She gave in to her weakness and nipped at his thumb with her teeth before sucking the pad to quell the sting. He inhaled, his eyes darkening. He was not any more in control in this game they played than she. “I wouldn’t have to beg,” she whispered.
“No.” His smile was forbidding, intense. “You wouldn’t have to beg, sweetheart. But I would take great pleasure in making you.”
His wicked words sent a thrill straight to her core. “You couldn’t make me,” she lied. Of course he could. One touch of his mouth to any part of her body, and she’d likely be hitching up her skirts. She had no control when it came to him, no hope to resist him. She never had.
“Shall we test that? Right here, Helen. Right now.” His fingers sank into her hair then, sending pins raining to the floor. Curls slipped from the intricate coils her lady’s maid had used to tame the unruly skeins. He tipped her head back. “Dare me.”
Everything within her, all the pent-up desire, the love, the frustration, every stinging bit of it clamored for her to do as he challenged. To dare him, give in to the mad passion that threatened to consume her. But pride was an unrelenting beast, and so too was a wounded heart.
“I told you that I’ll not share your bed, and I meant those words.” She forced herself to say it, to remind them both. The old hurts ran too deep.
He released her, the motion jerky, abrupt. “Let down your goddamn walls, Helen. Or are you too afraid of what might happen if you do?”
Of course she was afraid. She was terrified of the way he made her feel, of how close he could bring her to unraveling. They stared at each other for a moment of charged silence. “You built these walls, not me,” she said at last.
“Then I will dismantle them. One by one. However I must.” He tipped up her chin, seeing far too much, it seemed, with that piercing gaze of his. “I’ll do it, wife. Don’t think I won’t.”
* * *
Levi sank his tired body into the deep, porcelain imperial bath he’d shipped from New York City for just this purpose. He had one identical to it in his Fifth Avenue home, in a bathroom that was easily three times the size of this one. He’d had the best company in the city design and plan his bathrooms, perfecting the layout, making the best use of the space. His Fifth Avenue home held a separate bath for his suites and another for his wife’s suites, prepared at the time for Miss VanHorn’s comfort. In Belgravia, he had made do with one bathroom shared between the master and mistress’s suites, supposing that Miss VanHorn would never accompany him on London business trips.
But life had changed considerably since those plans, and now it wasn’t Miss VanHorn he shared a bathroom with in Belgravia but Helen. His Helen, a woman who was equal parts angel and spitfire. The woman whose trust he’d spent the last fortnight attempting to regain.
He sighed and rested his head on the rim of the tub, closing his eyes. He had begun a slow and steady assault on her defenses. He’d been attentive and courteous. He joined her for every dinner. He stopped commenting upon her refusal to wear the gowns he’d given her. He sent a small army of staff to assist her at her House of Rest. He’d even decided to stay in England for a spell, to allow her to acclimate to the change ahead of her.
And she had remained impervious. Unmoving. When he tried to touch her, she withdrew. She was polite but cold. Present but not. Hang it, he was trapped in a prison of his own making, the woman he loved just a chamber away and yet, it seemed, somehow always out of reach.
The water of his bath was hot. A pleasant luxury, hot water, one he never did without these days. His bathroom in New York City was a true marvel. Plumbed pipes, a bidet, an imperial bath fashioned of porcelain and mahogany, a foot bath, water closet, and a wash stand with hand-painted Italian tiles and electric lights. But what the hell did he care? Once, these trappings, as Helen had called them, had made him feel as though he belonged to a world that had seemed so far out of reach in his youth. They’d made him feel important. They had even seemed, somehow, necessary.
Not any longer. He would settle for his warm bath, but all he truly wanted was his wife to look upon him as she once had. All he wanted was her kisses freely given, her hands on him of her own accord, her body beneath his because she couldn’t bear to go another night without him.
That didn’t seem likely. His wife was frosty as Wenham Lake ice. Perhaps the damage he’d done was irreversible. Perhaps she needed time. Either way, he’d reached a grim realization. He needed to give her a choice.
