“You’ve seen my bare feet,” he said. “Shouldn’t I see yours?”
“You saw mine last night.” Had it only been one night since she’d made the bargain with this devil?
“I haven’t seen them in bed.”
“They don’t look any different.”
“Then why be shy about it?”
She felt as though he’d led her into a trap.
“Loosen your hold on the covers. I won’t hurt you.”
“And if I don’t loosen them?”
He slammed his eyes closed, then slowly opened them. “I won’t hurt you then either.”
“Finally, a question you didn’t neatly sidestep.” Swallowing hard, she slowly, slowly unfurled her fingers.
He wanted her flat on her back, with her legs spread. He wanted to be buried deeply inside her, thrusting, thrusting, until the pleasure carried away the pain of memory. He’d almost told her everything, the dark secrets that he’d never shared with anyone, that he’d begun carrying with him since he was ten. He’d accumulated more over the years, each one weightier than the one that came before.
But if he told her, she’d choose the rookeries over him. She would know the blackness that was his soul, the horrors that haunted him, the desperation that had once filled him with dread.
Now that desperation was turned toward her. He’d never wanted a woman as he wanted her. If only some of her innocence could wash over him, but it was more likely that his darkness would rub off on her. He hated the thought of touching her, of destroying the light in her eyes, but he hated more the thought of never possessing her.
He waited, his patience barely tethered until her fingers were no longer clutching the blankets. Then ever so gradually, he dragged the covers down. The cotton of the nightdress hid her well. He was having a new nightdress sewn for her, one that wouldn’t leave much to his imagination. The blankets reached her waist and slid down to reveal her hips.
She didn’t avert her gaze, but he saw the silent challenge there. She wanted him to stop. He almost did. But he would take her in the dark. Without gentleness, without care. Without the tenderness she deserved. He would hate himself afterward, but he’d long ago learned how to live with hating himself.
He eased the blankets over the small lumps that were her knees. Just a little farther—
He lifted his eyes up to hers, surprised to find her watching him so intently. Her obstinacy, her anger were gone. Now she appeared curious and fighting to draw in breath.
“Do you desire me?” she rasped.
“Very much.”
“Because I’m a woman.”
“Obviously. I don’t generally go about desiring men.”
She rolled her eyes. “I meant it’s simply because I’m a woman. It wouldn’t matter who was here.”
If only that were true. But it did matter. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, it mattered that it was her. “I could have been with any woman tonight. Instead, I’m here.”
“So you must like me a little.”
He could have told her that he didn’t have to like her to desire her. He could have told her to stop asking so many bloody questions. Instead, he told her the truth. “I like you more than is good for either of us.”
And then because he knew another question was on the tip of her tongue and he didn’t want to have to deal with whatever it was, he pulled the blankets down all the way, revealing her tiny perfect feet. Yanking them back, she raised her knees and covered them with her nightdress.
“Want me to remove your nightdress next, do you?”
Her eyes widened. “No! Absolutely not.”
Drawing the cloth taut at her ankles, she bared her feet. Not a callus to be seen. He imagined the rest of her would look as smooth and silky. He desperately wanted to wrap his hand around her foot and skim his fingers over her ankle, her calf, her knee. He wanted to unbraid her hair, press a kiss to the pulse at her throat, begin unfastening those infuriating buttons.
But he knew she would stiffen, and he wanted her pliable. “You do know what happens between a man and a woman.”
