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THIRTY-ONE
Just as he should not have joined her on the sofa earlier that afternoon, Stan knew it was a bad idea to stretch out on the bed beside Alethia as he read aloud to her. But the chair was uncomfortable and the bed was huge...and when he asked her if he might sit closer to her...
Her eyes had lit up as she chirped, "Please do," before she plumped up the pillows for him, patting the spot where she wished him to sit.
No, Stan did not have the fortitude to deny her. Especially when the bed was wide enough to keep a proper distance between them.
Well, until she began to grow drowsy, and cuddle up to him, as she had on the couch. Even with a layer of blankets between them – blankets she lay beneath, while he'd stretched out atop them – the warmth and softness of her body against his was intoxicating, heating him from the inside out, like he'd drunk an entire barrel of good Scottish whisky.
If he'd stolen Alethia as his bride instead of Carline, and he'd spent their first day wooing her instead of resisting her, he knew their first night in bed together would not have ended with a barrier of blankets between them. No, he'd have coaxed Alethia out of her flimsy pyjamas, stroked her all over, then rid himself of his borrowed trousers before plunging deep inside her. For this woman would welcome his attentions, if the way he'd wrapped her legs around his was any indication.
Perhaps she sought such closeness because she was cold. If he could but start a fire in the grate to warm the room, then she would behave less like a wanton and more like the lady he'd promised to protect. Only there was no grate, or anywhere suitable to light a fire.
There must be some technological marvel that heated the room, if he only knew where to look, for while the weather in Western Australia was warmer than what he'd known in Scotland, the winters could still be cold. A sensible man, or at least one whose cock was not growing uncomfortably hard at the proximity of the beautiful woman wrapped around his leg, would wake her and ask.
He would then obey her instructions so that he might heat the room, while she returned to her side of the bed and he vacated the room entirely, leaving temptation behind him as she slipped back into slumber.
Whereas a demon, one of hell's wickedest denizens, would take all that she offered, and push for more. He'd seduce her, drinking her pleasure as he satisfied his own, until she had no desire to banish him from her bed, let alone send him back to hell. Instead of begging, he should have...
No. He was neither demon nor sensible man, but a lost soul who still hoped to attain heaven, where surely Carline waited for him. Which meant the pleasures of Alethia's body were not for him. All he was allowed to do was protect her, and protect her he would.
He turned toward her, instead of away, coaxing his wings into the world where they might be most useful. One slid beneath her, cupping her body and the blankets to keep all the warmth in, while the other fanned out on top of her and her coverings, enclosing Alethia like the precious pearl she was. His arms he kept ruthlessly fastened to his sides, no matter how much he wanted to reach for her.
Thank God and the devil that demons did not sleep or dream, or he would likely have surrendered to his desire in the night, and done the unthinkable. As it was, he could only lay beside her, and found that the unthinkable made for very pleasant thoughts indeed.
At least with his wings around her, no other man could get near her, he told himself.
"Mine," he growled at anyone who even thought to take her from him.
