“Repeat what we did last night,” is what emerges.
James slowly straightens from where he was placing our plates into the dishwasher. Gripping the thick mahogany brown work surface, he seems to be holding himself back.
I wait. And wait.
“I showed you the antiques in the snug,” he replies eventually and my stomach, full of the food he made me as it is, plummets.
When he meets my gaze I know. For sure. It’s full of so much heat I might spontaneously combust. I have no need for clothes, even in a snowstorm, when his green eyes are hotter than the sun.
He deliberately misunderstood what I said.
This is his way of keeping his distance, despite what he thinks I didn’t hear last night as my orgasm overtook me.
My love.
This is going to be a fight to get him to accept that what is between us is not only inevitable, it’s right.
“Sure.” I nod innocently. “I’d love to seeeverything.”
He pins me with a look that says,Behave.
Nope. No way.
I’m not letting him go.
Exploring the castle takes all morning. It’s huge, yes, but I linger over each room. I ask him where he got every piece of furniture, and listen to each story of whether it came with the castle, he had an interior designer acquire it, bought it at an auction, or from an antiques dealer. I imagine going with him to those places and finding new things, because some of the rooms are a bit sparse. Lifeless.
I tell him he needs a cat and he agrees.
Pushing my luck, I suggest a dog too, and he nods again.
He has this whole life and I want to wrap myself up in it, pretending he’s showing me and agreeing to my suggestion of pets to gain my approval, because I’m going to stay with him here. Always.
I try to tempt James. I honestly have no idea what I’m doing, so it’s mainly drawing attention to my body and beds. By placing myself on said beds. Both of which he assiduously does not look at or touch.
His hand hovers at my back frequently, an inch from me but sometimes brushing my baggy jumper. His gaze never dips below my mouth.
But he has a hard-on. I can tell, because I have no such qualms; I don’t look away from his body. I see him adjusting his jeans when he thinks I’m examining a painting, and on the way out of one of the bedrooms I swear he palms his cock.
The sight melts me like a dusting of snow dripping from a tree branch in bright sunlight.
When we get to the tenth bedroom I hear him groan as I exclaim eagerly and throw myself onto the bed. This is a four-poster, all rich velvet drapes and dark wood.
“So comfortable,” I say, then take the direct approach. “Come and lie down here with me. Please?”
I think he’s going to protest and stay away as he has every other time I’ve said he should try this bed, or see the view from where I am. Apparently, all I needed to do was tell him unequivocally, because although with visible reluctance, he not only comes within reach, he actually lies down on the coverlet opposite me.
I’m gleeful until I see his tortured expression.
Even then, I’m certain I can manage.
“Don’t.” He almost smiles but it’s so sad, I’m stopped in my tracks.
“Please?”
“You don’t have to. I’ll help you and care for you without that, mo chridhe.”
I open my mouth to say I wish I hadthatand everything else.