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry.”
The dismayed voice had him opening his eyes and sitting up at attention, rivulets of warm water running down his back. Helen stood on the threshold in a dressing gown, her hair unbound, a wild net of curls tumbling around her shoulders. Her eyes went wide, her hand pressed to her heart. She took a step in retreat.
“I hadn’t realized you were in here,” she said. “That is, I thought you were asleep.” Her hands went to the door, ready to snap it closed, sever the small link of intimacy between them before it could even begin.
“Wait,” he called out softly. “Don’t go, Helen.”
She hesitated, her expression a mask of uncertainty. “I don’t think—”
“Then don’t,” he interrupted quickly. “Don’t think, sweetheart.”
Helen didn’t close the door on him and flee, but neither did she move. “You’re at your bath. I don’t wish to disturb you.”
“Afraid to stay?” he asked, knowing it would nettle her.
And it did, if her reaction was any indication. Her chin went up, her eyes narrowing. The stubborn in her wouldn’t allow her to walk away now. “I’m not afraid of you, if that is what you mean.”
“Not me.” He shook his head, allowing his gaze to drop to her lips, then the sweet swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist and hips. No nightdress or robe could sufficiently hide the beauty he knew lay beneath them, waiting for his hands and mouth. “You’re afraid of yourself, of what you might do. What you might feel.”
Pink tinged her cheeks. “I’ll feel the same thing that I have felt ever since you reappeared in my life.”
He hung his arms over the marble surround encompassing the tub and leaned back, affecting a relaxed air to goad her even more. Her eyes lowered to his bare chest, lingering. It would seem the lady wasn’t as immune as she pretended. “And what is that, darling? Lust?”
Her gaze snapped back to his, her flush deepening. Damn, but she was lovely, his English rose. “Don’t be absurd.”
“Prove you don’t want me.” He raised a brow. “My back needs to be washed. How fortuitous that you’ve interrupted my bath.”
“Ring for a servant,” she said coolly.
“No, I don’t think I will.” He grinned at her.
Her lips compressed into a tight frown. “Then I suppose your back will not be washed this evening.”
“I don’t want a servant,” he said lowly. “I want you.”
She didn’t mistake the wealth of meaning behind his words, and she wasn’t unaffected. He knew her well enough to note the way she drew in a quick breath, the way her lips parted. “You cannot have me. I’m not yours to command.”
“But you are my wife,” he pointed out. And that had to mean something to her. How could it not? “It’s never been my wish to command you, Helen. You have your own mind, and you always have. So either step over the threshold or run back to your chamber and hide.”
That did it. She finally crossed the tiled floor to him, her eyes flashing as she took up his soap and a cloth. “I don’t hide. If it suits your whims for me to scrub your back, then I will.”
Keeping her gaze averted carefully away, she dunked the soap into the tub, wetting it before scrubbing the cloth over its surface with more force than necessary. He bent forward at the waist to allow her better access, holding his tongue as she ran the cloth lightly over his skin. She moved with haste, three quick swipes, and then dropped the cloth into the water.
“There you are,” she announced, he
r voice tight.
Did she think she could escape that easily? That he would allow her to flee now that he finally had her where he wanted her? He caught her around the waist when she would have left again and hauled her toward him, settling her bottom on the marble slab.
“Why are you so eager to run, Helen?” He nuzzled through the fragrant locks of her hair, putting his mouth close to her ear. “Don’t you trust yourself?”
“Unhand me, you brute!” She twisted, attempting to break free of his hold. “You’re making my dressing gown all wet.”
He ignored her, giving in to temptation and kissing the shell of her ear. “I’d be happy to remove it for you and hang it somewhere to dry.”
“Levi.” Her hands clamped on his forearm, trying to tug free, and the touch of her bare skin on his sent a bolt of unadulterated lust straight through him. “This is most indecent of you.”
