He wasn't dying, she saw at once. But he was nearly naked! Heat flooded her face as she stood poised in the doorway. He'd managed to fling a towel around his mid-section, thank God, but the rest of him gleamed wet and bare. She couldn't tear her gaze away, although the prim and proper side of her brain admonished her that she should.
Dark chest hair lay plastered to his skin. Her gaze dropped an inch, then followed the dark, intriguing line down to the carelessly placed towel, where it disappeared into God-knew what. Rosalyn opened her mouth to speak, then quickly shut it again, her embarrassed gaze flying back to his face.
A slow, mocking smile curved his mouth.
She averted her eyes, staring at the big copper tub instead. Water sloshed to and fro. He'd been in the tub, completely naked. Gulping, she explained, “I-I knocked, but ... no one answered, so I thought—well, I imagined you might be hurt.
"I'm not hurt, but I'm going to catch my death if you don't close the door,” he drawled, apparently at ease with his nakedness.
Rosalyn wasn't—not at all. She never imagined a man could look so—so different without his clothes. In fact, she'd never imagined a man without his clothes at all. The sight devastated her senses, and riled her curiosity like never before. What was beneath the towel? More hair ... and what?
"Would you like to see?"
She started with a mortified jerk. He'd caught her staring again, and from the tell-tale darkening of his eyes, she was in big trouble. “No! No. I just came by to give you something—” His eyebrow shot upward and Rosalyn realized how he'd taken her words. Her face felt as if it were on fire. “It's important, but I see that I interrupted your bath, so I'll just come back another time.” She turned and took two shaky steps, which put her in the open doorway. Strong hands circled her waist and jerked her back against his hard body and the door shut with a bang, with her on the wrong side.
His warm breath on her neck tickled, but she remained absolutely still.
"Stay right where you are, and I'll throw a robe on so your tender sensibilities won't be offended.” Slowly, he released her, as if he feared she would bolt again.
Rosalyn had no such intentions, simply because she couldn't move if her life depended on it. And turn around! Ha! Not for a pot of gold would she dare trust herself to keep her eyes where they belonged! Shameless, that's what she was. Shameless and wanton, because she wanted to look at his body, wanted to memorize every vital inch of him. Just from that brief glance, she knew that his chest was broad, his waist narrow and rippled with muscles—muscles that looked as if they would resist the pressure of her fingers. And his legs, firm and flaring out from his narrow waist, covered with the same dark hair that furred his chest...
What was beneath the towel?
Standing rigidly, Rosalyn clutched her box and waited. His scent teased her nostrils; soap and an elusive scent Rosalyn had long since decided was solely Christian. She'd never been so tense in her life, but it wasn't fear, exactly. Yes, it was fear, but a different kind of fear. She feared her reaction to Christian, especially in his state of dishevelment. Most of all, she feared losing him without ever knowing what it would feel like to march her fingers across his rippled belly, to run her hands along the prickly—yes, they had looked prickly—hairs on his thighs, and to bury her face in the mat of chest hair and breathe deeply of his unique scent. Where would such actions lead? And did she want to leave this room, knowing she might never get another chance to touch the man she loved, to cultivate memories that would sustain her throughout her lifetime? Because she knew without a doubt that Christian was the man she loved, forever and always.
And she knew, at least, that he wanted her in the physical sense.
Could she live with the possible consequences of such reckless actions? Or ... could she live with the knowledge that she let a perfect opportunity slip through her fingers?
"Rosalyn. Turn around."
She took a deep, fortifying breath at the low command, torn between deeply embedded morals and a knee-weakening, desperate need to take a cherished memory with her when she walked from this room.
She turned around, and swallowed hard. So he thought he was decent now, did he? Well, he wasn't. His robe fell open nearly to his waist, exposing a broad area of hard chest and dark nipples nestled in hair that looked much softer than the prickly-looking hairs on his thighs. At least his thighs were covered, she thought dazedly.
"Let me take your coat."
