Maurice’s lovemaking had been strong, and when he demanded that daytime sex she’d been excited before he’d entered her, and exploded quickly. He’d always stroked her to more pleasure afterward as if in a kind of payment. She didn’t know why, and had never asked. He’d seemed to enjoy watching her fall into pleasure.
She’d never experienced anything like this, however. Ravished expressed it perfectly. Ravished, razed, and conquered. Aching, burning, and drained, and ashamed about how much she was already grieving the loss of it.
There was no doubt. Lord Warren would never do this to her....
She woke exhausted, parts of her body still sore. She gently touched her nipples and almost flinched. When she tried to move away from him, however, she found he was lying on her hair.
When had it been freed of her plait?
During that other ravishing sometime in the night, as hot, as fierce, as strong as before. Could she walk?
She had to.
The light through the partially open curtains suggested very early morning, but she must be back in her room when her maid came.
She looked back at him and saw his eyes open, watching her. Blank eyes. Guarded eyes. With a suppressed groan she knew she couldn’t let him feel the slightest regret about what had happened. And there wasn’t any. She just didn’t want more at the moment.
Or most of her didn’t want more.
Parts of her were shameless hussies.
“Good morning,” she said softly.
“Is it? Good?”
“It promises to be a lovely day.” But she realized they were going to have to talk about sex. It was not something she had ever imagined doing. She reached up to touch his stubbled cheek. “I fear you must have a low opinion of me this morning.”
By a sudden release of tension, she knew she had found the right words. He moved his rough chin against her hand. “You really enjoyed that?”
“Oh yes. But,” she added quickly, “I couldn’t take more now.”
Too late she realized that the “now” promised things she wasn’t sure about, but she couldn’t retract it.
“I liked it, too,” he said.
She tapped his cheek in playful rebuke. “You like challenge, Lord Vandeimen. How silly that sounds. May I call you Van?”
“Of course. Or,” he added with a grin, “Demon. You called me that a time or two.”
She knew she was coloring. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s one of my names. I’d rather you not call me George.” But his lids had lowered over his eyes.
“What is it?” she asked. “Better to be honest.”
He looked at her. “Was this what you wanted all along? What you’re paying for?”
“No!” Then she calmed herself. “No. I promise.”
But it reminded her why she’d started this, and that he didn’t know the truth. She didn’t want to tell him now, to spoil this strangely beautiful night, but she must. For the sake of the fragile connection between them, she must.
She eased her hair free of him, then laid her hand on his shoulder. “Van, I have to tell you something. I don’t want to, but I must.”
She felt the tension, even though her eyes could not detect it. “Yes?”
“I know your father lost most of his money and shot himself....”
His brows twitched, but he didn’t say anything.
