“We’ve done worse. Would you put the pistol down? You’re making me nervous.”
She looked down as if just realizing the long metal barrel was pressed between her breasts. “It’s not loaded, if it’s any consolation.”
He approached the four-poster bed on cat feet. The candle’s circle of light illuminated her face, her wary eyes magnified by the heavy blue draperies hanging from the bed frame. The closer he came, the farther into the pillows she scrunched.
He set the candle on the side table and held out his hand. “Give me the gun, Lily.”
“I think I’ll keep it, thank you very much. It might not be loaded, but I can still use it to bash you over the head with.”
He backed away a few steps to settle her nerves. His frustration reflected in his tone. “I’m sorry for what happened. I truly am. I would never have hurt you, but you need to understand that what you did was reckless. You disregarded your safety—”
Muttering an unladylike curse, she waved the gun in his direction. “Stop. If that’s what you’re here to say, get out. And I hope you break your neck on the way down.”
“What do you want me to say?” he asked with desperation.
Anger, but also a penetrating recognition of something more…something hidden inside of him, lit her face and tinted her tone. “The truth. I want the truth. I want to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. You did hurt me…not physically perhaps, but…I trusted you.”
Unable to hold her imploring stare, he retreated and braced hands on either side of the window. The mist had turned into a soft rain, rivulets streaking down the glass, hindering his view. That was his life. Hiding. Hiding his intentions, his fear, his every thought. He physically hid behind his spectacles, could blend among any class of people. He was good at hiding.
She demanded too much. But like birds sense the coming of the sun was the recognition that if he didn’t reveal his secrets, she would be lost to him forever. Could he live with the consequences of either choice?
He traced a single trickling drop from the top of the pane with a finger, his voice emerging like rusted metal. “Crossing the channel with Rafe after…after his injury… For the first time, I encountered a situation completely out of my control. It was frankly terrifying.” He stopped. The bone-chilling horror from those days crept back into the pit of his stomach, numbing him.
“He was in terrible shape when I met him in Dover, I can only imagine,” she said softly, prompting him to continue.
“He woke in the night. At first, I thought he was better. His smile was so innocent and joyful. But he’d lost so much weight, and with his eyes sunken and his facial wound…it looked a sick jest.” He rubbed his eyes as if that would banish the gruesome image he could never forget. “In the strangest sing-song voice, he urged me to race him up an apple tree, talking like we were children again. He was burning alive.”
“Was there a physician aboard? Someone to help?” Her voice was tight.
“The crew of privateers was as likely to kill us and throw us overboard as help. I’d never felt so damn lonely and useless in my life. After everything I’ve seen and done…” He huffed a humorless laugh. “I thought I’d long ago given up the idea of an omniscient, benevolent spirit. But I hit my knees. I prayed to God, prayed to my mother. I would have sacrificed to Zeus if I thought it would have helped.”
“He recovered. You did save him.” Her voice barely penetrated the fog of memories.
“After rambling for hours, he fell silent. I was sure…but when I felt his brow, his fever had broken. Christ, I cried like a baby.” Tears pricked his eyes even now. “I never told him that. I’d probably never hear the end of my foolishness.”
“You care about him. Your bond goes beyond mere friendship. It’s all right to feel, to worry. It doesn’t make you weak.” Covers rustled and the gun made a metallic thud on the side table.
She ran soft hands down his biceps all the way to his hand braced on the window. How could such small hands impart such succor? He allowed her to take his hand in both of hers. There was more, but the words lodged in his throat, denied exit by the pounding of his heart.
He hadn’t earned such easy forgiveness and forced the words she needed to hear from his raw chest. “I was furious with you for making me… I didn’t know if I could get to you in time…save you. I felt powerless. Everything in here—” he splayed a hand open on his chest, “—got rearranged. Very painfully.”
