“Aye, I suppose ye are more of a dreamer than ye care to admit,” he said gruffly. “Beatrice, what ye just heard, it wasnae…”
Beatrice took a tentative step forward and then stopped and shook her head.
“The way ye looked at me,” she said, pulling her shawl tighter around her bare arms. “The way ye touched me?—”
“Beatrice, the world devours fools who build their lives on dreams. I promised ye nothin' but an arrangement. I promised ye survival. Is that nae enough for ye?”
“Survival,” she spat. “As if ye wouldnae toss me to the wolves for yer own sake.”
She spun away from him, but he caught her wrist and drew her back with little resistance.
“Ye think that? Is that why ye’re trembling, Beatrice?” he asked, his hand finding the side of her face, holding her gaze as he drew her even closer.
Beatrice did not answer. Her lips parted on a silent breath. Leo saw the flicker of surrender in her eyes, and the heat of her, of him, of the two of them together sent blood to his groin.
If ye were able to walk away, Beatrice, ye would have done so already.
In an instant, he was lost in her lips, lost in the feel of her curves under his hands.
The yellow light spilling out of the windows illuminated them too conspicuously, so he pushed her backward until her back hit the wall and they were cloaked in the shadows.
Her teeth grazed his neck as she clung helplessly to him, like a sailor clinging to the last pieces of his boat as the sea took it down.
Anythin' ye want from me is yers.
Leo ripped her shawl off her shoulders and threw it to the ground. Then he yanked up her skirts, running his palm over her stomach and raking his fingers through the downy hair between her legs.
She whimpered as he touched her, the sound egging him on. Every tremor, every moan, every reaction he coaxed from her made his desire flare hotter. He was surprised when she returned the gesture, her soft hand cupping his swollen length and stroking it.
She tilted her head back, and he kissed the exposed skin of her neck. Her breasts strained against her bodice, and his teeth grazed over the swell. She gasped as he yanked down her bodice and closed his mouth around her nipple, her breath quickening. Then he slipped a hand between her legs, stroking her wet folds.
Beatrice let out a moan, drowned out by the noise of the celebration. Leo pressed his length against her, overwhelmed by the need to be inside her. He wanted to tear the rest of her clothes off her body and feel her surrender to him.
Ye’d never get out of bed if I had me way. I’d watch ye shudder and moan until we both starved.
“Please, Leo,” she moaned into his ear. “I’m beggin’ ye.”
“Beggin’,” he repeated, loving the sound of the word on her lips.
Her hand slipped beneath his waistband, closing tightly around his length. He let out a deep growl that rattled both of them. He pressed his face into the swell of her breasts to muffle the sound, which only made her quake harder.
Nay, ye cannae do this.
Leo pushed away from her, his chest heaving, his entire body primed and ready to claim her.
Beatrice remained pressed against the wall, gasping, her pupils blown with desire.
“Leo,” she whispered, gulping in air.
Leo raised a hand to keep her at a distance and then walked away back to the Great Hall.
I cannae afford to want ye.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
He took the heat with him when he stepped back from her.
Beatrice was suddenly cold and shaking, where only moments ago, she felt as if she was going to melt.
