They stared fiercely at each other. He was a fearsome man—he could crush her if he chose. Perhaps he already had. In the way that petals release their truest scent when crushed. Like the forest floor exhales its layers when trod upon.
Don’t let go.
The heretical thought lodged in her mind.
And that was just it: she somehow knew that no matter what, he would catch her. He would not let her get away with anything. He would make her say what she thought and he would be equal to hearing anything she said. He would know what she needed. He would know how she felt.
They remained rooted just like that, his hands resting at her waist. Lightly. Warm. She could feel the strength of him, like a tree or a ship or a little lath and plaster house that stood up to battering storms.
Never, never did he hurt her, except by the very fact of his existence, which could not be helped. He had cracked her open in ways she had not expected and did not welcome, and all the things she truly was were emerging. If she were honest, she knew the cracks had begun before he’d even arrived.
The wind soughed through the trees above them, and fallen leaves danced in a mad little circle, then lay still.
“Do you want me to let you go?” He said it quietly.
Why did he always leave the choice to her?
His features were taut. All that emotion he refused to show her, all that emotion he’d long schooled himself to hide because he was so strong andmanly,all safely dammed up behind his beautiful features. But she could still see in his eyes how he saw her—the humor and longing, the sympathy, the vulnerability. The desire.
Suddenly it seemed wildly unfair that he should be so protected when she felt so laid bare. All she could think was that his eyes were surely the color of the ocean between England and America, and she had never seen anything so beautiful and so dangerously full of promise. She was as dizzy as if she were looking down and guessing the depths of the sea.
She closed her eyes.
She didn’t pull away.
And he didn’t release her.
Somewhere a bird called to another bird. Two plaintive trills exchanged. Then silence.
They were still away from the crowd.
She was aware, suddenly, that her cheek was moving softly as though against the sea. Lifting and falling. Somehow she’d eased up against him, as easily and unconsciously as a ship knows its part. She leaned against his chest. Slowly she uncurled her fingers from their clench, until they layflat against him. She felt the soft heat of his hand right at the small of her back, hovering, then coming to rest there, where it seemed to belong.
Why should safety feel so infinitely perilous? Why did she suddenly want to weep from a grief she could not define, when the moment felt like a hosanna?
“Lillias...” Her name like a whispered “Amen” at the end of a secret prayer. It had a break in it. “Do you want me to let you go?”
She heard the hint of a plea. The crack in all of those words.
But there was no mercy for either of them.
She dragged her hands down and down until she found the gap between his waist and trouser and slid her hand inside his shirt. The jump of muscles beneath her bare palm, his hot skin smoothed taut over his stomach. It was brazen and a hunger ignited so swiftly she was shaking.
She exhaled in pure surrender. She turned her face up for his kiss.
He cupped her face in his hand, and she turned it gently as his lips found her ear, her throat, her lips.
At any time the group could come upon them.
He pivoted her up against the tree. And if there was something desperate and maybe sordid in the speed of what happened next, and in the deliberate hiding, the terrible, terrible risk, she didn’t care and so be it. It would be the last time. That was the danger and the dark, exquisite miracle of it. This would be the last time. They both knew that.
Shockingly, with a deftness that didn’t bear thinking about, he lowered her bodice to free herbreasts and filled his hands with them. “Oh, dear God . . .” he sighed. “Lillias . . .”
He dragged his thumbs hard over her nipples, teasing and chafing, and her low animal moan shocked her; the pleasure was a revelation. How did anyone withstand it? She drew up hot jagged breaths.
He furled up her dress and lifted her up, slipped his hands beneath her arse, and pulled her against his groin, his cock hard behind the fall of his trousers, and moved against her.
“Hugh...” It was a plea. An exhale. She hardly dared hope he’d heard.