“I’m an indecent kind of man, it seems, because I’m not about to let you slip back into the night so swiftly.” He kissed her creamy throat, licked her skin. “Why don’t you stay for a bit? This tub is large enough for two.”
She swallowed, another small sign of her inner struggle, and he felt the slight movement against his lips. “Perhaps you should invite someone else into the tub, then. Someone who wishes to be there. A maid, maybe? An opera singer or an actress? There must be plenty of women who would eagerly join you.”
So she thought to use his own ploys against him, trying to goad him into releasing her. Her breasts were full and heavy against his arm, larger than he remembered. No, that he would not do. He had her precisely where he wanted her, and he meant to take his good, sweet time.
He raked his thumb over her left nipple, enjoying her swift intake of breath. “I’ve never taken to maids or opera singers or actresses.” He kissed her neck again, scored the sensitive flesh lightly with his teeth. “Oddly enough, there’s only one woman I’d want in this tub with me, and she happens to be in my arms right now. Isn’t that luck?”
“Lucky for you that I was too foolish to realize I shouldn’t cross the threshold with you in here,” she said tartly. “Luckier still that I was foolish enough to think I could ever trust you.”
There it was again, her sword raised between them. But he grew tired of doing battle with her. “You can trust me. I wronged you, and for that I’m deeply sorry.” Another kiss, another lick, a nibble. She didn’t move away and he couldn’t seem to stop. “Let me in, sweetheart. Let me show you.”
She angled her body toward him just a bit, and rested her head back against his shoulder. “Your water will soon cool and you’ll grow weary of holding me hostage.” Her words were prim and unruffled.
Her skin was hot, her body responsive, belying her façade. He relaxed his hold on her waist, kissed her ear, tugged the soft lobe with his teeth. “Go if you want. Go now, Helen. I won’t stop you.”
Helen went still. He watched her profile, holding his breath, awaiting her decision. Her nose was perfect and dainty, her lips full and lush. Her cheekbones high and regal. Even from the side, her beauty was undeniable. With her hair a moist tangle about her face, she looked wild and wanton. A pagan goddess come to earth to taunt him, make him love her, make him want her, and forever keep him beyond reach.
Abruptly, she turned toward him, threw her arms around his neck, and pressed her mouth to his. He hauled her against his chest, not giving a damn that half her wrapper and nightdress sank into the water, instantly sodden. He kissed her back, showing her with his lips and tongue how much he worshiped her, how much he wanted her. How much he loved her. She tasted of tea and herself and every dark fantasy he’d entertained for the last year, alone in his bed with little hope of ever having her in his arms again.
Impossible, was all he could think. Impossible that her mouth moved against his, her tongue sweeping the seam of his lips, that a deep, throaty purr came from within her as if to say she craved more. Even more impossible that she sidled farther into the tub until nearly her entire body was submerged, her gowns plastering to his chest like a second skin as displaced water splashed aver the rim and marble surround and onto the floor. She clutched at him, her fingers in his hair, kissing him with a ferocity that mirrored what he felt inside. It had been too long, far too long, and her kiss was like the sweetest homecoming.
When their mouths broke apart, they were both short of breath. He tipped his forehead to hers, staring into her eyes. “Helen, sweetheart.”
Something bubbled forth from her kiss-swollen lips then, something equally impossible. Laughter. She was laughing. Laughing with the abandon of a lunatic, her shoulders shuddering, her breath catching. “I think I’ve gone mad.”
He kissed her again. Hang it all, he loved this woman. He cupped her jaw. “You’re not mad, my love.”
“I must be mad, for there’s no other explanation for this.” She glanced down at the water. Her dressing gown floated around her. Her nipples were plainly visible now, pointed and hard through the twin layers of wet fabric.
“You’re not mad,” he said again. “I warned you I would dismantle your walls. And I will continue, Helen. I will not stop. Brick by brick. Stone by stone.”
“My walls were built for good reason,” she reminded him, not quite yet ready to surrender. No, she wouldn’t make it easy on him. But she never had.
