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“We must stop,” she whispered.
He grinned at her like a madman. “No, we mustn’t. I want you right here, right now, and nothing is going to stop me.”
“Will,” she groaned. “You know that there is a possibility that—” Damn the man for cutting her off with a passionate kiss. She wanted desperately to let go of her inhibitions but that would be so wrong. One of them had to remain strong.
This time, he pulled away and whispered in her ear, “You are not my sister.”
“We don’t know that.”
He kissed her ear again, sending a new arrangement of shivers down her back. “My father was in Russia for six months that year.”
Elizabeth pulled away and stared up at him. “How do you know this?”
Will yanked her back to him. “I am starting to truly appreciate what Somerton can do.”
She pushed against his chest. “You are certain?”
“I have never been more certain of anything. The timing is right. There is no way my father could have been with your mother unless you were three months late or three months early.”
Elizabeth held him back for a moment longer, gazing at him, loving the look of desire in his eyes. They didn’t have to wait.
“I want you, too,” she whispered. “Right here, right now.”
Will growled softly and pulled her against him. He tore at the chemise until it ripped. As it dropped to the floor, Elizabeth wrenched his linen
shirt out from his trousers and over his head. She wanted him as naked as she was, and she wanted it now. While she worked at the buttons of his trousers, he kissed her neck, then her shoulder, until finally he moved her hands and forced open the buttons.
He leaned her back on the desk until she was laying on it. Before she could protest, his mouth moved to her nipple. She arched upward as the heat of his mouth scalded her with desire. Moisture pooled between her thighs as his tongue raked her. On the edge of the desk, he split her thighs with his hips. He actually meant to do this here, she thought mindlessly.
Feeling his shaft at her entrance, she waited for the decadent pressure of him filling her. In one swift move, he pulled her toward him, thrusting himself into her depths. She watched as he stopped as if attempting to gain control. But she didn’t want control, she wanted passion.
She moved against him, sliding her hips up and down on him until he groaned. He grabbed her hips and thrust into her swiftly. Each plunge sent her higher, moaning in pleasure. Suddenly she realized it wasn’t just her groaning. The desk moved and groaned with the driving force of their desire.
“Will, the desk—” she managed, just as its legs gave out.
Will grabbed her with a laugh as the desk crashed to the floor, and brought her to the bed. “Damn, that’s a first.”
Back on the softness of the bed, they clung to each other. Desire giving way to pressure, and pressure giving way to a shattering climax as she’d never experienced before. She cried out his name as he shook from his own pleasure. He rested on top of her, their hearts pounding in unison, their breathing uneven.
Slowly, he lifted his head and kissed her softly on the lips. She stared into his brown eyes and knew without a doubt that she loved him. But the words wouldn’t come forth.
Will glanced away first as if uncomfortable with the intimacy of their embrace. Then, he started to chuckle.
Elizabeth looked where his gaze had landed. Her old desk lay in pieces on the floor. But something caught her eye. She had only kept a few papers in the desk, nothing of importance. Yet, there in the rubble of the oak was a leather-bound book.
“Will, what is that book?” she asked softly.
“I assumed it was one of your novels or poetry books,” he answered with a shrug. Slowly, he moved off her and grabbed a cloth for them both. After cleaning up, he walked over to the remains of the desk and picked up the book.
He turned with a smile and held up the volume. “I believe this might be what you have been looking for.”
“My mother’s diary!” Elizabeth sat up, pulling the coverlet with her. “Let me see it.”
He tossed it onto her lap and crawled back into bed with her.
Elizabeth touched the book with loving fingers. This was it. Her mother’s journal. “How?” she whispered.
“The secret panel must have been in your desk all along.”
