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"Silk," Damen breathed into her lips. "Hot, flawless silk. God, I want to be inside you." His fingers responded to his command, gliding into her warm wetness, caressing and exploring her, only to emerge, circle the tight bud that throbbed with yearning.
Anastasia whimpered into Damen's open mouth, parting her thighs shamelessly and moving against his hand, unable to get close enough, to deepen his presence in her body fully enough.
Somehow he understood.
His fingers withdrew, then entered her again, only this time they began an unbearable rhythm of plunge and retreat, moving faster and deeper, reaching high inside her, pushing toward that unendurable tightness curled in her very center. At the same time, his thumb found that tight little bud, circled it enticingly, first once, then again and again and again.
Abruptly, bright colors exploded inside Anastasia's head, and her entire body clenched and convulsed, shimmering and shattering into a million fragments of sensation. She tore her mouth from Damen's, burying her face against his shoulder as spasms racked her body. She cried out, the sound muffled by Damen's woolen coat, and he held her as she came apart in his arms, his fingers heightening her pleasure until the final spasm had subsided and she sagged against him, everything inside her melting and sliding away into nothingness.
From a distance, the faint sounds of the bank trickled back into consciousness, and gradually, Anastasia became aware of her surroundings again. Damen was holding her, stroking her back in slow, soothing motions, gently kissing the crown of her hair, his own breath emerging in harsh, shallow rasps.
With a herculean effort, Anastasia raised her head, gazed into the blazing inferno of Damen's eyes. "God," she whispered, her voice as unsteady as her heartbeat. "That was…"
"Inconceivable," Damen supplied, smoothing damp tendrils of hair off her cheeks. "It defied words, surpassed even my wildest fantasies. And it was only the beginning, Stacie. There's more—so much more."
Anastasia heard the strain in his voice and her gaze fell reflexively to his trousers, noting the obviously rigid contours of his body and, despite her innocence, realizing precisely what they meant. "But you…"
"…will survive—at least for the time being." Damen smiled at the stricken expression on her face. "I'm not being selfless, sweetheart. Trust me. I intend to succumb to this relentless craving inside me, to pour myself into you until every last drop of me is spent. But I want more than a few stolen minutes in my office. Once I make you mine…" A profound light flickered in his eyes. "I don't intend to let you go. Not ever. You asked me to tell you about our future. Well, now I will. I'm going to marry you, Anastasia. I'm going to place my ring on your finger and declare my love for you before God and all mankind.
And I'm going to do it the instant this insanity is behind us—after which, nothing and no one is going to stop me."
Tears glistened on Anastasia's lashes. "Have I any say in this new partnership you're describing?" she asked in a small, quavery voice.
"One word. That's all the say you have."
A tremulous smile. "Very well. Then here's that word: yes. Yes to everything you just described. Yes to everything you want but have yet to describe. Yes."
* * *
Chapter 13
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It was the first time George had ever arrived at this filthy establishment before his contact. Then again, he was early. Ordinarily, he kept a close eye on his pocket watch, never riding off to their meeting place one moment sooner than was necessary. But tonight, he hadn't so much as glanced at his timepiece. He'd been too preoccupied with Rouge's message.
It couldn't have come at a better time.
The day had been nerve-racking. After a sleepless night—filled with dark dreams of Anastasia discovering his doctored receipts, then flourishing them before the authorities—he'd been forced to escort her into London, through the doors of Colby and Sons, all the while treating her as if she belonged there. And then, as if that hadn't been enough, he'd been forced to watch the bitch tear his office apart file by file as she immersed herself in his company.
On the heels of that, Bates had arrived.
Of all the days for the fool to find out about the lost cargo, it had to be today. Calming him down, assuring him his identity had been kept secret, never mentioned in the records of the lost shipment, had taken the better part of an hour.
But dealing with Bates had been more aggravating and time-consuming than it had been alarming. George knew the magistrate would never betray him. He enjoyed his position too much. As long as his name stayed unsullied, he'd be cooperative and keep his mouth shut.
What had been alarming was the prospect of Anastasia recognizing Bates, wondering what a magistrate was doing bursting into the office of an import-export company, sputtering on as if he'd lost his last dollar here.
The very thought of the interrogation that would have followed made George's insides clench.
Thankfully, he'd kept Bates well-concealed, and too far away from Anastasia for her to recognize him, especially given the fact that they'd only been introduced once, at Anastasia's coming-out ball, where they'd chatted only long enough for Anastasia to seek the magistrate's financial support in her banking venture.
Still, it was hardly time for self-congratulations. Who knew how many more trips that miserable wretch intended to make to Colby and Sons, how many more visitors she'd glimpse that would give her pause, would make questions crowd her head?
How long would it be before she discovered just a little too much?
Damn, how he wished he could snuff her out like an unwanted candle.
He'd arrived home, waved away dinner, and gone straight to his study and his brandy. He'd yanked out Anne's miniature portrait, gripped it so tightly his knuckles had turned white, and sworn at her as he drank himself into oblivion.
