In his worst moments, Ciaran took this as a bad sign—proof that Lucy intended to refuse him again, and was building her strength for the inevitable battle between them. In his better moments, he was able to convince himself they were both simply too exhausted to talk.
In his best moments, his heart soared with hope.
The first of these breathtaking moments happened in Windsor, after they’d retired to their bedchamber. There was no chair this time, so Ciaran had made a pallet for himself in front of the hearth with a pillow and a few blankets from the bed. He was removing his boots when Lucy turned from the wash basin, frowning.
“What are you doing, Ciaran?”
“Going to sleep.” Ciaran made an awkward gesture toward the pallet. He certainly wasn’t going to crawl into bed next to her again. It would drive him mad to know her warm, sweet curves were a mere arm’s length away, and not be able to touch her.
And he damn well wouldn’t touch her. Not now, and not ever again unless she was his wife. There would be no gathering her into his arms, no covering her mouth with his, no tasting her soft whimpers and sighs with every breath between them—
“No.” Lucy met his gaze, her chin raised. “You’re exhausted, Ciaran. You’re not sleeping on the floor.”
“Yes, I am. Lucy! Stop it!”
Lucy had darted across the room and was snatching up the pillow and blankets. She tossed them onto the bed, then marched back across the room and took his hand in hers. “Come with me.”
Ciaran didn’t move. “This isn’t a good idea, Lucy. I—”
She quieted him with her fingers against his lips. “Please. I won’t be able to rest otherwise.”
Ciaran closed his eyes against the burning need to kiss her fingertips—take her delicate fingers into his mouth, one by one. He opened them again when she drew her hand away, his anxious gaze darting between Lucy and the bed.
It looked so soft, so tempting.Shelooked so soft, so tempting. “I don’t think—”
“Well, then there’s no reason to start now.” She tugged him across the bedchamber until his knees hit the edge of the bed, then braced her hands on his chest and gently pushed him down. “Stop being so stubborn, Ciaran.”
“You’recallingmestubborn? I wonder you can say that with a straight face,” he grumbled, but he stretched out on the bed, too exhausted to argue with her.
Too exhausted to do anything else with her, either. Or so he told himself.
“Hush. Close your eyes and go to sleep.” Lucy made her way to the other side of the bed and slid in beside him.
Ciaran’s eyes fell to half-mast, his entire body going hot and tight as she wriggled and squirmed and fussed with her pillow. At last she lay down and nestled into the covers, for all the world as if she’d never been more comfortable in her life.
He wasn’t comfortable. He felt like one of the burning logs trapped in the fireplace.
Hot. Rigid. Moments from bursting into flames.
But he didn’t touch her. He wanted to. God, he wanted to.
Every inch of him ached to gather her against the length of his body until her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs cradled his hips. Instead he lay on his back, arms at his sides, staring at the ceiling with wide-open eyes. His entire body was taut, attuned to her every tiny movement, her every breath and sigh.
Ciaran froze as Lucy turned onto her side, facing him. He could feel her gaze on him, burning every inch of skin it touched. Then she was sliding toward him, closing the slender gap still open between them. Ciaran’s breath caught as her hand landed on his chest and she nestled her head into the hollow of his shoulder.
It wasn’t a seduction. Within minutes Lucy’s breath evened out and her body relaxed into sleep.
Ciaran’s didn’t. No matter how he tried to convince it otherwise, his body insisted it was indeed a seduction, and it behaved as any young, healthy male body tended to when a warm, inviting female pressed against it.
A warm, inviting female with whom he happened to be madly in love.
It tormented him.
Oh, God. It was the sweetest agony he’d ever experienced. Her soft body molded to his, her hair tickling his chin, her breath on his neck, her scent enveloping him, drowning him. He’d never fall asleep like this, might never sleep again just from the memory of this.
Don’t touch her.
But he was already moving. He wrapped one arm around Lucy and pressed her tightly against him. It wasn’t until he had her in his arms that he slept. Slept, and dreamed. The most tender, heartbreaking dream where Lucy promised to be his, and he spent every night forever after just like this one, with her cradled safely in his embrace.
