She ignored him and crossed the room to him. There she stopped and looked down at him. She breathed in every part of this moment. The look of him, disheveled and handsome and half-naked in her chamber. The smell of his skin, the warmth of it as she placed one hand on his shoulder and gently began to wipe the wound with the other.
“You’ll need stiches,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
He nodded. “Stalwood will have it taken care of. I’ll survive until then.”
Her fingers traced the wound. “You could have been killed,” she said.
He lifted his face to hers, and for the first time since she burst into the room, there was gentleness there. “Look at me.” She did, meeting his eyes. He let out a long, heavy sigh. “John Dane.”
She shook her head. “I-I don’t understand.”
“My name. It’s John Dane,” he repeated.
Her lips parted and the washcloth slipped from her fingers as she stared at him. He had refused her that answer before and it had hurt her. Now he said it and she recognized it for what it was. A gift and a goodbye.
Tears stung her eyes as she leaned down and pressed her lips to his. His arms came around her, dragging her into his lap as he drove his tongue inside with desperate, heated passion.
She shifted against him as the kiss deepened and felt the proof of his desire for her pressing to her thigh. She drew back and stared down at him.
“One last time,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes and let out a long, pained breath. Then he nodded. “One last time,” he repeated, and began to shift her skirts.
She reached between them for the flap on his trousers and managed to work the buttons free. He stood up as she did so, setting her on her feet. He kissed her as the flap fell forward and she cupped his erection in her hand. She stroked him once, twice.
He drew back with a deep groan. “I want more time,” he murmured, and she wasn’t certain he was only referring to this afternoon and the time they had to make love. “But they’ll be expecting our return.”
She stepped away and lifted her skirts, holding them against her thighs as she met his gaze evenly. “Then don’t wait.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, then grabbed her by the waist. He spun her around, dragging her back against him as he walked her to the bed. He bent her at the waist, placing her hands on the edge of her high mattress. He lifted her skirts higher, pushing aside her drawers to slick his fingers over her sex.
She was wet there, ready, and he let out a low moan as he positioned himself at her entrance.
She braced for the twinge of pain she had experienced the first time, but as he slid home there was none of that. Only pleasure. She moved against him with a sigh and he cupped her breasts as he began to roll his hips against hers.
She pushed back with every thrust, closing her eyes to the sensations, memorizing them as best she could. She would never feel like this again, no matter what happened in the future. Because he would be gone and she would be empty.
He increased his thrusts and his panting breaths were desperate, almost like he could read her mind. His hands were shaking as he reached for one of hers and guided it between her legs.
“Touch yourself here,” he ordered, pressing her fingers against her clitoris.
She followed the order, circling herself gently, then harder as the combination of her touch and his cock drove her to the edge. She turned her face into her arm as pleasure overtook her, whimpering against the sleeve of her gown. He followed fast behind, a few more long thrusts and then he pulled away, spending outside of her tremoring, clenching body.
Celia hadn’t yet stood as John Dane smoothed the flap of his trousers back over himself and buttoned it with shaking hands. He pulled his bloody shirt over his shoulders and slung his jacket on without buttoning himself.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
That made her stand up. Her gown fell down over her hips, back into place, as she faced him, her flushed face saying more about what had just happened then anything else.
“I’m not.” She moved toward him, hand outstretched. When she cupped his cheek, he couldn’t help but lean into the warmth of her palm. “I’m not sorry, Aiden…John.” She smiled as she corrected herself. “John suits you better.”
He drew in a long breath. His entire life he had been attempting to escape the person who was John Dane. Now everything had changed.
“For the first time, it feels like it does,” he admitted.
She leaned up and kissed him, her lips gentle against his. It sparked a flame in him, but he backed away. “I must leave, Celia.”
She nodded, releasing him without argument. “When willhe…Clairemont…die?” she asked, her voice cracking as tears filled her eyes.
