That single word cracked something open between us. I felt the heat radiating from his body, the scent of him—spice, soap, something dark and masculine.
“Lucy,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “If I came to you like that, if I touched you… I would never want it to be only a dream.”
I forgot how to breathe.
He leaned in, and I thought for one wild, aching moment that he would kiss me.
But instead, he brought his mouth to the shell of myear and murmured, “You haunt me.”
My eyes fluttered shut as his breath caressed my skin. When I opened them again, his lips were inches from mine. “Let me make love to you.”
His eyes searched mine. Slowly. Deeply. As if looking for a reason not to. I gave him none.
“Please,” I begged, leaning into him.
His mouth found mine in a kiss that was nothing like the usual careful, gentle brush. It was possessive, heated, like he was trying to erase the ghost of every dream and replace it with something real.
I gasped against him, my fingers gripping the lapels of his robe to keep from falling.
He deepened the kiss, his lips coaxing mine apart, his tongue sweeping through with sinful purpose. My knees buckled and he caught me effortlessly, lifting me as if I weighed nothing.
The world blurred around me. There was only heat, only sensation.
He carried me to his bed, his hands everywhere and nowhere, tugging at the buttons of my nightgown, brushing the skin at my collarbone, making me ache in places I didn’t know could ache.
“I’ve wanted this,” he said, breaking the kiss just long enough to press his forehead to mine. “From the moment I met you.”
“Then why—” I tried to speak, but his mouth was already back on mine, swallowing the question.
“No more questions, Lucy,” he said, voice hoarse. “Not tonight.”
And I let him have me.
Fully.
Utterly.
He touched me with ravenous hunger. It was as though he had been wandering through lifetimes in search of something warm, breathing, and wholly his… and I was the first taste of life after centuries of famine. Every doubt I had ever held, every tremor of fear, every blurred edge of memory seemed to dissolve beneath the heat of him.
My nightgown slipped away without my noticing, falling somewhere between us like a discarded lie. He drew back only enough to look at me and the devotion in his gaze was intoxicating. His pupils were blown wide, his breath uneven, as if he were fighting a war inside himself not to devour me whole.
Instinct tugged at me to cover myself, but the look in his eyes, dark, molten, and awed, rooted me where I was. My skin burned, flushing as his eyes scanned over my body. The sight of his desire made me shiver, not with fear, but a burning need of my own.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, voice dipped in honey.
He hesitated a moment, his hand resting on the messily tied sash of his robe. “You’re sure?”
I met his gaze, his own barely restrained need giving me courage. “Yes. I want you.”
Yes.Yes.Yes.
I watched as he slowly removed his robe, the silky black fabric sliding gracefully down his body. I swallowed thickly, my breaths coming in small, nervous pants as I drank in the sight of him. My pulse hammered in my throat.
I had imagined him strong beneath his tailored finery, but imagination had been timid compared to the truth of him. The sculpted lines, the breadth of him that seemed to glow in the low light sent a ripple of want through me. He was more dangerous, more devastatingly male, than any fantasy my lonely mind had ever dared conjure.
My gaze continued further down his chest, down the taunt lines of his abdomen, and further still to the dark trail of hair. A small gasp escaped me, my eyes widening, when I realized he had been completely naked beneath his robe.
I opened my mouth to say something, but he was already shaking his head, a warm grin touching his lips. “Trust me, love.”
