“I don’t regret kissing you,” he intoned. “But I can’t give you what you want, Rose.”
Her brows pleated. “What do you think I want?”
Ben rocked forward and stopped himself from reaching out to touch her.
“A wealthy husband. A society marriage.”
She pressed her eyes closed and released a humorless laugh. “I have that waiting for me in London. IknowI’ll never experience anything as… asrealas what I feel towards you. And you won’t return that feeling, I know—”
Her words were lost as he pressed his lips to hers, his hands cupping her cheeks as she sucked in a breath.
Ben leaned back and met her eyes. “I’m not the prince here to save you from your tower.”
Her tongue flicked out to wet her lower lip and his cock pulsed. “And I’m not a princess asking to be saved.”
Lord, this woman was intoxicating. What magic did she hold over him? Ben leaned another inch closer, then pulled back before giving in, exhaling harshly. He dropped his lips to hers again, measuring restrained kisses, even though his entire body trembled with the need to take her, to prove to her just how much he wanted her. She made him powerless, stripped every bit of control away with one glance of those incredible eyes.
In the low light flickering from the single taper, he kissed her as though she were precious, something to be cherished. Because she was, even if everyone in her life, including him, had made her feel as though she could be discarded.
“Ben,” she mumbled. He grunted, not breaking the gentle glide of his lips against hers. “This isn’t how you kissed me before.”
“Are you going to talk this entire time?”
“Most likely.”
Ben groaned, letting his forehead fall against hers. “God help me. I kissed you like a man possessed the other night. I won’t do that again.” He dropped soft kisses along her temple and cheekbone, unable to stop touching her.
“Why not?”
“I have to be careful with you.”
Rose brought her hands to his chest and pushed enough so she could meet his eyes. “I’m not fragile.”
Ben’s throat tightened, and he released a shuddering breath. Rose was delicate and beautiful and far too perfect for his broken soul. Love had destroyed his mother, his wife and son, and if he wasn’t careful, he would destroy Rose, too.
Her palm pressed against his heart, her touch pulling him from his pestilential thoughts. “I won’t ask for more than you can give.” Her low voice settled over him like a warm blanket. “Your heart will always belong to another, and I promise I won’t make a claim for it.”
She pressed her lips to his, tentatively, like she was asking permission to give him something he didn’t deserve, something he hadn’t earned. But he was too weak to resist; Rose had broken down his defenses.
He dove his hand into the hair at the nape of her neck, meeting the resistance of her braid as his other arm wrapped low around her waist to pull her flush with his chest. A small part of his mind told him a proper gentleman would back away, wouldn’t want to sully her any more than his touch already did. But he couldn’t be a gentleman and never would be. The craving inside him was too strong, too uncontrollable to hold back. So he took selfishly, nipping at her plump lips and delving his tongue into the warmth of her mouth.
Rose gasped, then clutched his shoulders before throwing her arms around his neck, pressing herself to him.
Ben’s hands gripped her bottom, and he ground his hips against her, his arousal pushing into the soft swell of her belly. “Do you feel what you’re doing to me, Rose? I lose all my control with you.”
She whimpered and lifted onto her toes as though seeking more friction. And he would give it to her. He would give her everything.
He released her buttock to grip her skirt, pulling it up so he could take her thigh in hand, lifting until he was pressed against her core. The heat of her, even through layers of clothing, nearly flattened him, made tears build for the sheer pleasure of it.
But it wasn’t enough. He lifted her and turned, placing her rear end onto the edge of the table. Her unfinished bowl of stew rocked, then toppled to the floor, crashing.
Rose gasped and swung toward the mess, but Ben stopped her with a hand on her cheek. “Leave it,” he growled.
“But the tablecloth,” Rose moaned as he nibbled down her throat. “The bowl.”
“I can buy another fucking bowl.” But Rose was fleeting, ephemeral, and could be gone in an instant. He wouldn’t waste a moment.
He stepped between her knees and took the coarse fabric of her skirt in his hand. Her pupils were nearly black, a thin ring of emerald circling them as she watched him lift the skirt, exposing her stockings one glorious inch at a time.