He sauntered to her, seemingly unaware of her paralyzed state. Rosalyn tried to breathe evenly, but the most she could manage was rapid intakes of scorching air. It was hot in his room ... or was it? She watched him approaching, coming closer, her eyes widening with each step he took. When his fingers made quick work of the buttons on her coat, Rosalyn stirred long enough to help him pull the coat from her shoulders, changing the box from one hand to the other. She kept her gaze on his chin now, looking for signs of bruising—anything to keep her thoughts on the straight and narrow.
It was no use. She saw the faint shadow of a bruise, yes, but she also saw the shadow of his whiskers, which led her to wonder how rough they would feel in the mornings.
Christian hung her coat on a hook behind the door and turned to face her again. Rosalyn licked her lips, watching as his gaze fell to her mouth. Had she done so subconsciously, knowing he would look? Was she being deliberately provocative? She'd come here to give him the rubies, hadn't she? Not seduce and be seduced by someone who didn't believe in love and marriage and happily ever after.
"What have you got for me, Rosy?"
His voice was deep and slightly husky. Rosalyn wondered if he was as affected by the intimacy of their situation as she was. Their gazes locked—and she knew then that he was. Desire darkened his eyes to a deep, rich brown.
Shudders rippled over her entire body, seeming to settle in a tremulous ball in her stomach. She swallowed, and barely caught herself before she licked her dry lips again.
Hot, thick tension became a wall between them. Rosalyn suspected the slightest movement would send it crashing down.
She remembered the box in her hand and made a half-hearted attempt to regain her sanity. “It's ... the valentine, with the rubies. I'm giving it to you—"
"Why?” He took a tiny step closer, his gaze fixed on her face, the robe hanging open, tempting her to look where she shouldn't.
"W-why? Well, I—"
"You didn't come here just to give me the rubies, did you Rosalyn?” Low and sensuous, his voice wrapped around her like a warm cloak, sapping the last of her resistance. Ha! As if she had any to sap.
He sidled closer. Now only scant inches separated them. Rosalyn struggled to breathe. It seemed she was always struggling for breath around Christian, but he always appeared so calm, so in control. Just once she'd like to see him lose that frustrating control. But she didn't know how to make him...
Christian took the box from her nerveless fingers and let it clatter to the floor. Commanding her gaze, he clasped her hand in his and led her to the bed. He pushed her gently down, then joined her. Sliding his hands along her cheeks, he tilted her face and by the sheer force of his will, commanded her to look at him.
Rosalyn swallowed and obeyed.
"You feel what's between us, don't you Rosy?"
Firm, warm lips caressed her cheek, sliding down her neck to taste and nibble. She felt him pause with his lips against her throbbing pulse, as if he wanted to count the beats. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the delicious sensation, trembling.
When he urged her back on the bed, Rosalyn complied with a whimper of assent, lifting her hands to frame his face. Boldly, she guided his mouth to hers, rewarded by his sharp, indrawn breath. This time, she consumed him with a kiss, dominated his mouth, tugging at his bottom lip with her teeth, then soothed the imagined hurt with her moist tongue.
He broke free, his voice ragged. “Do you know what you do to me?” As if to retaliate, he ravaged her mouth, plunging his hot tongue inside a
nd making a mockery of her pitiful attempts to dominate.
Rosalyn pressed against him, returning the kiss with all the yearning and passion inside of her. This was the man she loved, and she loved what he did to her. She loved it when he crushed her hard to his bare chest, loved it when he took the kiss to scandalous depths. And when she felt his hot hand against her thigh beneath her skirt, she loved that, too.
Lost in a world of sensual need, Rosalyn tugged his robe apart and ran feverish hands over his chest, pushing the material out of the way before burying her face against him. She inhaled deeply, fearing she would faint from the sheer pleasure of being so close to his heart. It throbbed against her cheek, and the throbbing buried itself deep in her belly. An ache began there, spurred by the feel of his manhood pressing against her. She trailed her hand down his side, then tentatively sought his hardness. Her curiosity rose to new heights now that she was so close to discovering what made Christian a man.
When her hand touched satiny skin, he stiffened in surprise. In a heartbeat, Rosalyn found herself beneath him, staring up into his blazing eyes. He unbuttoned her blouse with the same fevered urgency in which she'd caressed him, and when she was finally bare to his gaze, he dipped his head and closed his mouth over a quivering nipple.
