“I’ve revealed things to you. I’ve bared my soul.”
“Right. And still, youresistour attraction because—”
“Icannot resist you,” he bit out. “Don’t you see? This is the point I’m trying to make.”
“Alright—fine. Why? Why ‘bare your soul,’ engender this great intimacy between us, and then work tirelessly to keep away from me? Why avoid me and glower at me as if I’m a seductress, trying to lure you into wicked temptation beneath wagons? Actually, don’t answer that. I’ve already said I’ve no wish to feel unwanted again.”
Of its own accord, Gabriel’s hand reached out. He dropped it onto her hip, fastened hold, and tugged. He rolled her to face him like he was spinning a log in the water. Ryan let out a small sound of distress, but she allowed it, turning until they faced each other. Their eyes met. Her expression was sad and cautious and something else. Wary? Reticent? She looked like she had grim news that she hoped someone else would deliver. But they were alone, and she must be the one to say it.
Outside the carriage house, rain began to fall. The drops fell suddenly and evenly, like someone tippeda watering can in the sky. Marie and Sofie could be heard shrieking and fleeing for the house.
“I’ve never thought of you as a temptress,” he said.
“Obviously.”
“Forgive my lack of eloquence,” he ground out. “Everything I do is to protect you, Ryan—not heap on more offenses. You know that I will return to the forest and you will return to the English Channel and it will be easier if we’ve not...”
He stared at her mouth. He edged sideways, crowding her in. His knees bumped her shins. His boots tangled in her skirts. He was close enough to feel her breath on his cheek.
“Easier for who?” she asked softly. “Not for me. If I’m being honest. Gabriel, if the notion of ‘sanctuary’ means that you may never indulge in mutual desire, then I feel sorry for you. More sorrow than I’ve felt for your boyhood, and that is saying quite a lot, because we can all agree you’ve had a wretched go. Why survive all of that, reach adulthood, control your own destiny—only to choose... scarcity? Scarcity of affection, even for a fortnight. Even with me.”
“You’re not ‘a mutual desire I want very much,’ Ryan,” he said. Of its own accord, his hand slid from her hip to the curve of her bottom. He palmed it and scooted her against him. “You will soon be my wife. We have a history together. And there are consequences to touching a woman we both agreed would live hundreds of miles away. It’s reckless and cavalier and cruel of me. It’s not the behavior of a prince, or a gentleman, or any man of honor and decency. Even I know this. You’re not justsome woman, Ryan.”
“Ah, yes, back to the great many women who’ve made your virginity a faint memory, I see.”
That did it.
He kissed her.
He lowered his mouth, silencing every forthcoming challenge or accusation or joke. He’d tried to explain and he’d failed. She was the most clever, most beautiful woman he’d ever encountered, and she could win any debate. Her body had an allure that drew him like the earth drew the tides. She was soft and responsive and smooth. She was also reasonable, and patient, and calm, and level. He wanted to devour all of it. He wanted to absorb every trait, every nuance, every compassionate leaning and glimmer of grace—including the multitude of subtle, unnamed qualities that followed her around like a cool, serene mist, so many that he couldn’t count. He wanted them all.
But of course she was not consumable or absorbable, and there was probably something broken inside him that caused his desire to be so very all-encompassing. But he wouldn’t think of his brokenness now. When he kissed her, he did not feel broken, he felt whole.
He used his right hand to scoop her bottom, pressing her into his hardness; with this left, he cupped her face. Canting her chin, he deepened the kiss. He kissed her like a man who’d come upon a beautiful woman under a wagon; playful and erotic. When their side-by-side positions became insufficient, he hiked a knee over her and rolled them, pressing her into the hay.
“Are you...” he panted, sliding on top of her “...are you—? How did you describe yourself? ‘Enthusiastic and willing?’ Still?”
Her hands were at the collar of his shirt, unfastening buttons. His boots were tangled in her skirts, his knees digging into the straw. She kicked a little, spreading her legs until he rested between her thighs.
“Ryan?” he prompted, kissing her hard.
She took the sides of his collar in two hands and yanked, popping buttons into the straw. When his throat was exposed, she nuzzled and smelled and tasted his skin.
“Ryan?” he rasped, rapidly losing the ability to ask permission. “Have you heard what I’ve said?”
“I’ve a problem,” she admitted. “Idon’tlisten to what you say so much asinterpretthe things that youdo.”
“Oh God no—don’t do that.” He buried his face in her hair. He found her ear and traced it with his lips. “Do as I say, not as I do.”
The thing about almost making love to his not-really fiancée was it only felt like a mistake before he’d touched her and after they’d been together. During? During felt like the most natural, most correct thing he’d ever done. Previous women had felt totally necessary before and wholly forgettable afterward. In the middle, the encounters were anonymous and lonely. Holding Ryan was as different from other sexual encounters as a bed was from the ground. Ryan was soft and familiar and unforgettable.
“Will you remove your shirt?” she breathed. “That night in your bedchamber, you wore all of your clothes. I wasn’t able to touch your skin. I want to feel you.”
“You’re killing me, Ryan,” he said. But tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it into the hay.
She gazed up and made a little gasping noise. “Just look at you,” she marveled. “You’re perfectly formed.” She walked her fingers over the muscles of his chest, feeling her way from his waist to his collarbone like a sculptor, putting the finishing touches on a masterpiece. Every point of contact was a worshipful caress.
He’d thought he couldn’t get any harder, but he was wrong. He’d thought holding her and kissing her had been the most intense pleasure on earth, but he was wrong. There was more.
