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“Not yet.” He leads me to the far wall, right next to the large stone fireplace, and I realize with a tightening in my stomach exactly what he’s doing.
It only takes him a moment to find the stone that serves as the latch to the hidden door. He presses against the wall, and the secret hallway opens up in front of us.
I guess that answers my question about whether anyone knew these passages existed.
There’s an amused look on his face. “Pretty awesome, huh? Remember what I said about this place having a bunch of secrets?”
I nod, trying to make sense of how I feel about this sudden reveal. “Though I guess they aren’t so ‘secret’ anymore.”
“They’re secret enough.” He pulls me into the dark hallway. “The only reason I found them was because I was repairing a bookcase in one of the upstairs studies and I accidentally hit the spring that opens the door. These passages didn’t even make it on to the blueprints for this place, believe it or not. I can only imagine the trouble those Cunninghams were getting up to.”
I flinch at the mention of my family’s name. I don’t want to know what Ward thinks my family was up to. I don’t want to talk about my family at all right now.
“What is it?” he says. He pulls the hidden door shut behind us, closing us off to the rest of the world and plunging us into darkness.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. I don’t want to be having this conversation right now. I want something else.
Before he can ask me again, I grab him by the front of the shirt and pull his mouth down to mine. He warms quickly to the kiss.
And then he’s leading me, backing me up against the passage wall. I clasp my hands behind his neck and try to draw him closer—as close as his sling will allow—though we’re pressed so tightly against each other now that there’s nothing left to do but melt into each other.
He’s just as ravenous as he was last night, and my body reacts with the same fire it did before. I’m startled by the sense of relief that floods through me at that realization; I guess a part of me was afraid that it was just the moon and the wine and the anger that made us behave like wild animals last time. That we were both reacting to some crazy thing deep within ourselves, and not responding to each other.
Now I know. My lips burn. My skin feels alive. This isn’t in my mind. This is Ward—his mouth, his hands, his hard body smashed against my own. The wall of the passage is at my back, cold and hard and unforgiving, but it’s the solid man in front of me that has the true power. My body feels like it might turn to mush, dissolve into a million tiny bits of sensation. Let him tear me apart. Let him hold me together.
He tugs the bottom edge of my blouse out of my skirt and slides his good hand beneath the fabric and up over my belly. His fingers slip beneath the cup of my bra, gliding over the curve of my breast. I moan against his mouth, and he sucks my bottom lip between his teeth. I drop my hands to his waist and sneak them beneath the hem of his T-shirt. My hands move over his back, my nails trailing lightly across his skin, and I feel his muscles tremor beneath my touch.
His knee presses between my legs, and my core throbs in response. My nipples are hard points, and he tugs at one with his thumb and forefinger. At the same time, his face moves to my ear, and a shiver moves through me as he closes his lips around my earlobe.
“Please say you have a condom,” I whisper into the darkness.
He gives a low laugh, his breath washing over my ear. “I don’t know what you think I’ve been doing in the ten hours since the last time we were in this situation, but I haven’t had a chance to get to the store yet.”
I groan. “Tease. You shouldn’t be touching me like this if you aren’t prepared.”
He laughs again, and it’s a deep, throaty sound. “You started it.”
He captures my mouth again, and I can’t do anything but obey the command of his lips. He continues to push my thighs apart with his knee, spreading them as far as my skirt will let them go. I move my hands from his back down to his butt, pulling him harder against me.
He smells of sweat and grass. It’s more intoxicating than I could have imagined. My mind is becoming fuzzier by the minute, and I’m wondering if that buzz I felt last night had anything to do with the wine at all. I feel just as drunk right now.
I reach for his belt. He moans and pulls back slightly, letting me loosen the buckle, but the minute I have it open, he reaches down and grabs my hand.
“We shouldn’t get carried away,” he says.
“Do you really want to stop?”
His hand loosens, and I reach for his fly. He doesn’t argue when I slide his jeans down. In fact, he’s already sliding my skirt up.
“You’re dangerous,” he says against my mouth.
“I’m a crazy bitch, remember?”
“You might be crazy,” he murmurs, “but I don’t believe you’re a bitch.”
Maybe bitch isn’t the right word. Maybe I should say train wreck. Or coward. Or even narcissist. But I don’t have the presence of mind to argue with him right now. He doesn’t seem to be up for much of a discussion either. His fingers slide against my underwear, and I spread my thighs. I want him inside of me.
He’s still wearing his boxers, but I intend to fix that. But as I reach for his underwear, he grabs my hand again.
“Are you on birth control?” he asks.
His grip on my hand is firm, and I know I can’t just press against him and change his mind this time. For the briefest of moments, I consider lying, but in spite of the screaming urges of my body, I’m not the kind of girl who’d ever trick a guy that way.
“No,” I whisper.
He lets out a long breath and drops my hand. Still he stands over me, keeping me pinned against the wall, and I can feel the tension in every muscle of his body. He wants this as badly as I do, fights against the same overwhelming urges. His pelvis is locked against mine, and I can feel the throbbing length of his arousal against me, separated only by our respective undergarments. Just two thin layers of cotton.
He groans, dropping his head over my shoulder. His nose buries itself in my hair while his lips brush lightly against my neck. I wrap my arms around his back, over the shirt this time. I don’t trust myself to touch his bare skin and be able to control myself.
“You aren’t making this very easy,” I say, my voice shaky.
He chuckles, and I can feel the vibrations of the sound in my own body. His injured arm is still pressed awkwardly between us, but above that, where our chests touch, I can feel the rapid pulse of his heart.
