“You can.” His voice vibrated against her. “Let go for me.”
The command broke her.
The climax tore through her in a wave so intense she lost the room entirely. Her back arched, her hands clenched in his hair, and his name left her mouth again and again as pleasure pulsed through her, hot and shattering and endless. Rowan held her through it, mouth gentling, fingers slowing, drawing every last trembling aftershock from her until she collapsed back against the bed, boneless and stunned.
For a long moment, there was only the fire, her breathing, and the feel of his hands smoothing slowly over her thighs.
Then Rowan rose over her.
His mouth was wet. His eyes were almost black.
He looked undone.
Emmeline reached for him without thinking, and he braced himself above her with one hand beside her head. She touched his face, thumb brushing his lower lip, and watched his eyes close for one brief, tortured second.
“Stay,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes and something flickered there.
He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with the taste of her still on his tongue, and she shuddered beneath him at the raw intimacy of it. His body was hard against her thigh, his restraint brutal and shaking.
But when she reached for him, his hand caught her wrist gently. Then he pressed his mouth to her forehead, so tenderly that it hurt more than avoidance.
“Sleep. You deserve rest,” he said.
She nodded, too softened by pleasure and warmth to argue, and let herself fall back against the pillows as he settled beside her.
His body remained tense, his restraint still there beneath every breath, but he stayed close enough for his heat to wrap around her, and for tonight, with her skin still trembling and his kiss still lingering on her mouth, that was enough.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Do not be foolish,” Emmeline whispered to herself, though the ache in her chest did not listen.
Rowan’s side of the bed was empty.
She lay still beneath the heavy coverlet as pale morning light slipped through the curtains and touched the rumpled sheets, making last night return in pieces sharp enough to steal her breath. His mouth on her throat. His hands at her waist. The dark weight of his gaze as he had knelt before her.
Her skin warmed at the memory before she could stop it.
Then her gaze returned to the empty space beside her, and the warmth thinned.
Rowan knew how to leave without leaving. He had made an art of it. Still, after the way he had held her, after the way he had settled beside her, she had permitted herself one foolish hope:that morning might find him there. That he might wake beside her, look at her without the darkness of a ballroom or the excuse of desire between them, and say something that belonged to daylight.
Instead, there was only the impression of him in the sheets.
Emmeline sat up slowly, gathering the coverlet against her chemise. Her hair had fallen loose over one shoulder, her body still tender in secret places, and it made her feel both cherished and abandoned. She reached for her discarded gown and froze.
A folded note lay upon the bedside table. Her heart gave a small, humiliating leap as she took it quickly, then forced herself to slow before unfolding it.
Emmeline,
Urgent business called me away before you woke. Do not mistake my absence for regret.
I meant what I said last night.
You were beautiful.
-R.
