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She was not his blasting woman, by the way!
Second, she did not come down for breakfast when he did, hindering him from seeing her. Why it had been so important to see her, he could not fathom, which made him order the servants to let her rest. Clearly, she went back to her chambers for appearances’ sake. The fact got him even more bad-tempered. To the devil with appearances!
Third, his day dragged on as if it lasted a century. He looked at his pocket watch every five minutes expecting the hour to have gone by, concentration nowhere to be found. Now that he came home at last, he had this wrenching need to see her, then kiss her, then spread her on his bed again and… Goddamn it!
“Is Miss Kendall home?” he asked Dawson drily while he pulled off his gloves impatiently.
If that had not been the most excruciatingly delicious night of his life, he did not know what it was. Otilia surprised him with an open, free sensuality he would never have conceived in a woman, even less in an inexperienced woman. Together with a scalding surrender, and that generosity only the pure at heart possessed. He had wanted to take her a dozen more times, in a dozen more ways before the night expired. He was careful that she did not become too sore during her first incursion into sensual pleasures. Though she had been pliant in his arms and expressed the will for more. Oh, he would give her more, much more. Everything his stamina allowed.
As soon as he found her.
“Downstairs with the kitten, my lord.” The butler draped Edmund’s coat over his arm.
His guts were burning to cinders, and the siren sat serenely with the cat? Was she not bursting with desire, too? Did she not stay home counting the minutes for his return? Reliving, remembering their scorching night.
How was it even possible to want her more than last night? He should be feeling…eased, not tense. His body should be appeased, not heated. The realisation must have given him pause. It did not. Because all he could think of was to repeat the night. Hundreds of times. Thousands.
With single-minded purpose, he clattered down to the kitchens, shoved the door and stopped dead.
His siren sat on the bench, the little black fiend on her arm, her head bent to it with the most tender look in her beautiful eyes. Her delicate fingers caressed the soft fur. The feline had gained weight and grown in the last few days under her care. She gave all her attention to the furry ball, oblivious to the pandemonium in the place. Pans boiled, the cook bustled around with wooden spoons, sieves and other kitchen paraphernalia, aided by the scullery maids. Dinner was in preparation, no doubt.
Everything disappeared from his focus.
Something happened in the spot where his heart ought to be. Swelled, warmed, unbalanced. The scene made him think of home again as it usually did these days. As if he was coming home t
o her, to a family, to a nurturing retreat. Soft and receptive. None of it real, he knew. Not the sheer delight the sight of her afforded him. Not the cravings it induced. And certainly not the images it evoked in his deranged head.
“Otilia,” he called gruffly.
She gave signs she did not hear him. This listed as another first. Not a single woman ignored him before. Him, the Earl! With a title, or without, they noticed him with invariable monotony. The fact she did not have her attention at the ready chafed and corroded his polished arrogance.
Those images in his deranged head must vanish. There were duties, plans, roles to see to here. A simple woman must not divert him. This would be temporary, and well it should. He would strive to excise her from his system, his blood, in order to move on once and for all. Build his future as the new Earl, consolidate his power and his resources, build alliances, increase his assets.
“Otilia,” he uttered again.
She snapped her head up, and their gazes embraced. Her beauty hit him like a cannonball at close range, merely to spread heat, craving, and intensity in his blood. His already boiling blood. He got this uncontrollable impulse to go to her, take her in his arms. Hold her, then undress her, then take her here, at this moment. Her presence disintegrated any sense he still held in him, any rationality, any clear thought. What had been going through his head evaporated. Why the blasting hell would he think of the future if he had this, now, her? His house transformed into a home, his body transformed into a keen meteorite, and his emotions transformed into a mess?
“Oh, Edmund,” she breathed, and his name on her sin-inducing lips became a weapon of temptation, of conflagration. Pure war on his strong will.
“Come,” he ordered, and the pleating of her delicate brows showed she did not like it. He was damned if he would not take that taunting streak of hers and morph it into moans and screams.
With care, she placed the kitten on its makeshift bed—a wooden box with old linens.
Before he did anything meant for privacy in front of his kitchen staff, he turned and left the kitchen. Fortunately, he heard her steps behind him.
In the deserted hall, he turned, laced her by her slim waist, and pressed her against the back of a column. He slanted his mouth on hers. At last. A muffled sound came from her throat as she opened for him and he found clemency. He kissed her as if he had been months in a solitary cell. With urgency, avidity. Insanity. His body crushed against hers, he angled his head, widened their mouths and plundered deeper. Her hands merged in his hair, fuelling him in this madness.
This was not happening. This starvation. This out-of-control act. He had been with her only this morning for pity’s sake! It must be a sort of personality swap because he did not feel like himself.
“You left me alone in my bed,” he growled on her mouth, before returning to ransack her cavity.
“I had to,” she murmured when he gave her a chance.
“I needed you. Still do.” The wild kiss continued as he ground his extreme erection in her. She responded by gluing her hips to him breathlessly.
“You think I do not?” Her smothered reply set more fire to his loins.
He forced himself to lift his head and look at her in the dim niche. Their breaths seesawing, he held her face, her hands on his shoulders. This woman who gave him kiss after kiss, fire after fire was going to be the perdition of him. And his redemption.
