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‘I want more too,’ she said slowly.
His eyes were suddenly dark and molten.
Yes, she thought.
And then his mouth was on hers and the time for thinking was over.
It was still dark when Charlie woke. Glancing down at Dora’s sleeping body, he felt his breath catch low in his chest. She was curled on her side, her silky blonde hair fanning out over the pillow, her long dark eyelashes fluttering in her sleep. The skin of her cheek felt soft against his chest and, had he not been worried about waking her, he would have reached out and stroked it.
They had finally made it upstairs just after midnight.
There had been a moment, a few nerve-racking seconds, when he had thought the change of scene might change her mind about what they were doing. But as they’d reached the top of the stairs she had turned and kissed him so fiercely that it had felt like the most natural thing in the world to scoop her into his arms and carry her to his room.
His eyes fixed on her lips now, and he felt a beat of excitement pulse beneath his skin at the memory of what had happened both before that and afterwards. She had been so eager and uninhibited. The memory of just how uninhibited was making him painfully hard.
His jaw tightened. He wanted her so badly it was making his teeth ache, but he wasn’t about to wake her. Only neither could he lie next to her feeling like this.
Her arm hung loosely over his stomach and, lifting it carefully, he shifted free. He needed space to breathe, to think. His mouth twisted.
But not to overthink.
Pulling on the shirt and trousers he’d discarded last night, he made his way downstairs, drawn irresistibly to the library and to the traces of their encounter.
In an hour, his staff would start to rise, but for now he had the house to himself. And he needed that. Needed some distance between himself and the beautiful woman lying in his bed.
He blew out a breath, cooling his mind. There had been plenty of beautiful women in various beds on multiple occasions. But not his bed.
Why was she in his bed?
His eyes scanned the book-lined walls. The library was cool and quiet; he found it difficult to believe that just a few hours ago he’d had sex with her in this room, on that sofa. Not once, but three times.
Three times.
So why was she in his bed?
But it was no easier to answer that question the second time than it had been the first. All he knew was that this ‘more’ was apparently an endless pit of need and desire that he had never felt for anyone. However intriguing he’d thought a woman, he’d always found that sex solved the mystery.
So what was it about Dora that left so many questions unanswered?
Glancing over to the armchair, he thought back to the moment he’d found her. She had been upset over what he’d said about meeting his sisters. But of course what was really upsetting her was losing her own sister.
He gritted his teeth. Had he known how close they were? No, not really. Della had been a very private person, and they had never had much to do with one another—perhaps consciously on her part.
He did know that she had been exceptionally good at her job, and up until he had learned about her affair with his father he had liked and respected her quiet professionalism.
But from what Dora had told him last night she had been more than just a sibling to her younger sister. A lot more.
Hands tightening into fists, he stood up abruptly and walked to his study. The report was still on his desk and, picking it up, he flicked through it.
It was ironic. He had been so determined to find out some damaging facts that he had completely failed to notice the most important fact of all: her parents had abandoned her.
Nobody’s daughter.
That was what she had called herself.
His chest felt leaden. His parents were flawed, but they had stuck around—not left him to be raised by an older sibling. At that age, could he have done what Della had done? What Dora was now doing?
Inside his head, he played back a fragment of last night’s conversation—something about Della working hard so that Dora could follow her dream.