She inhaled, ready to speak, but he shushed her. “Let me finish. You were more than competent tonight. You were outstanding. Everything you said was true. I was the one who acted impetuously, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I-I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt. And then I hurt you even worse. I’m an utter bastard, and if you had a bullet in that pistol, I’d deserve to have it buried in my black heart.”
They stood outside the candle’s circle of light, her face cast in shadows. She still clutched his hand, hadn’t tossed him out the window.
Her words were thick with unseen emotion. “Even without your intervention, I would have escaped unhurt. I’m sure of it.”
Ripping his hand from hers, he fisted his hair, and then rubbed back to his nape. “I can’t take that chance with you. Don’t you understand? You’re special. Gilmore might have destroyed your innocence—and I’m not talking about your maidenhead—I mean, your light, your warmth, your essence. He might have left you broken, never to be mended. I’ve seen it happen, Lily. I couldn’t bear it if it had been you. I was so damn scared.”
She threw herself into his chest, nearly knocking him backwards. He captured her body to his, frantic for the solace she offered. Perhaps, he was undeserving, but selfishly, he took. Their lips collided, and the salt of her tears jolted him.
They grappled, each vying to get closer to the other. At some point, their shuffling feet moved them back into the candlelight. Then they were falling together, landing side by side on the soft down mattress. She stroked his face, and like a gypsy witch, each pass spirited away a little more of his fear, a little more of his loneliness, filling him with an unspeakable tenderness and something that felt almost like…love.
He brushed the tears off her cheeks with such ease and gentleness that her heart felt like it might burst into a thousand beating, boiling pieces. The intensity scared her. A few hours ago, she’d hated him, hadn’t she? She’d punched her pillow until feathers had popped out, wishing it had been his face.
Now she had to bite the inside of her lip to stem words she shouldn’t say. Words that would vastly complicate and change things. Words that might send him jumping out the window after all.
Instead, she kissed him, imbuing the gesture with a wellspring of emotion. She found his cheeks and eyelids and jaw before sliding her lips back to his. Passion inexorably wove into the tender moment.
He rolled her to her back and notched a leg between hers. He flicked her parted lips with his tongue, and she opened willingly. She explored the width of muscles through damp lawn while their tongues played. His shirt was her nemesis as she tried in vain to pull it out of his breeches and up.
He groaned, rolled off her and sat on the edge of the bed in a slump. “I’m scaring you again, aren’t I? I’m so sorry. I’ll go.”
She missed his heavy body and tried to tug him back, but he resisted.
“No, Gray, I…” Embarrassed, she cleared her throat before continuing, “I was trying to pull your shirt off. Don’t go, please.”
He whipped around, and for the first time all evening, a devilish glint of humor sparked his face and dimples creased his cheeks. His smile filled her with such glorious happiness, laughter bubbled out.
“Lily Drummond, how delightfully naughty,” he said in a hoarse, teasing voice. Scooting back on the bed, he propped himself against her mass of pillows and released the small row of buttons at the top of his shirt. He g
rasped the tails with crossed arms, jerked it over his head and pitched it to the floor. Faced with the bare expanse of his chest, she swallowed hard.
“Come here.” He patted his lap.
She scrambled to him and braced her hands on his shoulders, instinct guiding her into a straddle. Crisp, dark hair peppered the defined muscles of his chest and stomach. There was no fat, no softness anywhere on him.
No wonder he’d overtaken her so easily in the carriage. No fear came with the acknowledgment of his strength, only curiosity and excitement—extreme, consuming excitement. Her hands trembled, and the place between her legs throbbed. She wiggled, trying to find a position to ease the discomfort.
His hands twitched on her thighs, and he dropped his head back to the pillows. “Obviously, I’m not forgiven, because you’re trying to kill me.”
“I didn’t really want you to break your neck, you know.” She leaned down to brush a kiss across his faintly smiling mouth. Her braid fell forward, the tail trailing over his ridged stomach.
