How could he be invigorated by the sight of her when he could barely see her? And what he saw was buried in ten yards of white cotton. Why was it impossible not to look?
I’m exhausted,he thought errantly.I began the day in prison, I made a deal with the devil, and now I’m in hell—all in one day. Exhausted.
But that was a lie. He was not exhausted.
He should be. Any sane man would be. Instead, he felt like a thick bolt of lightning had made prolonged contact with the top of his head. His heart thudded. Every nerve was alive to the sheer challenge of Helena Lark.
He was just about to remind her that her five minutes were up when a loud, shrill sound rent the night, freezing them in place.
Crreeakk—the unmistakable sound of a swinging stable gate.
In unison, their heads snapped to the door. Helena sucked in a gasp. Declan brought a finger to his lips.Shhh.
Silence. Night noises fell into a hush.
Declan cocked his head, straining to hear footsteps, or the clink of tack, or the jostling of a chain.
Heart drumming, every muscle poised to scoop her up and dive into the shadows, he scanned the dark room. He’d closed the door but had not locked it, which was a reckless, amateur mistake. Now the closed door obscured his hearing whilethe open lock left them unprotected.Stupid, stupid, distracted, stupid.
Slowly, sound by sound, the night reanimated. He heard hoofbeats in the distance. Gutters dripped. Insects clicked and whirred.
Helena sucked in a breath to speak. “I will—”
Declan leapt forward, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pressing a hand over her mouth.
“Shhh,” he whispered, speaking to the whirl of her ear.
She went tense. She breathed in a slow, shaky breath.
“Not yet,” he whispered, his lips against her ear.
She nodded. Another moment passed. And another.
The night unspooled with no other sound but the rapid draw of their mingled breath. Far away, someone laughed. A horse whinnied. London rumbled at a low shuffle. Declan’s heartbeat slowed; he swallowed, and let out a breath.
Bone by bone, Helena’s tenseness began to drain. She went soft and malleable beneath his hands. He’d been braced against her, but her shoulders relaxed. She was soft in his arms. Her neck bowed, tipping her chin into his wrist.
She was perched on the edge of the bench, her knees sticking out, and they parted just a little—just enough. His thighs slid between her legs; he was flush against the bench, her legs on either side of him. He need only scoop her up to hold her. She need only wrap her legs around his haunches to—
He held his breath, not trusting himself to move.
Softly, she murmured some word. He was reminded his hand covered her mouth. He released her. His palm settled on her thigh.
“It must have been nothing,” he said softly. “The wind.”
She licked her lips, nodded, rustled.
Move away, he ordered.
Move on.
Move your head from your loins.
Move your priorities into plain view.
Declan did not move.
One hand held her shoulder, the other clenched her thigh. The cotton was fine beneath his fingers and, idly, he rubbed circles into the warmth of her skin.
