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Her voice cracked and against all better judgement he leaned over and hauled her into his arms, wrapping them tight round her. She melted in his embrace, snuggling into him. He felt the warm drip of tears on his shoulder as her face nestled into his neck.
It felt right,perfect, but impossible all the same. This was a test, his penance. The price he had to pay for his past failures. Having her in his arms, but not being able tohaveher in the way he desired. Keeping her safe until she found her way, found her feet and left him.
Why did the thought cause something feral to howl inside him?
‘Let me torment your family for you.’
‘Can you do that?’ Her voice was clogged and thick with tears.
‘I’m an expert.’ He’d made his parents pay for their failings. It was the least he could do for her.
‘If you’re asking my permission, I’m giving it to you.’ She laughed then, a real sound of pleasure, her breath tickling against his neck. He shut his eyes, relishing the sensation of holding her close, the warmth of her against his bare skin. Her left hand was splayed on his shoulder, the scent of her surrounding him, light, bright and floral. His body began hardening, a pulse of desire beating hard, memories of her lips and tongue and panting breaths as she came apart in his hands flooding his mind.
She’d sense his arousal and he didn’t want her to feel he couldn’t control himself. Lance angled his body and placed her gently down on the bed next to him. Laid out on the covers, her golden hair spilled across the dark sheets, glowing pale and ethereal under the low lights.
‘You should go to bed. Dream about your family suffering for their sins.’
He had a choice. To do what was right or what hecraved. The problem was, in his life he mixed with those who were like himself—hedonists who knew what they wanted and took it without thinking because everyone around them wanted the same thing. Yet he had a greater responsibility. No matter how much he might want and want and want, his job here wasn’t to take from this woman. She stared at him, eyes tracing his face. Lying there, bundled in her soft and fluffy robe, she looked all too innocent.
How he wished he could be innocent again, like her, with the belief that he was in some way a good man. But he was who he was.
Then she licked her lips and the movement punched at the heart of him. A blistering heat flooded his veins, encouraging the pleasure-seeking side of him to take Sara, make her moan. She raised her arms above her head and arched like a cat basking in the sunshine of his worshipful gaze. Almost an invitation to touch. What he wouldn’t give to stroke her, make her purr again. Then her lips parted, her voice a breathy whisper.
‘What if I want to stay?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
LANCEWASTRANSFORMEDwhen she said those words. He froze, not moving at all, as if he were made from ice. When he’d laid her on the bed next to him she’d hoped for something—another searing kiss perhaps? At least something to make her forget. Her family’s censure hurt, cutting to the deepest bone and sinew of her. It seemed that so long as she sat down, shut up and did what she was told, they might deign to love her. Heaven help her, wanting something for herself.
But ending up in Lance’s arms again? The heat of his touch, his strength...it had coursed through her like molten gold, blistering and precious. And after denying herself time and time again throughout her life, a voice in her head had whispered,Why not?
Today what she’d experienced had made her forgeteverything. There had been no pain, no expectation, and she wanted to experience those magical moments of being with him again and again. They were both adults, why couldn’t they do this? Yet he made no move to touch her again.
The sheet had slipped to hug his narrow hips, the soft light of the bedside lamp highlighting the shadow-play on his sculpted torso. A body she wanted to trace with her fingertips until they both lost themselves in the glory of the sensation. Still, Lance only stared down at her as if she were an aberration in his bed, not a regular kind of occurrence, as the tabloids would have her believe. His pupils were dark, expressionless. He could have been carved from marble the way he lay on his side, propped on one arm. And realisation dawned. He didn’t want her. Not really. Just like Ferdinand. That was why he’d made no move, despite her invitation.
Sara grabbed the front of her robe, clutching the edges together. There was no point making a fool of herself twice in one day. ‘Okay. Right. I see.’ She’d leave. They’d never speak of this again. She’d go back to her room, curl in her bed and die of embarrassment. She made to sit up.
‘Sara.’ Lance reached out a hand to cup her cheek, his palm hot against her skin. She stopped, lay back down. A tiny muscle in his jaw pulsed. ‘Be sure of what you’re asking me.’
She swallowed. A few words and there’d be no turning back. ‘I am.’
The corner of his mouth kicked up a fraction. ‘I’m not talking about sleeping.’
‘Neither am I.’
‘Good.’ The word was a whisper against her lips as his mouth drifted across hers in an impossibly gentle kiss. When he pulled away, she rose to meet him.
‘Patience. We have all night, and I intend to make use of every second of it to make you scream my name. Loudly, and repeatedly.’
She trembled at the thought of a whole night in his bed, in his arms. Lance undid the tie on her robe, opened the soft fabric that had become too hot. What she wore underneath wasn’t seductive, practical sleep shorts and a top, because all the sheer nightwear she’d been presented with didn’t seem like something you’d actually sleep in, more like something to model and then discard. She hadn’t seen the point to it then, but she did now.
Except he looked at her with unalloyed hunger, reaching out a fingertip to circle a nipple pressing hard and aching against the soft fabric of her top. She closed her eyes and arched back into the bright burn of his hand, her breath coming in short, sharp pants.
‘So responsive,’ he murmured. ‘A gift for me to unwrap.’
He slipped his hand under the shoulder of her robe and peeled it from her body, stroking down her back, easing into her shorts and cupping her backside, pulling her flush against him. Her hands roamed against the hardness of his chest, the dusting of hair prickling against her fingertips. He pinched her nipple with his free hand and rolled it between his fingers. She gasped, arching into him.
‘You like that. What else might you enjoy for me?’