“I’m glad to hear it. Will you take your hair down?” He fingered the end before pulling off the tie and unwinding the first few inches.
The burn of his green gaze made her fumble through the usually mundane task. Finally, with the braid unraveled, he buried his hands in the waves and brought swaths to his nose. His breathing had quickened to match her own as if they were racing to the same goal.
He pushed the mass over her shoulders and tapped the primly tied pink ribbon at the neck of her nightdress. “Sweetheart, may I?”
A nod was all she could manage. The ribbons yielded, and night air wafted across her exposed skin. He peeled the edges of the fabric aside with care, his throat working. Her breasts were fully exposed, but she couldn’t bring herself to look down. A flush burned from her stomach to the roots of her hair.
Like an explorer gaining the mountaintop for the first time, his face reflected awe. “My imagination didn’t do you justice. They’re absolutely perfect. Exquisite.”
“You imagined my bosom?” Her voice cracked with a less-than-womanly squeak.
“Every man that’s ever danced with you has done the same, believe me.” He ran his hands up her sides, stopping when his thumbs brushed at the tender underside of each breast. Her skin was unbearably sensitive. The ache between her legs ratcheted up another notch, becoming almost painful.
“It’s rather disconcerting to think men imagine me unclothed.”
“A gentleman would never admit to such base thoughts, of course.”
“What does make that you then?”
“Considering I’m in your bed taking advantage of your innocence, I certainly won’t claim the title.” Dark emotion weighed his admission. Right or wrong, she didn’t want his gentlemanly impulses or guilt or whatever drove his conscience to exert control.
She spread her hands over the curves of his shoulders and trailed them lower, over his chest and down his taut stomach to the top of his breeches. His skin felt hot, the muscles flexing along the path of her exploration. She raised her eyebrows and tried not to sound like the innocent she was. “Considering I’m the one on top, perhaps I’m the one taking advantage.”
He laughed and the sound lightened the mood. “You can be on top whenever you wish it.”
The way he spoke made her wonder if she had missed a joke, but the thought turned to vapor when he cupped her breasts, lifting and testing the fullness with his hands. She fisted the top band of his breeches and bit the inside of her cheek to stop a cry. He rubbed his thumbs over her nipples. A moan emerged from deep in her chest, husky and unstoppable.
“Your nipples are the loveliest color, a pinky rose.” He leaned back and adjusted her on his lap, shifting her up a few inches. A hard ridge settled between her legs and offered a slight ease to her ache. He pressed her closer, and before she understood his intention, he’d captured a nipple in his mouth.
The warm tingle overrode her shock as his tongue circled the nub. She rocked her hips, re-intensifying her ache a thousand fold. He switched his attention to her other breast, and all she could do was writhe above him.
“Gray, please stop, I can’t…it’s too much,” she said, but her hands held his head against her breast, belying her words.
“Or is it not enough?” he replied cryptically, rubbing a bristled cheek against the side of her breast.
He surged and flipped her to her back. The solidness of the mattress offered a foundation she sought like a drowning woman. His weight anchored her.
He wooed her with his kisses, hot and openmouthed, until she was frantically pulling him closer. The press of her breasts against his bare chest satisfied one need but grew another. He shifted to pull her nightdress down her arms and push it past her waist and hips, leaving her naked. He propped himself on an elbow, his gaze drifting up and down her body.
The exposure unsettled her. One hand tried to cover her breasts while the other shielded the triangle of hair between her thighs.
Gently, but with sure intent, he took her wrists and drew her hands over her head. “Don’t hide from me, sweetheart. All you have to do is let me touch you. Consider it the conclusion of my apology.”
He nuzzled his lips and tongue against her breasts while his hand trailed to her thighs, stroking and petting her hips. She relaxed under his gentle touch. Only then did he reveal his ultimate target. He slipped a hand between her legs. She tensed but didn’t close her legs.
Treating her like a frightened animal, he soothed her with shushes and small comforting noises while he played in her folds.