Rosalyn rose beneath him, gasping as he suckled and nipped gently with his teeth. He moved to cover her fully, placing his hands on her thighs. Slowly, he lifted her skirt high, stroking fire on her skin as he made the path with his hands until there was nothing between their lower bodies but the thin pantalettes she wore.
It was like no barrier at all, she thought as a fresh rush of desire thrummed through her. He was.... there with his hardness, pressing into her as if he would tear through the flimsy material and fuse their bodies. She felt his heat mingling with her own, marveling at how badly she wanted that last barrier gone. She ached for something, and suspected he knew exactly what it was. Instinctively, she opened her legs and pressed upward.
He stilled, slowly lifting his mouth from hers.
Rosalyn was beyond embarrassment. Breathing hard, she ordered, “Don't stop.” She wasn't certain what it was that she didn't want him to stop doing, but sensed his sudden reluctance.
His gaze bore into hers. He was flushed, his tousled hair, still damp from his bath, tumbled over his forehead. “You don't know what you're doing, do you?” he whispered, half amused, half pained.
She didn't hesitate over the answer, smoothing black curls from his brow. “I trust you."
He caught her hand and pressed his hot lips to her palm. She felt his tongue rake her skin in an erotic, velvet touch, and the sensation startled her. Rosalyn jerked and twisted beneath him, so very conscious of the hot throbbing against her most private place.
He groaned and closed his eyes. Cupping her breasts, he buried his face in her heaving softness. “Why?” came his muffled question.
Hot breath scorched her skin. Rosalyn moaned and tangled her fingers in his hair, pressing him closer. She wanted ... she wanted him, all of him, everywhere, always. Just like this, only more, much more. And the words came rushing out, breathless and heartfelt. “Because I love you."
His reaction came slowly. Rosalyn held her breath, trembling with need and aching for him to respond in kind.
He answered with action, rather than words.
Locking his mouth onto hers, he kissed her tenderly. With equal tenderness, he found the top of her pantalettes and began to lower them, pausing to caress her quivering flesh until Rosalyn forgot that he wasn't professing his love. His lips and tongue on her breasts made her wither and moan; his fingers stroked and teased until she was mindless with need. She felt anxious, excited, on edge and didn't know why. Surely Christian sensed it? Surely he would know what to do to end this torture?
Impatient now, she circled his neck with her arms and hugged him hard, bringing her lips to his ear. These words should be whispered, not blurted out. Maybe by whispering she wouldn't sound so ... naive. “What happens next, Christian? I.... I need you..."
His hands came to rest on her hips. With a regretful sigh and a chuckle, he pulled her pantalettes back in place and turned to his side, bringing her with him. Rosalyn frowned, facing him on the bed as he took a deep, shuddering breath. What was so amusing? Was it possible he didn't feel this—this lack of fulfillment, as she did? She saw his gaze drop between them, to her breasts. Following his line of vision, she saw that they glistened from his mouth, her nipples obviously hard and yearning. When he glanced up again, she caught her breath at the hot, lusty passion in his eyes.
Yes, Christian felt the same, she would swear it. Then why did he stop? Did she do something wrong? Say something to make him stop? Biting her lip, she backtracked in her mind, searching for a reason—
"Get dressed."
Rosalyn blinked. Get dressed? Had he lost his mind? “I want—"
"You don't know what you want, Rosy,” he said softly, placing a tender kiss on her nose.
Confused, but still determined, Rosalyn flattened her hand on his chest and slowly trailed it downward, intending to show him she knew exactly what she wanted. Gasping, he quickly stopped the movement, trapping her hand beneath his. His expression both warned and apologized.
"No."
Rosalyn's desire began to cool rapidly as his meaning sank in. He didn't want her, at least not as much as she wanted him. Christian was rejecting her, and she was making a fool of herself. To her mind, there could be no other explanation. From the moment she'd met Christian as Chris Brown, she'd sensed his desire. In fact, he'd made no attempt to hide it from her.
