“I don’t want to.” Her voice was only a breath of sound.
“Don’t want to what?” He didn’t worry. This time she wasn’t going to run—he knew it. This time she was here.
“Anything. Everything.”
“But you’re here.”
“I’m here,” she said.
“Why?” he said again. “Penance?”
He could tell by the way her eyes darkened that that was one of the whips she’d used to drive herself. But it was a goad, an excuse, nothing more.
She didn’t deny it. “I should never have said such an awful thing.”
“You’re my harpy. You always say awful things. Do you want to leave?” He would let her, of course. He would let her out of his life if he had to, if she had to. He would die, but he would do it. For her.
“I want to stay,” she whispered.
The buttons on the night dress unfastened easily—the fussy thing wasn’t without merit. He could feel the tremor in her body and he knew she had to be handled carefully, not with the brute passion of the night before.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said.
She was holding very still as his hands moved lower and lower, the tiny pearl buttons releasing with just a flick of his shaking fingers. The gown parted to show her moon-silvered flesh, and he caught his breath. “I could wish you weren’t so perfect.”
“The ugliness is all on the inside,” she said.
“There’s no ugliness in you anywhere. There’s only pain.”
Her eyes flew up to meet his, and he knew he’d shocked her. She’d tried so hard to hide it. He reached up and pushed the gown off her shoulders, and it pooled on the floor around her bare feet. A moment later he scooped her up, because he wanted to cradle her against him, and she was so light in his arms when she was so heavy in his heart. He carried her across the room, pushing open t
he hidden door to the adjoining bedroom, his room, his bed, kicking the door shut behind him. He held her for another moment, then set her on the mattress. “I want you in my bed,” he said. “I’ve always wanted you there.”
The shadows were deep, and he wanted to see her. Stepping back, he pushed the curtain aside, letting the moonlight flood in. He turned to look at her, the glorious picture she made, stretched out on his sheets.
She was naturally, inherently graceful as she lay there, looking up at him, and while he wanted to savor the sight of her, he needed to touch her more.
He knelt on the bed, grimacing as his breeches pressed against his rampant cock.
“I’ve seen one before, you know,” she said with what was close to laughter in her voice, but to her this was still a very serious matter. “I know what to do. I’m out of practice, but I was a professional.”
He didn’t bother correcting her—she used her constant reminders to keep him at a distance, and it had never worked. He simply didn’t care, except that it had hurt her.
“I imagine you’re very proficient at fucking if you put your mind to it,” he said. “But I don’t think you’ve ever made love before.”
He shouldn’t have been surprised by the sudden fear in her eyes, as if the very thought was a threat. “I don’t. . .” she started to say.
“Yes, you do.” He looked at her with such tenderness.
“I’m . . . I’m frightened.
He knew how much it cost her to admit it. “I know.” He kissed her then, soft, sweet, so that her lips clung to his, her body rose into the kiss, and her mouth opened when he tugged at her plump lower lip. Her nun like kisses were getting more adventurous, and she was a quick study. There was a certain desperation about them, but he understood, and he sank down on the mattress with her, pulling her into his protective arms.
He had all of her laid out before him, warm, naked, acquiescent if not eager, and the wealth of her was overwhelming. While part of him, a particularly insistent part one, wanted to push her back and throw himself on top of her, the rest of him wanted to take his time, discovering her, pleasuring her, warming her frozen soul.
But then her hands were on his chest, pushing back, and he wanted to howl in despair that she was going to run, and he would have to let her go.
She wasn’t. “I want to see you,” she said in a small voice. “I want to touch you.”