Page 154 of A Perilous Passion

But she went anyway.

He made room for her on the bed and opened his arms to her.

Madness.

She shouldn’t let him touch her. He was a danger to her in more ways than she could say.

He didn’t mean what he’d said about marriage. It was just the nostrum speaking. And even if he did mean it, Rafe was an earl. She was the daughter of a felon. A match between them was utterly impossible.

But, oh, how she wished it weren’t!

“I just want to hold you,” he said softly. “Nothing more. I have an injury, remember? I need to keep my leg still.”

So, she relented, and lay gently against him, on top of the covers, and settled her head into the valley between his shoulder and his neck. She felt a soft kiss on the top of her head.

This was the best pillow she’d ever nestled into—warm, firm, and inviting—and when his arm came round to cradle her shoulder, it felt safe, as well. His gentle breathing lulled her, and the stillness of his body soothed her. She felt cherished, and that was just as powerful as feeling desired. More so, especially by a man as sturdy, as admirable, and as perfect as Rafe.

Yes, perfect.

She snuggled closer, and his fingers caressed her arm. She felt another soft kiss on the top of her head, a gesture of affection that kindled her heart. Evidently, he was happy just to hold her.

But…was she?

What would it feel like to steal an arm across the tempting rise of his chest? Unbidden, her hand began to move.

“Have pity on me, Charlotte, and be still,” he said with a groan. “You cannot know how difficult it is for me to restrain myself with you.”

“Actually, I believe I do,” she murmured back, smiling. She laid her arm across the muscled landscape of his chest and tucked her hand into his side.

Sighing deeply, he turned a little toward her. “And this is how it begins. So easily. Holding you was definitely not one of my better ideas.”

She was starting to think it was actually a rather good one.

Her fingers twitched, longing to explore the smooth planes and angles of his chest, the rippling muscle of his abdomen, the heated skin beneath the rough linen of the nightshirt. Once again, she felt that tug of excitement deep in her womb that she’d only ever felt with Rafe. Her body yearned to enfold his.

She rolled toward him, pressing her hips against his side, and her leg came up over his bared shin. She wanted to melt into him as if they were one and the same being.

It seemed a simple embrace might well be beyond them. His body drew hers like a magnet. Lifting her head, she looked into melting brown eyes lit with reflected light from the fire. She examined his beautifully sculpted mouth, with the little quirks at the corners, and brushed a finger across them.

“Charlotte, you must go,” he whispered. “Now.”

No, he wasn’t perfect. Alluring, enticing, yes. And devilishly handsome, too. But far too confident in his own judgment.

What about her feelings? What about what she wanted?

She said, “I don’t like being told what to do.”

She continued stroking his full lower lip and caressed both corners of his tempting mouth. When he caught her finger between his teeth and bit down gently, she gasped in surprise.

He was bold and unpredictable. It made her feel alive in his presence.

However, his bravery and unpredictability had almost led to disastrous consequences. It was madness for him to jump onto an armed peer’s carriage in hopes of catching him with traitorous documents. It was madness for him to attend a masked ball just to see her.

And it was madness for both of them to think they could lie together on a bed, and be able to resist temptation.

She’d thought Rafe wandering in his wits when he first tumbled her over in the sand—and since then, he hadn’t done much to allay that impression.

He needed someone to prevent him being his own worst enemy.