But now he had his damned rubies, which meant that he'd fooled her all along, making her believe he wanted her. Those hot looks and equally sizzling kisses had been a front to get at the rubies.
And now he had them.
How totally foolish she felt, ashamed and brazen.
Rosalyn rolled away from him and came to her feet beside the bed. Her legs wobbled weakly, and she had to forcibly push from her mind the reason behind the weakness. With her back to him, she straightened her clothing and repinned her hair, ignoring her throbbing breasts and the aching emptiness between her thighs. As she stalked across the room, her gaze landed on the box on the floor where Christian had left it as if he hadn't cared about its contents. She snorted and gave the box a hefty kick, watching in satisfaction as it hit the wall with a nice thud.
She yanked her coat from the hook and opened the door without looking back or bothering to shut it. Let him catch his death, the heartless brute. Tears stung her eyes, nearly blinding her as she descended the stairs.
She'd never felt so humiliated in her life.
* * * *
Christian waited until he was certain she was gone before he belted his robe and shut the door. He clicked the lock in place as a precaution, but he didn't think she'd return.
If she did ... he wouldn't be able to send her away again. Even now, his groin throbbed and ached from wanting her. Would she have understood if he'd tried to explain? Frowning, he strode to the small cabinet that housed a fine supply of liquor and poured a splash of brandy in a glass.
Maybe he should have explained how her words of love had influenced his decision not to make love to her. He couldn't go through with it, not after looking into those beautiful, trusting eyes, and knowing that when the sun rose tomorrow she would regret what she'd done.
He loved Rosalyn, and for that reason and that reason alone, he couldn't take her maiden head, along with her self-respect—no matter how much she professed to know what she wanted.
And he couldn't tell her he loved her yet. There were things he had to do before he could feel worthy of loving someone as special as Rosalyn. To have a future with her in this town, he had to make up for what his father had done.
With the brandy in hand, he swung around and fastened his gaze on the box. It lay on its side, one corner dented and scuffed. A slow smile spread across his mouth. Rosalyn had given it a good, so
lid kick on the way out the door, telling him more clearly than words what she thought about his abrupt decision not to bury himself inside her hot, sweet virginal warmth.
Was she thinking that he didn't want her, now that he had the rubies in his possession? He would think so, if the situation was reversed. Since the day they had met, he'd panted after her, letting her know how much he desired her. To turn cold so suddenly, without explanation...
But surely, despite her naivety, she knew he couldn't pretend such passion? Hell, he'd nearly lost control more than once, and he would never forget the enormous amount of willpower it had taken to stop when he did.
He glanced down at his arousal, still in full force and suspecting it would remain so until they could finish what they had started. With a wry chuckle, he decided he'd better keep his distance from Rosalyn until that time came. Just remembering her passion-glazed eyes, and the endearing way she'd strained toward him caused his manhood to jerk in painful response. And her scent ... Closing his eyes, he lifted his hand to his nose and inhaled. Rosalyn's woman's scent, sweet and musky, smelling faintly of honeysuckle. Tantalizing—purely Rosalyn. Another inch, and he would have touched her sweet mound and found her jewel with his fingers. He'd been so close to showing her just how pleasurable lovemaking could be.
Standing in the empty room, Christian experienced a strange occurrence; the ice surrounding his heart had began to thaw, and a pleasant warmth was taking its place. He admitted to himself that this had been happening for some time, yet he'd ignored it. Thief or no thief, Rosalyn was his, and someday soon she would be his wife and his lover, and later on, the mother of his children.
When he was worthy enough, he would tell her.
And then he would show her.
Chapter Seventeen
It Must Not Be Me You Meant To Woo
You Sent Me Away, Now what Shall I do
I Can't Get Over Loving You
That's All I Know...
Christian wasn't surprised to find Royce Tiber sitting alone at the bar. He nodded to himself, glad his instincts had been right. He'd waited until mid-afternoon when most of the bar's patrons had gone back to work after their short break, which Christian had learned was only one of many throughout the day for most of the local businessmen. A few lingered, but thankfully it wasn't anyone Christian recognized.
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