“But I have hardly seen you in three days,” she gasped out. “Not one shared meal, not one conversation. I’m going mad in these halls, Mr. Fitzhugh, and I have no idea where I stand with you. Are you annoyed with me? Do you regret helping me?”
“No.” It was one word, eased out slowly and with no other explanation.
She threw up her hands. “It’s because of what happened between us, isn’t it?”
The words left her mouth and she clapped a hand over her lips, but it was too late now. She had been imprudent in her irritation. Said the thing she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. Brought up the moments that had been haunting her for three long nights.
He was stock still for what felt like an eternity. Then he slowly came around the desk and eased toward her a few steps. His gaze never left hers, and she was frozen by the force of that look and the powerfully attractive man behind it.
She’d never known anyone with such command.
“You want to talk about that night,” he said.
“No.” She said it as an instinct. “Yes. No.”
“Confused again?” he teased, though it was gentle.
“If I am, it’s because you make me so,” she said.
He blinked and actually looked chagrined. He bent his head. “Ihavebeen avoiding you, you’re not mistaken in that assessment.”
“Did I do something…wrong?” she asked, and found herself moving a small step closer. Now they were no more than an arm’s length apart, and it took all her will power not to reach out and brush the tips of her fingers along the hard angle of his jaw.
“No,” he said. “Idid. I shouldn’t have come into your room that night. I certainly shouldn’t have kissed you. I shouldn’t have spread your legs and made you come. I shouldn’t keep thinking about all those things. You are here for refuge, not for…not for all the things I want to do to you. So I’m avoiding you because if I don’t, it will go far further than what happened the other night.”
Her lips parted. She’d been picturing a hundred reasons for his distance, but never this. Never that he wanted her that same way she wanted him. Never that he was fighting that or that he was losing the battle.
She licked her suddenly parched lips and reached out. They both watched her seeking fingers extend toward him, and when she brushed against his hand, they let out a sigh in unison. She heard the ragged desire in his breath, saw it in his eyes, felt it in the way he leaned toward her. He was a coiled spring, wound so tightly that he could pop at any moment.
She trembled at the thought.
“I don’t want you to avoid me,” she whispered.
“I’m fire, Imogen,” he said, and caught her seeking fingers. He threaded them between his own, unthreaded them, repeated the action. Such a simple touch, someone might even label it as innocent. But the reaction it caused was anything but. She felt like she was melting under the very heat he contained.
“I don’t mind being burned,” she whispered. “It’s impossible not to want to risk it when you’re standing there, staring at me like you want to eat me.”
His pupils dilated. “Eat you,” he murmured. “Now there is a wonderful idea.”
He caught her waist and drew her against him. Her air left her lungs, but it didn’t matter. Not when his mouth came down against hers. She didn’t need air or water or food, just this. Just him and the way he pushed her back toward the desk. He was forceful, rough, and she had no choice but to simply fall into the current of his desire and let it sweep her away.
He caught her hips, dragging away from her mouth and watching her as he lifted her onto the desk. “You want this?” he rasped, his breath short, his voice dark and deep and dangerous.
Perhaps she should have hesitated. Perhaps she should have refused. But she didn’t. “Yes.”
He asked nothing more, but caught her chin and held her firm as he kissed her yet again. She lifted against him, clinging to the lapels of his jacket as he reached behind her and pushed the items on the desk away. He lowered her back on the hard surface, his mouth dragging to her throat. He sucked hard there, and she dug her fingers into his hair with a gasp, holding him steady against her flesh.
But he didn’t stay for long. He dragged his mouth lower, over her still-clothed breast, her stomach, her hip. He hooked his hands behind her knees and tugged her to the edge of the desk. She leaned up on her elbows, staring at him. He held her stare with even certainty and she trembled from head to toe.
There was something infinitely wicked in those dark eyes that normally were so unreadable. Her sex twitched at the sight of it, her legs shook. She couldn’t look away as he dragged a chair closer and took a seat. When he opened her legs and pushed up her skirt, she was bared to him. Right there at eye level.
She blushed, resting back on the desk a moment so she wouldn’t have to watch him watch her in this most private place. She felt him do it, though. Felt the heat of his stare sweep across her with as much intensity as his fingers had a few days ago.
She flexed out of pure instinct and he made a rumbling sound deep in his throat. A growl, something possessive and animal. Then his mouth dropped between her thighs and he licked her pussy.
She jolted. If it had been a long time since she had a man inside of her, it was even longer since one did that. And her husband hadn’t had the beard, which scraped along her sensitive flesh and brought her to the edge almost immediately.
He swirled his tongue around her clitoris, sucking until she gripped at the edge of the desk for purchase. Then he backed away, teasing and tormenting every fold of her flesh. She found herself lifting into him, sitting up to cup his head, hold him tight to her as she ground against him in desperation. He clenched her backside, rocking her more firmly against his mouth as he sucked and licked, spearing her with his tongue between tormenting her clitoris. The pleasure built, a wall he crafted with every sweep of his tongue. She wanted it. Wanted him to give her that release more than she wanted anything else in the world.
