Page 43 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

He had hoped to avoid pointing out the inevitable outcome of their spending the night together without a chaperone. Octavia would fight tooth and nail against the idea that marrying him to avoid a scandal was necessary. She might believe herself impervious to scandal here in the country, but Atticus knew better. The minute she realized her actions could affect her sisters, Octavia would yield. In the end, she’d be his wife, but at what cost?

Would she accuse him of planning this by his volunteering to come ensure she was safe? Atticus winced as he flipped one of the cakes that had pitted quickly. God forbid if Octavia thought her dowry had been his true intent. While signing her dowry over to her would refute her belief, there was no guarantee his actions would make her change her opinion of him.

Atticus had known from the outset how hard it would be to convince Octavia to marry him. Her outlook on marriage and men made it inevitable she’d be wary of him and his motives. If she refused him now, God knows how long it would take to make her believe he’d married her for no other reason than he loved her.

Atticus froze in the middle of flipping a flapjack over. Christ Jesus, when in the hell had he fallen in love with Octavia? Slowly laying down the food turner, he used a potholder to push the griddle off the burner. How was it he’d not realized his feelings for Octavia ran so deep the idea of losing her would cripple him until the day he died?

Closing his eyes, Atticus didn’t move as the reality of his situation twisted his muscles into hard knots. He loved her. It was the most jubilant and excruciating state of existence he’d ever known. Even worse was knowing what Octavia’s reaction would be if he told her how much he adored her.

She wouldn’t believe him. Atticus had seen the disbelief and distrust in her eyes and face when he’d berated her for daring to think herself anything but beautiful. Not even the adamant conviction in his voice and words had been enough to destroy her doubts. They were still there, just below the surface.

That had been evident last night when he’d willed himself not to respond the moment Octavia kissed him. Her vulnerability had flared to life in her beautiful gray eyes the instant she pulled back from him and asked what she’d done wrong . Never in his entire life had he come so close to losing all sense of self-control or rational thought, just to prove how much he wanted to take what she was offering.

What the hell was he going to do now? If he’d thought saying no to her last night had been difficult, the next time he’d find it impossible to refuse her. And he knew Octavia was determined to ensure there was a next time.

“Atticus?”

The sweet sound of her voice coming from the dining room made him open his eyes. Just by saying his name, she’d managed to make every part of him ache for her. All he wanted to do was make her happy. Giving in to her would be so easy, and yet the repercussions had the potential to devastate him. The sudden seed of an idea took root in his mind. Was it possible he could convince her to agree to his condition? Would she accept, or would she refuse?

His heart pounding in his chest, Atticus’s hand shook as he pushed everything off the stove. Turning around, he returned to the dining room and cleared his throat. Swiveling around in her seat, Octavia stared at him with a puzzled frown.

“Do you need any help with breakfast?”

“No.” At his quiet reply, her frown deepened.

“Is something wrong?”

“Why do you want me to make love to you, Octavia?” The question made her narrow her eyes as she studied him for a moment.

“I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“I’m asking you to explain to me why you want to share my bed,” he said in a soft voice. “Is it simple curiosity or something else?”

Head tilted at a slight angle, Octavia’s brow furrowed with concentration as she studied him for a long moment. As if reaching a decision, she rose from her chair and closed the distance between them. Atticus stiffened. Christ Jesus, if she touched him—he shuddered as her hands pressed into his chest, then slid upward until her arms encircled his neck.

“I want to share your bed because my body cries out with need whenever you’re near,” she whispered before she pulled his head down and kissed him.

In a split-second, his cock was hard. Stark need and hunger pulled a dark groan from him as he slid his hands down to her buttocks, then tugged her tight against him. The moment his cock pressed into the apex of her thighs, his body shouted with jubilation. She gasped, and his tongue slipped into the warmth of her mouth.

White-hot need barreled through him as his body took over what little presence of mind he still possessed. A soft moan escaped her, and the sound pushed its way past the haze threatening to drag him under. The painful sensation of an invisible vise wrapping around his chest hammered its way into his head.

It became a steely band that pushed the air out of his lungs and threatened to crush his heart until it was incapable of beating any longer. But it gave him the strength to follow through with the only thing he could think of that would save them both. With a firm, but gentle hand, he pushed Octavia away from him.

Chapter 13

Startled, Octavia blinked in confusion as Atticus put two feet between them. Emotions she couldn’t identify drew his facial muscles taut until his face resembled a stone façade. Fear took root in her stomach.

“Atticus? What’s wrong?”

“Before we go any further, we must come to an agreement.”

“I don’t understand.” Octavia frowned in puzzlement at the quiet, but resolute note in his sinful voice.

“There are concessions that need to be made before I’ll agree to bed you.”

“Concessions?” Confusion and fear made her voice hoarse as she stepped back and stared up at him in bewilderment.

“Yes.” Atticus’s beautiful voice was cold and terse. It frightened her.