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Oh. “I am not sure I can wait a full hour for you to tell me why you went through so much to bring me here.”
“Maybe I wanted to show you just a bit of what you would be giving up. You would be mistress of all you survey.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “You know I have no interest in your wealth.”
A smile touched his lips.
Then another bout of terrible silence. They stood in the library simply staring at each other. Shadows of torment lingered in his eyes, and he tugged at the cravat at his throat. The nervous gesture made her heart ache.
“I would love to dine with you, Mikhail.”
His eyes were cold, his expression icy. “I thank you.”
So formal…so distant. Was now the time to tell him she loved him and wanted to be his wife? “Mikhail, I—”
“I will see you at seven.”
“Please wait.”
He fisted his hands at his side and then faced her. The powerful emotions in his eyes made her heart flip, but in a good way. “Tell me, please, why did you bring me here?”
“I am not able to let you go.”
Was he saying he loved her?
His eyes never strayed from her face. “I already have all the wealth and connections I could possibly want. I do not need a marriage to provide me with more. I want a marriage with a woman who respects me, trusts me, desires me, and above all, loves me.”
“I do,” she said, walking toward him. “I love you.”
For a heart-wrenching moment he did nothing. There was no reaction from his body or his eyes. And it petrified Payton. “Do you love me?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his voice.
Sweet relief crashed through her, but there was a dark edge in his tone, and her heart squeezed in discomfort and slight fear. “You do not seem happy at the realization.”
Without speaking he thumbed the latch on the door and leaned against the wooden frame. His penetrating stare never wavered. “I know I adore you. The utter wonder of meeting you and knowing you have taken a piece of my heart, although I’ve only known you for seven days, has not escaped me. I do not need seven weeks or seven years to know you are the woman for me, Payton. I know it now. I see it in your smiles, your kisses, the passion and joy you find in the simple pleasures of life. What I see I admire, and I can only grow to love and appreciate you more. And it is because I feel such a need for you, I would prefer to release you rather than bind you to a life of pain and unhappiness.”
Fear, cold and dreadful, slithered through her, alarming in its extremity. “I do not fear your world.” She pushed past the lump in her throat. “The doubts are still there, and they may never leave, but I do not care. I want what you want, Mikhail. I want to be your lover, your friend, the woman you turn to when your nights are cold with nightmares, when you want to share a humorous anecdote, the person you turn to when you are angry and simply need to moan, the woman you want to have children with. I would desire this with you, even if you were a simple farmer. I want to marry you, and if I falter in the privileged world in which we will live, then I will make use of the power in the titles you so generously bestow.”
“And if I never allow your touch?”
She flinched subtly, and his eyes sharpened.
“I do not believe it will be so.”
He pushed from the door and slowly shrugged out of his jacket, then his waistcoat and shirt. She remained speechless as he removed his trousers, his unmentionables, and shoes, until he stood gloriously naked. Her breath caught at the sight of him, and her pulse started to hammer.
Payton closed her eyes for precious seconds and then snapped them open. Mikhail was still standing there, his body perfectly chiseled, with an arrogant tilt of his head. But his eyes… Oh, they glowed with fear, determination, lust, and love.
He prowled over to where she stood rooted, all sinewy grace and power.
“I submit myself to your touch,” he said, his voice darker than the shades of midnight and sin.
His meaning rocketed through her. No, her mind screamed even as she lifted a finger and glided it over the hardened flesh of his chest with the lightest of caresses.
What if he allowed her touch and realized he could never want such intimacy with her?
“Touch me,” he invited.
She pressed firmer, and he sucked in a breath on a sharp hiss, and she dropped her hands.
Payton lifted her eyes to his. “You honor me with such trust, Mikhail, but it is not needed. I can see the torment in your gaze, and it would ravage me to cause you more pain. I will marry you, and I will be patient, because I believe in the trust and love you have in me, and we will eventually entwine ourselves around each other and shout from the joy and relief of sliding skin against skin. But it will not be this day…and I am content.”
A shudder passed through him, and he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “I need to know I can bear your touch, even if only for a few minutes. I feel no hope, and I cannot suffer to see the pain in your eyes when I flinch from you. It is dull now, but it will only grow, until you start to hate me, until you will be forced to turn to another for something I can never give you.”
She gasped. “This is what you believe of me?”
“No…I can see the woman you are. I see your strength and honor, and the capability for love and forgiveness. But I would not bind us together with even the possibility that I may never be able to bear your touch.” He crouched with an animalistic grace and swiped his cravat from the parquet floor.
“Bind me…touch me.”
Bind him? The idea was so deliciously shocking and wicked, a pulse of wanton heat throbbed between her folds.
He strolled and sank into the chair by the fire, and he was so beautiful he took Payton’s breath.
The trust he placed in her was enormous; it humbled her and filled her with fierce pride and love. He was doing this for her. Facing the demons of nightmares past because he did not want to see her unhappy.
She would treasure such a trust.
Acting on instincts she began to remove her clothes, strolling over to him and accepting his aid to remove her laces and buttons. Then she, too, was unashamedly naked. A pleased smile curved her lips as his heavy-lidded gaze of appreciation roamed over her body. She purred deep in her throat as the thick length of his erection flexed eagerly.
The broad width of the high winged-back chair made
it impossible to bind his hands behind him. Instead, she rent her shift and used the strips to tie each of his hands to the armchair. Payton was very conscious that with each touch, he tensed, and he visibly forced himself to relax.
She leaned in, her breast close to his mouth and whispered, “If you want me to stop…call me Myrtle.” His brow lifted, and she straightened and dipped into a slight curtsy. “Miss Payton Myrtle Peppiwell at your command, my prince.”
His fingers gripped the arm of the chair, a growl bursting free of his mouth. “Touch me,” he urged, blue fire of need sparking in his eyes. “Take me.”
And God help her, she did, desperately wanting to experience the sweet burn of him sliding into her, possessing her body and heart, and knowing he bore her touch…even if it was fleeting.
Mikhail trembled when she pressed the flat of her palm against his chest right above his pounding heart, the first such direct contact in years.
Payton’s touch was fire and ice.
Pain and pleasure.
Dread and exquisite torment.
Myrtle.
From the amusement twisting her lips, no doubt she believed it was an unattractive name. But everything about her captivated Mikhail. He flinched, and she froze. Yet when she removed her palm he felt bereft.
“Use your lips on me.” The command snapped from him almost against his own volition, but he had imagined too many times how the flick of her tongue would feel.
She leaned forward and licked the very place her hand had been resting. Fire streaked through him, and his stomach roiled.
He gritted his teeth, tipping back his head as memories of dozens of hands pinched and whipped his skin, biting and licking, forcing him to feel pleasure from their depravity.
“Look at me.” Her calm soothing voice was a relief, and he snapped his eyes opened, directing his sole attention to Payton.
The hum of memory receded, and all he could see was her.
“Do not look away from me,” she said softly, her eyes devouring him.
The pleasure she took in looking at him sent a thrill shooting through his heart.
“I want to kiss you.”
“Yes,” he growled.