“You’re so bloody hot and wet for me.” He nipped her ear, his breath warm.
“Should I be?”
“Indeed, and more, I want even more.” He circled the center of need, and her hips bucked. Was she trying to get away or get closer? She couldn’t determine her body’s intention. While his thumb stroked, one of his fingers slid inside.
A sigh shuddered out of her. Her emptiness was marginally appeased.
“Relax. Can you feel the pleasure build? Reach for it.” While he continued to work a unique magic between her legs, he leaned over her and flicked a nipple with his tongue.
Traversing a knife’s edge, she teetered between pain and pleasure. When she fell, the burst of ecstasy was unexpected. Through the blood pulsing in her ears, his deep groan registered as if he received similar satisfaction, but somehow she knew he hadn’t. Not like her bliss.
Panting and dazed, she opened her eyes and met his green, intense gaze. His finger was still buried inside of her, and he kissed her, never breaking eye contact. The hard ridge of his erection pressed at her hip.
From years away, her mother had imparted womanly wisdom to her daughter through her letters. Lily trailed her hand between his legs.
“What is it really called, Gray?”
“Many things, but I call it a cock.” He ended on a growl as her hand outlined the length.
She touched the buttons of his fall. “May I see your cock, please?”
He laughed on a hard exhale. “How can I say no when you ask so nicely?”
Fumbling a bit, she managed to release the buttons, and his cock sprang out. He yanked his breeches down and shimmied them off. Now he was as nude as she was. She reached for him again, but he pushed her hand over her head.
“Are you sure about this? There will be consequences to our actions tonight.”
Her ruination. Fine. She’d never aspired to make a good ton marriage anyway. That was everyone else’s aspiration for her. She would live at Wintermarsh, and perhaps he would visit occasionally to ease her loneliness. It would be enough. It would have to be. She wanted this, wanted him and no one else.
“I understand. I’m not afraid.” She hooked a leg over his.
“I don’t know if I can be gentle. I’ve wanted you a long time. There might be pain.” The ap
ology was clear in the tone of his voice and in his eyes. She curled her hand around his neck and pressed a hard kiss on his mouth, hoping he understood what she wasn’t able to put into words.
He shifted over her and settled between her legs. Lifting her knees to cradle his hips, she welcomed him. The tip of his erection nudged her entrance. He pushed, and she stretched to accommodate him. It wasn’t painful. On the contrary, the primal act fired her arousal once again. Her maidenhead was breeched with a moment’s pain and less than a moment’s regret.
“I’m sorry…did I hurt you too badly?” His voice strained. Fully buried inside of her, he didn’t move.
“Just a sting. You feel amazing. Is there more?” Her emptiness had been appeased, but now she craved more, her body knowing what her experience lacked. But not for long.
“There’s more, love.”
One slow thrust followed another. He dropped to his elbows, the rough hair on his chest teasing her nipples. His tangy scent enveloped her, and she licked at the salty sheen of sweat breaking over his skin. She tried to pull him closer, grasping at his flexing muscles. The slow build of pleasure made her writhe. His pace increased until, with a harsh cry, his body tensed and stilled.
His collapse was sudden. He rolled to his back and tucked her into the crook of his arm. He didn’t speak, and she couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make her sound like a ninny. Without his body covering her, shyness trumped her earlier boldness, and she cast a hand behind her for the sheet. She found enough slack to cover her bosom.
Gray had thrown an arm up to cover his eyes. She wished he’d say something, anything. Unable to bear the silence any longer, she poked him in the ribs. “Are you well?”
“You nearly killed me, woman,” he announced as if it were a good thing, and she relaxed into his side. He yawned, long and loudly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t wait for you. Next time, I promise.”
A combination of happiness and relief burst in her chest. There would be a next time. Surely, her banishment would wait until the end of the Season. They still had to find her father, after all.
An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1 Page 15