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‘Does Victoria have a particular interest?’
What could he say that wouldn’t alert Sara to how much more to this story there might be? The terrible things he suspected.
‘She seems to.’
Sara nodded. ‘Then I shall make a donation. For her. To help.’
‘Perhaps you might become friends.’
Or perhaps not. Victoria and Sara might be close to the same age, but Victoria had few friends now, seemingly trapped in a world of her own misery. Her only joy appeared to come from her horses, and the other wounded creatures she tried to rescue along the way.
‘I don’t believe I’m supposed to be around long enough.’ Her voice was barely a whisper. What was he thinking? The truth was, he hadn’t been. She flummoxed him, unsettled him, tangled his thoughts when he needed to keep them straight. Sara was short-term. His duty was to save her, set her on her feet and then set her free. Nothing more.
They drove the rest of the way in relative silence, even though he knew Sara had things to say. The way her gaze kept flicking to him. How she nibbled her bottom lip in contemplation.
They arrived at Astill Hall and he parked the car. He couldn’t be around her. Those knowing looks, as if she wanted totalkabout things. He couldn’t deal with that. How would she feel if she discovered he hadn’t protected his own sister?
So, telling Sara he had to go and tend to the horses, he went to the stables. He helped the groom rub them down, made sure they had no injuries. Once he’d satisfied himself, he went to his room, desire for Sara and disgust in himself congealing in a potent morass of emotion he needed to wash away.
He walked into the en suite bathroom and undressed, tossing his clothes on the floor. Turned on the shower, planted his hands on the wall and stood as the hot water rushed down his back. At least they’d raised over ten thousand pounds today. That would help alleviate some suffering. Assuage some guilt.
‘May I join you?’
Her soft voice jolted him from his introspection. He straightened to say something, to say no, even as every part of him became hard and ready for her. Yet his words died in his throat when he turned.
Sara stood in the bathroom, glorious and naked, unruly hair round her shoulders, spilling to the tops of her breasts, her tan nipples beaded and tight, almost begging for his mouth to be on them. She didn’t wait for an answer, stepping under the hot spray, her skin pinking as it splashed her. He should turn the temperature down, but she didn’t complain, and he was too lost in her blue eyes to do anything but stare.
She reached out and ran her hands over his chest. Despite the heat of the water raining down on them, his skin shivered in goosebumps at her gentle touch. He should tell her to go, that he was dirty and he’d make her unclean too. Any moment now he’d say something...
‘It looked rough today.’
‘No more than normal,’ he managed to grind out, though he wasn’t sure she was speaking about his riding.
‘I liked it...watching you. All that control. You were...impressive.’ She looked down at him, erect and aching, the drops of water sparkling like raindrops on her eyelashes. ‘No one could take their eyes from you.’ She licked her lips.
He didn’t give a damn if the whole world had been watching. All he cared about was the female perfection studying him now, as if he were her last meal.
‘Wondering if I would elicit some scandal from the back of one of my ponies is all.’ His voice sounded tight and strained, even to his own ears. She ran her hands over his pectoral muscles and his breathing hitched.
‘Did you hurt yourself?’
He couldn’t say anything as her hand trailed down his abdomen, lower and lower, till he dropped his head back against the tiles. Then she stopped. He wanted to shout out, but all he did was shake his head.
‘I want to check and make sure,’ she said, and right now he’d agree to sign his soul over to the devil so long as she continued to caress every part of him. If he hadn’t done so already, many years before.
She continued the soft touches on his arm, tracing it. Looking for what, he wasn’t sure. A careful inspection of his skin. She placed her hand on his hip and applied enough pressure to tell him she wanted him to turn around. So he did, and she kissed him between his shoulder blades, her tongue licking at the water there before continuing her exploration, running her gentle, questing hands over his back. Down lower. Down each leg, and he knew—heknewshe was on her knees.
He groaned. ‘Sara.’
She stroked over a graze on his hip. Kissed it gently. Kissing him better.
‘Turn round,’ she murmured against his wet skin.
He hesitated for just a heartbeat before he complied. She was on the floor before him, looking up. Hair in wavy ribbons plastered to her body. Skin flushed pink all over. Mascara blurred and smudged. Little rivulets of water running down her face. She licked at one running over her lips and he almost lost himself then and there. Then her eyes left his face, looked at him, aroused in front of her. Took him in hand, and he bucked in her warm, steady fingers. She smiled then, like a siren.
‘I think you like this.’ All he could do was hiss as she tightened her grip and moved her hand like he’d shown her one night, when she’d asked how he enjoyed being touched.
He couldn’t take his eyes from her. Her gaze was intent, her mouth so damned close he wanted to beg, to weep, and then the corners of her lips tilted. She moved closer still. Her mouth opened and her tongue licked the head of him. Then slowly, so slowly, she wrapped her lips round him and took him into her mouth.
