CHAPTER TEN
ROSALINDSATCURLED up in a burgundy wingback chair in front of a massive stone fireplace, a book lying on her lap. She could imagine it filled with burning logs in the winter, fire crackling over the wood as thick snowflakes fell outside.
She’d tried, and failed, several times over the morning to focus on work. After realizing she had read the same page of a client profile four times and not retained a single word, she’d shoved the papers into her briefcase and made her way to the library.
Every creak, every little noise, had made her heart pound. She had no idea what she would say to Griffith when she saw him again. She should apologize for her glaring lack of ethics, her unprofessional behavior.
Except she didn’t want to. For so long she had been pushing her own wants and needs to the side. Had thought in the beginning that she needed to keep her attraction to Griffith buried, convinced that giving in to someone like him would only leave her heartbroken, would take her focus off work.
She had told herself to stay away from Griffith on a personal level. To keep her attraction to him in check. But the more she contemplated a future without Nettleton Thompson in it, the more she thought about breaking off and finally going after something she wanted, the less she worried about the professional implications sleeping with Griffith would carry.
And the more she imagined his body on top of hers, what it would feel like to be filled by him, to have him move inside her...
Her skin tingled at the memory of his lips on hers, the way his hands had slid into her hair, exuding strength and yet such exquisite tenderness it overwhelmed her. She’d surrendered without a second thought.
An affair between them wouldn’t lead to marriage. Of that, she had no doubt. They moved in different worlds. He was determined to keep everyone away.
But he obviously found her attractive. What if, she wondered as she closed the book and got up, they could come to some other arrangement?
The idea of an affair, of having a man like Griffith introduce her to sex, excited her. But it wasn’t something to be taken lightly. She’d always thought the first man she’d sleep with would become her husband. This was very much not going to be that.
Taking a moment to let her chaotic thoughts settle, she wandered about, taking in the details of a renovated eighteenth-century library. From the soaring cases fashioned out of dark, gleaming walnut to the windows that stretched up three stories high, it was truly the personal library of her dreams. Luxurious, brown leather chairs were arranged about the room. Two sofas and two love seats, the color of a deep, fine wine, had been placed in the middle of the room on top of a plush Persian rug. The faint scent of wood polish, coupled with the fragrance of old books, was almost a seduction in itself.
Which brought her right back to Griffith. To the glimpses of the man he was beneath his pain. The feelings he stirred inside her. The way he desired her, like she was a craving he couldn’t satisfy. It made her feel beautiful, empowered, alive.
Think this through.
Irritated at her mind’s less than enthusiastic response, she grudgingly trudged back to her room, even though every cell in her body screamed for her to go upstairs and tell him. Ask him to be her first.
She felt no fear. No second thoughts. Only desire.
But was it worth it? Mixing something so intensely personal with the biggest contract of her career? Worth sharing her body with a man she knew she had no future with?
With her nerves on edge and her body unsatisfied, she needed to do something to relax. She had touched herself before. But as one friend had once so depressingly put it, it had been the equivalent of scratching an itch. Short, hurried sessions that had always left her frustrated and feeling vaguely disappointed.
But not tonight. No, tonight she was embracing the passion Griffith had awakened in her.
Slowly, she unzipped her skirt, imagining his hands on the zipper, fingertips grazing her back as the material parted. The skirt pooled at her feet with a sensual whisper of fabric that sent a delicious shiver over her skin, followed a moment later by her shirt. Her hands came up, cupped the weight of her breasts as she closed her eyes and let her head fall back.
What would it be like? To have his hands on her, teasing her, stroking her? Her eyes drifted shut as her fingers grazed over her own nipples, a gentle touch that teased them into hard buds and made her breath catch. Would he be gentle, tender? Or would he take charge, pushing her to the limits of what they could both handle as he dominated her body?
With a languid sensuality winding through her, she moved into the marble bathroom and turned on the claw-foot tub’s hot water. A black end table standing next to the tub offered an assortment of soaps and a bottle of rose-scented bubble bath. As steam drifted up, she poured herself a glass of red wine from the minibar, pulled a plush robe from the closet, and found a box of matches in one of the drawers. Minutes later, she sank beneath the bubbles. A candle flickered on the counter. She’d dimmed the lights, creating a dreamy atmosphere that seduced almost as much as the desire she had finally surrendered to.