He wouldn’t want her to. He didn’t want to convince Helen to forgive him. He wanted her to convince herself, to make the decision on her own. He wanted her to realize that he was a husband worthy of her. That he would go to the ends of the earth to make her happy and proud, to show her how much he loved her.
“I’ll take them down,” he said again. “Be warned that I’m laying siege.”
“Then do your worst,” she challenged him.
He grinned. “To the contrary, darling. I’ll do my very best.”
He kissed her again, his hand tangling in the damp knot of her hair. He wanted the cumbersome layers of her wet garments gone. He wanted her, naked and slick, beautiful and his. In his bed. Beneath him. Atop him. However she desired, whatever she desired. As desperately as he longed for her, as much time that had passed since the last time they’d made love, this night was about Helen.
He dragged his mouth back down her throat, palmed one of her heavy breasts. She moaned. His thigh dipped between her legs, and then his fingers found her there too, seeking, thwarted by the barrier of wet fabric. She arched into him, her body responding as sweetly as ever. She hadn’t forgotten after all.
“Levi,” she whispered. “I don’t want to feel this way. It isn’t fair.”
“It would be far simpler, would it not, if you felt nothing for me and if I felt nothing for you?” he asked, stroking her beneath the cooling water. She arched against him, seeking, wanting, the same as he. “Life isn’t simple, nor fair. If it were, we’d never experience joy or love or desire or anything worth a damn. We’d be bovine and complacent, too stupid to realize what we were missing.”
She kissed his jaw. “You aren’t wearing a stitch beneath this bath water.”
The breath hissed from his lungs when her fingers found his cock and stroked. “No.”
Helen nipped at his lips. “I don’t want to be bovine and complacent.”
“You never could be,” he assured her, pleasure robbing him of further words as she tightened her grip.
“May we raise a white flag of truce for now?” She kissed him, slow and lingering.
“Hell yes.” His answer was instant. “Come to my bed tonight, Helen. You’re my wife, and it’s been far too long.”
Her gaze was unreadable, but her answer was all he needed to hear. “Yes.”
* * *
Levi helped her from the tub with great care, as if she were fashioned of thinnest porcelain rather than flesh and bone. She stood dripping on the exquisite painted tiles, her dressing gown and nightdress plastered to her. Something had happened and she couldn’t say with precision what it was, but when he’d given her the
choice of leaving or remaining, she hadn’t been able to go. It was as if some missing key had been fitted into a lock inside her. The door opened, and forward she went. Straight into his arms and straight into his tub.
He climbed from the tub with a leonine grace she couldn’t help but admire, his muscles and strength on display. He didn’t even bother to dry himself or hide his body from her. His dark hair was wet. Water kissed his broad shoulders, ran down his honed chest, over his flat abdomen and lower still. Her gaze dipped there. He was ready, thick and hard. Desire simmered through her. She was ready too. There remained much to be settled between them, if indeed it ever could, but tonight she reveled in remembering what it had been like to be his. To make him hers. Tonight they were husband and wife, their pains and enmity laid aside.
Her fingers flew to the cord holding her dressing gown in place, untying the knot. The drenched garment hit the floor with a vigorous splat. He stood before her, working the line of buttons on her night dress, peeling it away, kissing every swath of skin he exposed along the way. His mouth was everywhere, his hands stroking, soothing, peeling the cold wet fabric from her skin and setting her aflame instead. Kisses all over her body. Her neck, the curve of her breast, collarbone, inner elbow, fingertips, and then to the place where her skin had stretched to miraculous size while she’d been pregnant with Theo.
He tugged her nightdress over her hips and stopped there, where she would never quite be the same. But she loved those marks, the little reminders of the blessing of her son, the miracles of life and love. He kissed her there, his hand passing over her in a tender caress.
“I told you I’ve changed,” she said softly, unashamed.
“You’re more beautiful.” He kissed her again. “More beautiful than I deserve.”
Heart’s Temptation Series Books 4-6 Page 25