Page 37 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

Powerful and potent, the indistinct sound vibrated down through the pores of her skin into her blood until her body tightened in response. The sensation became even stronger as he expelled a harsh sound of something raw and primal. Octavia looked up at him, and her heart began to race at the way his features were taut with an emotion that frightened and thrilled her all at the same time.

“When I look at you, Octavia, I don’t see the plump woman you and others see. I see the most tempting, beguiling woman I’ve ever met,” he growled with a ferocity that made her eyes widen in surprise. “While the holiest of men wouldn’t be tempted by Boucher’s L'Odalisque Brune, you would sorely test their faith. You’re enough to make a saint willing to commit every sin in the book simply for the chance to caress your silky skin. Any man failing to see how irresistible you are is a fool, and I have never been a fool, Octavia.”

Stunned by his description of her, all she could do was stare up at him in disbelief. The intensity in the way his dark blue eyes were focused on her was unsettling. While she managed to swallow the knot threatening to close her throat, she didn’t reply. Atticus nodded with grim satisfaction at having left her speechless. Octavia drew in a shuddering breath the moment his gaze changed to the color of the sky during a terrible thunderstorm. Facial muscles taut with tension, he looked as if he was struggling with internal demons.

“Now then, I’m going to carry you up those damn stairs without you uttering one more word of protest, is that understood?” Still too flabbergasted to speak, Octavia nodded. Atticus drew in a harsh breath. “And you should pray to God I have the strength to leave your room the moment I set you down on your bed, Octavia. Because at the moment, not even the good Lord himself knows how willing I am to spend an eternity in hell to make love to you right now.”

The rough, hoarse confession sent Octavia’s heart skidding along. Had the man just said he wanted to make love to her? Another sound rumbled out of Atticus as he strode toward the stairs. Unable to look away from him, Octavia swallowed hard at his stony expression. His jaw was a hard, sharp line of tension, and a tic in his cheek protested under the stress.

He had the look of a man fighting a battle to maintain his self-control as he ascended the stairs as if she were light as a feather. The moment Atticus stopped in the doorway of her room, he sucked in a sharp breath, then released a low groan. Octavia’s gaze jerked upward to see the corners of his mouth white with strain as he stared at her bed.

“Fuck,” he rasped so softly Octavia wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.

Another dark groan of horror rolled out of him before he covered the short distance between the door and her bed in three long strides. Without fanfare, he set her down on the mattress, then turned away from her.

“Atticus—” Her voice died away as he whirled around to face her.

“What did I tell you, Octavia? I told you not to utter a single word,” he snarled in a voice that echoed with an emotion that sounded like desperation.

“But I simply wanted—”

A jungle cat couldn’t have matched his speed as he leaned down over her until she was forced to fall backward into the feather mattress. Hands braced on either side of her, Atticus met her gaze. Something dark and wicked blazed in their blue depths. Excitement etched a bold path into her body. Was he going to kiss her? Deep down, she prayed he would do that and a great deal more.

“Do you not remember me warning you not to say a word, Octavia?”

“I just wanted to say thank you and tell you where the bandages are,” she whispered.

It wasn’t what she’d really wanted to say, but her courage to plead for his touch failed her. Atticus closed his eyes and dragged in a deep breath. In an abrupt move, he pushed himself away from her and took two steps backward. Sitting upright, Octavia studied him closely. He was breathing hard, and her heart skipped a beat at the hunger burning in his eyes. With a jerk of his head, Atticus cleared his throat.

“You’re welcome,” he growled. “Now tell me where your bandages are.”

“In the kitchen cabinet next to the cupboard.”

With another sharp bob of his head, Atticus whirled around and strode out of the room. Octavia watched him leave with a wild mix of emotions. The way he’d described her moments ago had left her breathless. No one had ever compared her to a painting by one of the Old Masters. It was a compliment of the highest caliber.

Every word he’d spoken had made her feel beautiful and alluring. All the while, her heart had pounded frantically in her breast. The moment he said he was struggling not to make love to her, Octavia had found it difficult to breathe. In that moment of awareness, she’d come close to offering herself to him. Never in her life had a man aroused her to the point she was willing to surrender to his touch.

The sound of Atticus’s tread in the corridor made her look toward the door. When he entered the room, he stared at her for a moment, then crossed the floor to kneel at the side of her bed. His touch gentle, he raised her injured foot and rested it on his knee. In silence, he wrapped the bandage around her ankle with surprising skill. Watching him work, Octavia found it odd that he knew how to do something most members of the Marlborough Set would summon a doctor for.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Her question made him shrug, but he didn’t look at her.

“I worked on a ranch in America for more than a year. I learned how to do a lot of things.” Atticus finished binding her ankle, then stood up. “There, that should keep the swelling down. You should be able to walk on it in the morning, although it might be a little sore.

“Thank you,” she said as she studied the bandage wrapped around her ankle. Drawing in a deep breath, she met his shuttered gaze. “And thank you for everything you said downstairs. No one…no one has ever paid me such a lovely compliment.”

“It wasn’t just a compliment, Octavia. It was the truth…every word.” The earnestness in his voice was reflected in his steady gaze. But it was the seductive thread of desire running beneath his sincerity that stole her breath away. Tension flowed between them for a long moment before Atticus glanced over his shoulder toward the door across the hall.

“I’ll say goodnight then.”

“Oh, but…in the morning…if my ankle isn’t better, there are fresh scones in a tin, and the…”Octavia’s voice trailed off as a small smile tilted his sensual mouth.

“I know how to cook, just as I know how to do dishes.” Amusement filtered through his delicious, sinful voice. The instant her eyes widened with surprise, he grew somber. “I honestly don’t know what I have to do to make you understand I’m not like the other men you’ve met, Octavia. Tonight didn’t help my cause. If I’d met you before the night of the Ealing’s ball, or if you hadn’t overheard my conversation with Liza, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You might not, now. But you will,” he said with a firmness that said he was through talking, and he walked toward the door. “Good night, Octavia.”

With that, Atticus left her room, the door making a soft click as he pulled it closed behind him. Octavia stared after him in bewilderment. What on earth did he mean by that? How would things be different? For that matter, what did he mean she’d understand in the future? Staring at the closed door, Octavia frowned in frustration.