She took a fortifying sip of wine before setting the glass down on the window ledge next to the candle. Leaned her head back on the plush pillow at the back of the tub. Then let her arms drift down below the surface of the water. One hand wrapped around her breast, squeezed gently, tugged. The other moved lower, over her belly and down to the apex of her thighs. Her fingers stroked the sensitive skin, up one side and down the other, before lightly resting on her clitoris. She pressed, gasped at the sensation that spread, an electric current that lit up her entire body. Her mouth curved up into a shocked smile as she continued to tease, touch, exploring herself in a way she never had before.
Her passion built. Her hips arched against her own hand. Even as the pleasure spread, too, it made her acutely aware of the ache between her thighs. Images of Griffith filled her head, the thunderous expression on his handsome face before he’d crushed his lips to hers, the way his scent had wrapped around her as he’d kissed her to the point of madness on his desk.
“Oh, God...”
She found her release, stronger than she’d ever experienced before. But the pleasure did nothing to assuage the ache Griffith had stirred in her.
She sighed. Even if Griffith said no, she wasn’t going to head back to London and go in search of a random one-night stand. No, she needed some kind of connection to make that leap. And she sorely feared that, after the incredible desire Griffith had stirred in her, she wasn’t going to find anyone like him ever again. Even someone who could offer her all of the future dreams she eventually wanted.
She breathed in. Exhaled. Thoughts swirled in her head, some louder than others, all of them chaotic and demanding attention.
Through the storm, one constant remained.
She wanted Griffith.
Her thoughts quieted. Peace reigned even as anticipation made her pulse beat faster. She wanted Griffith to be her first lover. She wanted everything she’d experienced these past few days: the excitement, the passion, the tenderness mixed with a primal lust that nearly made her come apart in his arms.
She dried herself off, applied a minimal amount of makeup, and contemplated the dresses in the trunk. What did one wear, she thought with a wry twist of her lips, to ask someone to take her virginity?
Settling on a simple sleeveless black dress with a V-neck that teased a peek of her cleavage and a full skirt that swayed just above her knees, she moved out the door with a confident set to her shoulders. This time, as she climbed the stairs to the third floor and walked down the hall to his office, it wasn’t dread that pounded through her veins. There were no thoughts of contracts or inheritances or promotions.
Only Griffith.
She knocked on the door. A moment passed. She knocked again.
Dimly, she heard footsteps. Then the door swung open. Griffith stared at her. She returned his gaze with one of her own, taking in the tousled hair, the long-sleeved tan shirt and dark pants that followed the lines of his muscular physique.
“Why are you here, Rosalind?”
“Because I want you.”
He blinked. Once, twice.
“What?”
“I want you, Griffith.” Her heart climbed into her throat as she pushed herself to the edge of her limits, reached out with both hands for something she wanted with a desperate passion. “I want you to be my first lover.”
He stepped back, his face contorting with shock. “First?”
She silently cursed herself. “That didn’t come out right.”
“Either you’re a virgin or you’re not, Rosalind?”
Intrigue dripped off every word.
She tilted her chin.
“I am.”
He let out a melodic string of Greek, the harsh sting of his tone making it clear he was cursing.
“A virgin?” he repeated.
“Yes. I understand we’re a rare breed past a certain age, but it does happen.”
He turned away, groaning as he scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Rosalind, I need you to leave.”
“No.” She stepped forward, planted herself in the doorway so he couldn’t slam the door in her face. “I won’t go away unless you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me, too.”
“That’s exactly why you should go away.” He turned on his heel then, stalked back across the room until a mere whisper separated them. “Because I want you. I want you so badly I ache for you. It physically hurts not to touch you.”
Her chest rose and fell, desire twisting and twirling through her veins with such ferocity it made her feel faint.
“Then why not?”
“Because that’s all I can offer you.” He stepped back then. “Physical pleasure. With whatever time you have left here. Nothing more.”
“Did I ask for more?”
His raspy laugh sounded torn from some place deep inside him. “Not now. But a woman like you, Rosalind, you shouldn’t even have to ask. A man should look at you and know that you deserve more than one night. More than a few pieces of jewelry.”
