“Lachlan,” she tried, whispering again.
“What did I say about—”
“Ian,” she said finally and licked the whirl of his ear.
He let out a guttural moan and drove into her in one thrust. She cried out, and he turned his head, seeking her mouth. She met him, and their lips crashed hungrily together.
“That man,” he ground out, driving into her, “yourfriend. He was a fool not to kiss you. He was a fool to allow someone to send him away from you.”
Man?she wondered idly, her thoughts floating in and out on waves of pleasure.What man?Oh yes, her little speech. The heartbreak.
But was hejealous? Surely not. She could barely remember the other man’s name. She knew only Ian. She loved only Ian. And in that moment, she almost said it; almost opened her mouth to free the words caged inside.
“I would never be sent away,” he rasped, still thrusting. “I could never... I will never... resist you.”
“He was very focused on bird-watching,” she said, “when we were together.”
“Bollocks,” he grunted. “Never speak of him.”
She chuckled. “You raised it.”
“It agitates me, every time you mention him.”
“He is nothing to me, Your Grace.” She kissed him.
“I didn’t mean to accuse.”
“I don’t feel accused. I feel... I feel...” She felt a little better, honestly, knowing he felt possessive, knowing he would not be so easily led by the machinations of her mother. That she was secure with him. It was... something.
“You feel so good,” he finished for her, driving into her, using the wall as leverage. And then they stopped talking. Their communication was one long unbroken kiss and his repeated thrusts. Within moments, she fell apart against the wall.
How soon it was over, quicker than ever before; their hot passion and the high risk intensifying the flammability of their coupling.
She caught fire, and then he caught fire, and they both tried very hard to keep quiet, even while their cries went up, and his knees thudded against the wall, and she went limp in his arms, scraping the plaster with the heels of her slippers.
Her hat drooped drunkenly to one side, a flowerpot blown over in a gale.
She raised up from his shoulders and leaned her head against the wall, breathing hard.
“Are you alright?” he asked, squeezing her bottom again.
She nodded. He always asked that. It was considerate. He was the odd mixture of wildly passionate and carefully considerate. The one thing he hadn’t yet been was... adoring.
But was it fair to say that he was not adoring, when he’d just made love to her so thoroughly, so thrillingly? Drew didn’t know. She barely knew her own name in this moment, but the doubts had already begun; the anxiety about coupling with him but not...matteringto him.
Next he would hurry them along.
“We should make haste,” he said and she almost laughed. He lowered her gently to the ground.
“Of course,” she said.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
Her tone had given her away. She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice.
“Nothing,” she said. “Well, actually. I’ve something to ask you.” Now was the time to ask him about tonight. There would be no better time. Even with his family waiting, even with a royal prince and princess likely waiting, there would never be a better time.
“Ask,” he said, and she thought of how easy this might be, after all.
