He narrowed his eyes at her, his knuckles white as he clutched the doorknob. “I’m not going to overpower you so you can tell yourself afterward that I forced you into it.”
“I know that.”
His eyes burned into hers. “You’d better be sure, Hellcat. Because if we start this, I won’t stop. Not this time.”
The rain beat down on the roof and the caravan suddenly seemed far too small. She could barely breathe. “I won’t want you to stop.”
His hand dropped from the door. Raven tilted his chin at her chemise, a faint, challenging lilt in his tone. “Then take that off.”
Her heart almost stopped.Oh, good God in heaven.He’d agreed!
She came up onto her knees on the bed. Her hands shook as she grasped the hem of her shift and drew it upward, slowly. The cool silk flowed over her thighs like water, and her stomach fluttered as the cold air hit it. It slid over her breasts as she lifted her arms. Her hair caught up and then dropped down her back as she drew the scandalous garment over her head.
She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She wanted to hide behind the fall of silk forever, but she forced herself to bring her arms down and look him in the eye.
Raven was staring at her naked body. Heloise couldn’t move. His gaze was like a physical touch as it swept her shoulders, her neck, her breasts. To her horror she felt her nipples rise, as if begging for his hands. Her stomach muscles tightened when he looked lower, down to the pale curls at the juncture of her thighs. She squeezed her knees together. A wicked pulse throbbed as she thought of his hands there, as they had been before. Heat scalded her skin.
Her initial bravery faded as the silence stretched. She felt drawn tight as a bowstring. Was this just another of his cruel jokes? Was he going to take one look at her and dismiss her again as unworthy?
Why didn’t hesaysomething?
—
Raven was dying.
He needed to do what he always did, make some cruel, flippant taunt that would have her diving under the covers and safely hating his guts.
He couldn’t do it. He was tired of fighting. Tired of playing it safe. Either one of them could have been killed by that sniper today. Anything could happen at the prisoner exchange. If he was going to die, which was a distinct possibility, did hereallywant to go without a single taste of the thing he craved most in this life?
God, no.
Why the hell should he save her virginity for some undeserving bastard like Wilton?
Life was sex and death and pain and pleasure. You had to grab it all while you could. His pulse hammered in his throat. Of all the places he’d imagined making love to Heloise Hampden—and they’d been legion—he’d never once imagined a gypsy caravan in the rain. It was oddly fitting, though, a place out of time, something magical, a fantasy.
He let out a breath, half sigh, half groan. “A million times I’ve dreamed of you like this.”
He stepped forward until he stood directly in front of her. The height of the bed and her kneeling position meant the top of her head was level with his chin. He extended his hand.
She jumped when he shaped the curve of her waist, then inhaled sharply as his forefinger traced the underside of her breast.
“That’s because you’re depraved,” she managed shakily.
“Yes,” he breathed, half to himself. He flattened his hand over her stomach then made his way up the valley of her breasts to describe a lazy crescent over the top swell. A tremor passed through her. God, she was perfect. Small and sweet and soft. His skin was dark upon hers and he watched with something akin to amazement as he let his finger spiral down, around and around, in ever-decreasing circles until his thumb brushed her nipple and she gasped.
He replaced his thumb with his whole palm, cupping her, squeezing gently, and she gave a wordless moan and leaned into the sensation. So responsive. So trusting.
He looked down at her, a bitter twist to his lips. “You want to know the truth? I’mgladyou’re scarred. Glad you’ve fallen from your pedestal into the realm of mere mortals like myself.” He flicked his thumb again and watched her lips part in wonder. “It makes you real. Makes you touchable.”
He matched the words, trailing his hand up the side of her neck until he cupped her jaw. He stroked her lip with his thumb and felt his body tighten in response as she closed her eyes. The blood was rushing in his ears and he couldn’t recall a single time when he’d desired a woman more.
He stroked her scar. “Everyone who looks at your face sees this scar. I want to know the marks no one else knows about. The secret ones only a lover would know.”
She opened her eyes, raised her hand to the center of his chest, and he was caught in the swirling lavender-gray of her stare.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He kissed her then, hungrily, deeply. Oh Christ, he should be going slowly. But he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, couldn’t stop his hands. He was feverish, shaking, so utterly lacking in his usual finesse. The scent of her filled his senses, a warm perfume of arousal that rolled off her skin and sent him higher.