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Because shewasasking. Her unspoken request was as sure as any siren’s call. And although she wasn’t full of confidence and sensual experience like his previous bedfellows, she was so much more devastating than any of them.
‘No.’
‘No, what?’
‘Marit,’ he growled, the warning there in the depth and rumble of his voice. ‘This is not a game.’
‘I didn’t think it was.’
‘Then hear me when I say,absolutely not.’
Her eyes glinted in the low lighting, their food untouched, their drinks discarded.
‘Tell me I’m wrong.’
‘About what?’
‘Tell me that you don’t feel it. The attraction between us.’
He cursed. ‘Of course I do. But that doesn’t mean I have to act on it.’
‘But what if I want to?’
‘Consent works both ways, Princess.’
She reared back as if struck. ‘You are accusing me of forcing myself on you?’
‘No!’ His harsh word cut through the softer ambience of the room. ‘But I am not agreeing to this.’
She looked up at him, her eyes glistening, and for just a moment he thought her lip trembled, until the shutters came down and she nodded. ‘Okay.’ The word fell between them like a surrender and when she looked back up at him a mask was in place and it cut him deeper than he’d expected.
‘Lykos, thank you for an enjoyable evening,’ she said, ‘but I am quite tired. It must have been the flight from Milan. And I didn’t sleep well last...’ her words trailed off, leaving memories of his migraine, of the way she’d unbuttoned his shirt, of the heat of her palms against his body to fill the space between them ‘...last night. If you wouldn’t mind, I really would like to return to your house so that I can rest.’
A stubborn part of him wanted to refuse her request. Because it was wrong. Because he hadn’t done this right. Because she’d asked for a date, her first and perhaps only ‘date’ before she married a stranger, and he’d failed. He’d given her an evening that had ended in disappointment and hurt feelings and he didn’t like it. But neither would he force her to stay. He had denied her once already—he couldn’t do it again.
He nodded finally and stood from the table. He held his hand out to her more from habit than intent, and he couldn’t fault her for refusing it as she swept from the room as regal as any queen. The car ride back to Knightsbridge was just as bad. A silence that nudged and jolted his conscience every time the car turned or stopped at a set of lights. She was so quiet he couldn’t hear her breathe and it was only the whiteness of the knuckles on her fisted hands that showed any kind of emotion.
He wanted to explain. He wanted to comfort her. But what use were his words when he wouldn’t act on them? Far better for her to think him an unfeeling bastard than to admit...what? That he feared touching her? That kissing her would be his downfall? Because, in truth, he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to ever let her go? That it wasn’t her that he was trying to protect, but himself?
He cursed out loud and she flinched, but before he could apologise they pulled up beside his home and, without waiting for the driver, Marit slipped from the car and out into the night. He took his time getting out of the car, in the hope that he could control himself before he did something drastic like reach for her and draw her to him. The thought put images into his mind that began to unravel his willpower.
She was waiting by the front door and he had to reach around her to place his thumb on the security pad of the house. The sound of the lock releasing cut into the night and Marit pushed at the door to escape him. She was halfway to the staircase by the time he closed the door behind him. He couldn’t leave it like this. He couldn’t let her go thinking... He cursed. He couldn’t even imagine what she was thinking. He needed to let her go.
‘Marit.’
The word erupted unbidden from his lips, stopping her dead in her tracks, but she refused to turn to look at him. He wanted to make sure she was okay, he needed to see that she was.
He closed the distance between them, his hungry gaze raking over the dress that clung to her skin. His eyes swept down her back as his hands wanted to do and snagged on the way the material clung to her hips, the curve of her backside, the tops of her thighs... His gaze flicked back up to shoulders that were stiff with tension and cut to hands that were fisted.
‘Marit.’ This time her name was a plea as he caught her wrist and turned her to him, instantly regretting it the moment he saw the tears gathered in her eyes.
He reached up to cup her jaw, his thumb gently grazing her cheekbone, sweeping up to snare the lone tear that had fallen as she’d closed her eyes to prevent him from seeing her pain. Angry words and hot demands he could deflect and reject, but the hurt, the pain he’d seen glittering there? It was the final blow to his defences and he knew in that moment that he would lay himself bare for her and still be there when she walked away from him.
Her eyelashes glistened with unshed tears as she prised them open to cast him with such a look that he felt turned to stone.
‘What can I do?’ he demanded, his voice ragged and full of gravel, bringing his other hand up to frame her face.
She speared her bottom lip with her teeth and, unable to help himself, his thumb dropped to her lips and gently prised it free from its ivory cage. She raised her eyes to his and placed her hand on his wrist at the side of her face to hold him to her when he might pull away.
