He stretched out beside her, brought her in close, and she became aware of the hard press of his cock against her belly. “That touch of disappointment that flashed in your eyes... I wanted you to know that I’m raging hard for you.”
She ducked her head. He slipped a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face back up until she met his gaze. “But I promised you’d leave here with your virginity intact. If I remove my trousers, you won’t.”
She offered him a timid smile. After all he’d done,how could she now be shy? Especially when she hadn’t been while all thedoingwas going on. His hair was a mussed fright, some strands sticking up adorably. She’d done that to him. While she had no memory of it, she thought she might have pulled on them in order to get them standing at attention. His shoulders bore the evidence of her clutching him when lost to the throes of passion. Splotchy red marks here and there that she did hope wouldn’t bruise. She even noticed a couple of scratches on his chest. He had driven her wild with abandon.
And now here they were, lying on their sides, calmly facing each other as though nothing momentous had transpired, as if he hadn’t hoisted her to the summit of pleasure, didn’t know the sounds he could wring from her with so little effort. Within his hands, she’d become clay he could mold to his liking.
She trailed a finger down his chest to the waistband at his trousers, incredibly tempted to glide over the cloth. Instead, she moved her finger back up and circled a nipple. “Have you ever been in love?”
She didn’t know how she became aware of his going remarkably still. He hadn’t been moving, simply holding her. Yet, she was acutely cognizant of a subtle tightening in his body.
“Once,” he finally said quietly.
“What happened?”
“My father stole her away.”
Rook shoved himself off the chaise, grabbed the blanket he’d used to cover her that first night, and draped it over her now sitting form, incredibly aware of herpenetrating gaze. He strode over to the sideboard. “What do you fancy?”
“An explanation of how that came about.”
Without turning, he said, “I meant what would you like to drink?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
“Scotch.”
“That’s fine.”
After splashing some into two glasses, he handed her one. “Sit back. Get comfortable.”
Only one end had cushions against which she could lean. The sides and other end were open. Worked well for fucking but hardly suitable for heartfelt conversation.
“You’re going to tell me.” Her tone was both question and command. She scooted back and drew the blanket snugly around her shoulders.
“Not much to tell.” He sat on the edge of the chaise, gulped down a large swallow of the amber liquid, set the glass on the floor, and pulled her feet onto his lap. Gently, he began kneading her delicate arch.
“How old were you?” she asked.
“Twenty-one. Her name was Rachel. She was the daughter of a man who would eventually become a shipping magnate. One of my first investments. Paid off handsomely.”
“Was she the reason you invested?”
She had been. Was that the reason he fought so hard now not to see that a profit could be made with her company, because of his attraction to Nora? His father was in no position to steal her away... but she wasn’t his, had no interest in marriage, or plans to stay, so what did it matter?
“I invested because I could see the potential forprofit.” Not a lie. The prospect for success had been evident, but pleasing Rachel may have borne some influence on his decision.
“I’d been courting her for a few months. My parents were hosting an affair at the country estate. Several days of balls and stag hunting. Mother ensured that Rachel and her family were invited. She knew I intended to ask Rachel for her hand and suggested I do it during the final ball. She would make it very special, with fireworks at the end. And there were fireworks. Just not the ones she’d planned.”
He glanced at her, watching him, so still, as though fearing his words might cause her to shatter. “Do you really want the details?” After all this time, recounting the story shouldn’t be this painful, and yet each word was like a knife slicing across his heart.
“I loved my father, so very much. He was a good man.” She scooted down, her legs bent, her knees pressing against his side. He welcomed the touch of her, the nearness. “I’m baffled by your father’s actions. Why would he not want to see you happy?”
“Because he’s more of a bastard than any of the by-blows he’s responsible for bringing into this world.” He shook his head. “I probably didn’t help matters. Shortly after I arrived, I boasted about my successes, quite full of myself. I thought there might be a scintilla of pride in him regarding my achievements. But there was none. He never took any satisfaction in my accomplishments, not in school, not in sports. Like a fool, I longed to have his approval.”
She cradled her hand against his cheek. “You weren’t a fool. Most children yearn for their parents’ approval.”
“The afternoon before that final ball, a footmanbrought me a message, to meet Father at an empty crofter’s cottage on the estate, a place we sometimes used when we were hunting. I thought nothing of it. I arrived. Didn’t knock. Just walked in. He didn’t even bother to roll off her. Just looked over at me with a triumphant gleam in those dark eyes of his.”
