Page 21 of Beloved Beast

When Luke talked, she could have sworn he walked out of the nineteenth century. His accent was upper-class BBC English to be sure, and his use of certain words spoke of another age. In truth, it merely added to his appeal.

In spite of the circumstances, the danger, the uncertainness of it all, she was enchanted with him. What could possibly be wrong with seeking a little temporary comfort from a man? Gillian stood. “I think I would like to sleep on it, give it more thought.”

“Understandable. The bedroom is straight down the hall. If you need anything at all—extra blanket, water, whatever—I will be here.”

Gillian turned to leave but stopped. She spun about and met his gaze. “We haven’t kissed,” she said in a voice so soft, she wondered if Luke heard it. He paused then stood and walked toward her. Of course he heard her. With a tender smile, he cupped her cheek with his ungloved hand and the immediate jolt to her senses caused her eyes to widen.

Slowly, he leaned in and his lips grazed across hers, tentatively seeking and exploring. The shock of the contact caused her not to react at first. Instead, she let Luke take the lead. He stepped closer, tilted her head, deepened the kiss, and groaned.

The husky sound of his voice caused her to respond, and she kissed him in return, opening slightly, eager to taste more. Luke needed no further invitation. He plunged in, taking complete possession of her mouth. It had been a long time since a man kissed her. But she could not recall it being like this. She sought out his tongue, but before she could greedily seek out more, he broke the kiss. His look was tense, but his eyes glittered with all manner of emotions she could not hazard to guess at. “Whatever you need, call for me. Whatever you desire.”

The last few words were spoken with a husky whisper, sending a sensual thrill up her spine. With a quick nod, she ventured down the hall, confused, weary, and incredibly aroused.

Chapter 9

Luke started the fire in the hearth, not to give him warmth since he barely felt it, but more to give the room a comforting glow. With a tumbler of scotch in one hand, he settled into his chair and pulled the thick file folder from the bag he brought in from the car.

Apprehension moved through him. What would he find in these papers and notebooks? Perhaps nothing. But as Reed recently pointed out, the advances made in science and technology the last fifty years have been inconceivable. What would the next fifty bring? It was too bad Fred did not follow in Reed’s footsteps and take up the scientific profession. At a point in the future he would have to find someone he could turn to in matters of medicine and science. A person he could trust with his secrets.

For now, other matters were more pressing. Like the war. Luke glanced toward the hallway. And Miss Gillian Browning. Devil’s hell, what made him propose an affair of all things? Taking a sip of scotch, he wondered if he made a serious blunder. An affair spoke of intimacy, one he had not shared with any woman but Glenna.

He tried to remain detached when he proposed the affair, not wanting to act overeager. How does one go about asking a woman to sleep with him? In truth, he handled all this rather ham-fistedly. Cool one minute, hot the next. As usual, his hard-to-contain emotions got the better of him. And the blasted kiss. It exceeded his expectations and stoked his desire. As a result, it took all his inner restraint not to climb the stairs to the bedroom and make love to her all night. All he wanted was to watch the pulse throbbing in her neck, hear her heart banging at a furious pace, taste her skin, all while he brought her to a shattering climax.

Still, he had no trouble staying detached and removed from his emotions when he was Ravenswood. But that was another lifetime. In all his flagrant debauched encounters as the viscount, he never cared for any of the participants. Orgies had been his favorite. Anonymous, no emotion involved, only raw, carnal pleasure. He’d been the worst sort of reprobate. Not caring who he hurt along the way.

When he was re-animated, he had no memory of his past life. It had been a blessing. But fate had other plans. In 1895 while running from the villagers, he and Glenna hid in a hunter’s hut in the woods and his memory came crashing back. Every horrible thing he did. He carried the reminiscences still. He’d made a vow he would never be the man he was before. Suggesting an affair could be a step on a path he no longer wished to travel. But it could be argued he did that already by occasionally seeking out prostitutes.

Frowning, he stared at the flames dancing behind the fireplace screen. It only happened a few times, an act merely to take the edge off his over-amped libido. In truth, he missed the closeness, the intimacy. Loneliness has been his constant companion. He wanted to make love to a woman. He wanted to make love to this particular woman. In essence, he wanted to feel—human.

Already they shared a connection, at least in his eyes. Luke could tell if he had a bond to someone when a mere touch caused actual warmth to spread through him. Holding up the tumbler of scotch, he sighed wistfully. He couldn’t even experience the burning sensation of this alcohol. Yes. Too bloody bad he couldn’t get foxed any longer. After what happened today he certainly would have preferred the numb feeling that accompanied consuming too much alcohol. However, the sensation was merely a distant memory.

Through the decades a few people had broken through his protective, icy wall. Glenna. The one time he embraced his son, Jeffery, by the brook all those years ago. Also, the man who was more of a father to him than the old earl: Patrick Dornan, village vicar. Even thirty years after his passing, Luke missed Patrick’s gentle Irish lilt and compassionate nature. Fred, his nephew and close friend. To a lesser extent, Reed and Clara. The circle was small and growing smaller as the years passed.

In all his dealings with people while working for MI-6 and beyond, he never experienced such a comforting heat with anyone. Until Gillian. He wanted to revel in her luxurious affection, for however briefly. Selfish? Perhaps. Why pass up the opportunity?

“Luke?”

Her soft voice startled him out of his thoughts. He’d been distracted and never heard her enter the parlor. He tucked the file into the bag. “Can’t sleep?”

She stood before him, looking lost in the too-large pajamas. And quite adorable. “My brain is racing. Would you mind terribly if you lay on the bed with me? Until I fall asleep? Or would it be too awkward considering our earlier conversation?”

Taking another mouthful of scotch, he then set the glass on the nearby table. “Not awkward at all.”

“Where were you planning to sleep?”

“On the couch. I don’t sleep much, a few hours here and there. Or there is a cot I can use in one of the other rooms.” He stood and their gazes caught. Without thinking, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. With a gentleness he’d forgotten he possessed, he tucked her in under the blankets then laid on top of the bedding next to her. Gillian immediately rolled on her side and cuddled up next to him, laying her hand flat against his rapidly beating heart.

Luke’s eyes fluttered shut. There. The consoling warmth rolled through him like soft waves cresting against a shoreline.

“You are cool to the touch, yet when I’m near you, all I experience is fiery heat,” Gillian whispered.

With her statement, his eyes snapped open in shock. She felt it, too? The connection was deeper than he originally believed. She caressed his chest, and the warmth spread to his shaft, hardening it. God, he wanted her. He bloody well ached for her. His fingers tunneled through her hair as she laid her head on his shoulder.

“Why were you angry about going to Charlwood?” she asked.

The sudden question caught him off guard. My, she is quite good. Is this how she seduced information out of Kroger? Give a little affection to a lonesome man; slip a question in while he lies in your arms knowing he is content and will automatically give the answer. About to call her out on her latent spy methods, he glanced down at her and read no subterfuge in her earnest look. Gillian’s heartbeat was steady, if a little elevated, nothing to prove she was tricking him.

Unless she was that damned good. Perhaps he’d been in this business far too long, as he harbored deep-seeded trust issues. “A place from my past. Not all the memories are good ones. It is the reason I will have to stay hidden while we are there.” Luke paused, gauging what information to reveal to her. “The home belongs to Fred’s family. He was raised there. I know of it because my wife was a Parker.”