Her lips parted in shock. It meant something that Griffith saw her like that. Despite her insistence that this would only be a physical thing, she knew that she was risking, and would most likely lose, part of her heart to this man. This man so convinced of his own hideousness that he couldn’t see the moments where his humanity shone through.
Was it worth it?
Yes.
“And I want those things. Eventually. A husband. Marriage. Kids. But not right now.”
His hands tightened into fists at his sides. “You know the twisted part about all of this? Just the thought of you being with someone else, sharing your body with another man, makes me want to rip his head off.” He looked away. His sharp profile caught in the light streaming in through the windows. “But I can’t give you any of that, Rosalind. I’m not capable of offering anyone that kind of emotional depth.”
“And I’m not asking for it.”
“You should.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, his fingers tightening on her skin. “You should ask for the world, Rosalind. You should not settle for what you think you can get because you’re stuck out in the middle of nowhere with a man who can’t control his own lust. Look at me.”
He craned his neck to the side so that she could see the full scarring along the side of his face. He grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked down, revealing the continued path of the scars as they snaked down his neck.
“Do you know what my ex-girlfriend said when she first saw me in the hospital? ‘Monstrous.’” He released the collar, let the fabric creep back up over his scars. “And she was right.”
Rosalind stared at him, her heart aching.
“Then she wasn’t the right woman for you.”
Griffith threw back his head and laughed, harsh and grating.
“Obviously.”
“I said it before, and I’ll say it again. There is nothing repulsive about you.”
“Then perhaps you haven’t looked close enough. You said you loved fairy tales. Don’t most of those talk about the beauty within? About the importance of who someone is on the inside?” He moved toward her. “I do not have any beauty within. There is no love in my heart. I am not capable of it.”
“I’m not looking for love. Not with you.”
Did she imagine the flicker in his eyes, the flash of something dark?
“You’re just looking for a quick lay to finally see what sex is all about?”
“Not too quick.”
Instead of lightening the mood, her quip made his eyes turn molten. He swallowed, his hands clenching, unclenching.
Sensing that his resolve was weakening, she moved forward, savoring the burst of feminine power that wound through her as he watched her with carnal hunger.
“I want you to be my first lover. I’ve never felt this way before, Griffith. Never wanted someone like this before.” She stopped in front of him, slowly leaned up on her toes and brushed a kiss against his mouth, felt him shudder even as he kept himself still.
“I need time to think.”
Thrilled that she had at least gotten him to reconsider, she stepped back.
“All right. I’ll be in my room.”
She had almost reached the door when his voice rang out.
“Rosalind.” She turned back. “Could you truly accept an affair? Just an affair? No strings, no emotional attachments?”
She hesitated. There would be no coming back from this. She would be crossing a line, not just professionally but personally. Already she knew there was more to her attraction to Griffith than simple physical lust. She was courting danger, risked her heart, risked everything she had worked her whole life for.
Once she did this, once she gave in to indulgence and put her career on the line, would she ever be able to go back to life as she’d known it?
But I don’t want to go back to how things were.
“I know you make me want. I want things with you I’ve never wanted with another man. I want you so much I...”
Her voice trailed off as self-consciousness chilled her ardor. His eyes darkened.
“You what?”
Be brave. Bold. Confident.
One more moment of hesitation. And then she stepped off the ledge and flung herself into fantasy. She raised her chin. “I touched myself and imagined it was you.”
A growl emanated from his chest, rumbled up his throat as his jaw tightened.
“This is my choice, Griffith. I choose you. I hope you’ll accept that.”
“Mori.”
The word sounded torn from deep within him. And then he was in front of her, sweeping her into his arms as he kissed her with that incredible passion that sent flames licking over her skin and a deep, pulsing need straight to her core.
“I’ll be damned tomorrow.” His voice rumbled against the sensitive skin just below her jaw as he trailed his lips down her neck. “But tonight, Rosalind...” His hand tangled in her hair as it had the first time he’d kissed her, arched her head back and bared her throat to his mouth. He knew just where to kiss, to nip, to drive her wild until she was panting and wet.
“Tonight,” he repeated as he brought his lips back to hers, “you’re mine.”