwilling to tolerate the sweet torment of his mouth and hands. Rhys’s thrust was hard, claiming her powerfully and, in turn, finding himself claimed.
“Look at me, Kenna,” he whispered as their bodies thrummed with sensuality.
She did. She wanted to. The darkness surrounding them was not so dark as Rhys’s eyes and she lost herself in the black whirlpool that was his gaze. She did not know that her own features held Rhys spellbound. He stared at her mouth, her moist, slightly parted lips, waiting to hear the soft sounds of her pleasure then take them from her, feeling the vibration of her urgent little cries against his mouth.
His body excited her, incited her. Kenna was greedy for his every touch. Her hands clasped his taut buttocks, pressing him inside her, loving the warm intimacy of his lean body.
Her body fired him, fevered him. Rhys was eager for her every touch. His hands cupped the underside of her breasts, feeling the quickening of her heart, loving the heated response of her supple body.
The tension in Kenna and Rhys exploded and shimmered through their bodies. Tiny bursts of tingling pleasure pulsed in their flesh, touching their very souls.
Their ragged breathing slowed in unison. Rhys started to lift himself from Kenna.
“No, stay.”
“I’m too heavy.”
“I like it. Just a little while longer.”
He kissed her and rolled onto his back so that she covered him. “I like it, too.”
Kenna pressed her face against his neck. “I love you.”
“You make me happy, Kenna.”
