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Her gaze flew wide.
“That is...it is fine now. You need not tend to me any longer.”
She glanced down, bunched the fabric in one hand and paused for a moment before giving his head one last inspection. “It does appear to have stopped bleeding.”
“Good,” he said gruffly, turning away and forcing his attention to the portrait over the fireplace.
It was of an ancient member of the family but the similarity to Anton was enough to remind him why he should not be entertaining any thoughts other than dashing out of here as quick as his boots could carry him.
“I am sorry you were hurt aiding me.” She leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “But I am grateful for your assistance.”
He twisted again. The innocent kiss shouldn’t have been the undoing of him, but the feel of her soft lips lingered, spreading a slow burning fire that worked through to his fingertips that ignored his command to remain bunched.
Lifting his hand slowly, he silently willed her to rise from the sofa, to send him on his way. She refused to move, not even when his hand came up to cup her cheek. He regretted he wore his gloves, but he wasn’t brave enough to take the time to remove them lest he lose this opportunity.
The heat coursing through his body pounded hard, making the pulse in his ears roar. It propelled him forward, like the surge of a wave. He met her gaze, searched it and looked for the tiniest indication that he should turn back. She gave him nothing.
Nothing except invitation. He heard her sharp intake of breath when he moved closer and pressed his hand to the back of her neck to angle her just so. He moved in slowly, cautiously. Her scent wrapped about him and he felt warmth emanate from her.
Luke dropped a kiss to her lips—gentle and undemanding—almost nothing more than a brief brush of skin. He let air linger between their mouths while their gazes met. He waited a mere heartbeat or two before coming in for more. This time there was nothing gentle nor undemanding from either of them. Cassie released a tiny cry as they clashed, and her hands clawed his shoulders.
He dragged her into his lap, wrapping an arm about her waist, while he held her face firmly, giving him open access to her. His tongue met hers, tasting her deeply. Every inch of him was aflame with need for her and no matter how roughly he kissed her, no matter how many sounds of appreciation she made, he did not think he would get enough.
She cried his name when he dragged his mouth across her jaw and down her neck then back up to capture her lips again. She writhed against him and every part of him ached with need. With the exception of his head, which was entirely forgotten now. Stitches and doctors be damned, all a man needed to get better was a delicious, tempting woman who drove him to the edge of insanity almost every day of her existence.
He broke away at the sound of a creak of floorboards. Who knew how close they were but it was enough to drag him to his senses. He eyed her soft, red mouth and her heavy lids. Nothing would hurt him more than releasing her, not even being nearly strangled by that brute of a man.
She opened her mouth then shut it.
“I cannot keep doing this,” he said.
“You cannot keep doing this?Icannot keep doing this.” She shoved back from him, sliding into the corner of the sofa and wrapping her arms around her legs. “I risk ruination every time.”
He nodded grimly. “I know.”
“Well, there we are agreed. We must stop kissing.”
“We must.”
“I have no desire to—” She paused and put a hand to her mouth.
Desire. What a terrible choice of words to use around him. Desire beat its war drum through him, urging him to grab for her. She threw up her hands as he fisted his own.
He released a disgusted noise. “I am no good for you, Cass. I risk your reputation and your engagement with my selfishness.”
“My engagement?”
“I was informed of it recently.” He shook his head. “Which makes my behavior all the worse.”
She gave a light laugh. “I’m not engaged.”
He scowled. “Your aunt said Anton is in discussion with the Duke of Marsbeck—she inferred it was all practically arranged.”
Cassie shoved up from the sofa and furiously straightened her skirts. “I am not engaged, and I never shall be. I am not ready for marriage!”
Well, that told him he supposed. Any foolish idea of marriage fled his mind. A fine thing really. He’d never considered it before and certainly should not be thinking of it now—at least not to Cassie.
Chapter Sixteen
