Chapter 5
She wasn’t finishing her thought. Why wasn’t she finishing her thought?
Damn. The air was thick between them. He could hardly take in a breath, never mind a deep enough inhale to regain his senses.
And he could feel the arousal emitting from her.
Her damn fingers need move just a few inches further down and she’d sense his longing.
“Lucinda—”
“I think the bleeding has stopped. But I should probably get this dried blood off of you.” She wet a few cloths and gently cleaned his skin, her featherlight touches setting him ablaze. By the time she was done, his cock was as hard as granite.
And his voice came out all gravelly when he tried her name on his tongue one more time, just because it felt so good. “Lucinda…are you done?”
Their eyes met. Something passed between them. Something long. Something hard. Something they could not make sense of.
Without another word, she took his hand and led him up the stairs. When he stepped into her room, she backed herself up against the door. Closed it. Locked it. One of her hands pressed to the door, unsure.
After a beat passed, she turned to him. “No, Damien. I’m not done.” He dropped the wadded up ball of clothes he had been holding in his hands. Ready for her. Whatever she was about to do. He’d be ready for her.
It took a few steps, but then her palms were on his chest, and he knew she was going to kiss him. He wanted her to kiss him. He wanted her to want to kiss him, so he waited, letting her make the move.
His hands found her waist and squeezed, reassuringly.
His thumbs made small circles on her stomach.
Watching her eyes fly shut was erotic enough it made him want to burst in his breeches.
What would it be like to see her fully come on him?
He gripped her harder, stealing himself. Girding his resolve. He could wait.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
She flew back from him, covering her mouth.
“Lucy? Did you want to have dinner this evening?” A woman’s voice called out.
And Damien knew the moment was gone.
Unless he did something about it.
He latched his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. “Don’t go,” he whispered the words as if they were a kiss against her ear.
It took a second. Or maybe a minute. Or perhaps even a few. He would never know. But then she spoke in a rushed tone. “I-I-I’m not hungry, Mirabelle. The smoke drained me. Thank you.”
“I’ll have cook leave some food for you later then.”
The footsteps padded away, and Damien could feel his heart pounding against her chest. What was it about her that he needed so desperately? He had never felt such longing for anyone before.
“Why didn’t you go?”
Her eyes were locked on his, wild. Hungry. “I don’t know.”
“What do you want from me, Lucy?” And it was like she melted when he said her name. Melted away from him. Caught her breath. Took a step back.
“I don’t know, Damien.”
“Be honest with yourself, Lucy. With me.”
She took a deep breath, then rolled her shoulders back, and widened her stance slightly. “I’m writing a book.”
Well…that was not what he was expecting to hear. There was a plethora of options his ears had been attuned to hear in answer to what she wanted: You. A kiss. Pleasure. To bed you.
Any combination or variation of the above was expected. Writing a book? Wouldn’t have even made the top fifty.
But he could see in her eyes that this meant something, and he wanted to know what it was.
“What kind of book?”
“A…a novel about a woman’s…experiences.”
Knowing this had everything to do with him, he swallowed the lump in his throat, and asked the question anyway, “What does that have to do with me?”
She stepped toward him and lowered her voice.
“You can give me…experiences.” Her hand lifted, as if she were going to touch him again—where he was longing for it, which really, was anywhere on his body—but then she dropped it.
“Without any commitment, of course. Neither of us wants anything beyond this.”
And that’s when it hit him. Really, it should have slammed into him much earlier if only he hadn’t been thinking with his cock.
“You’re a virgin.”
“Yes.” She was neither affronted nor shy about it. “I am. But I’d like to change that.”
“I can’t.” He stepped back, putting some much needed space between them. He certainly had experience, but he was not the kind of man to deflower a virgin. It was a line he wouldn’t cross.
“Why?”
And all the reasons he had ever given to himself flew from his mind and hid under the bed. Apropos.
“I can’t. You don’t know what you’re asking.”
Fire flared up in her eyes. “I don’t know what I’m asking?” she repeated back to him.
“No.” He stepped back again, but this time his legs hit the bed, under which all reason was hiding.
“I don’t know what I’m asking?” She repeated again—mockingly—moving even closer. This time, she unbuttoned her frock so that the side opened up.
Dear God in Heaven, what had he gotten himself into?
He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He would never—
The frock dropped to the floor.
“I’m twenty-nine years old, Damien. I think I know my own mind.”
Her chemise sunk into the pile of sin.
“Mirabelle, will hear us.”
“I’ll be quiet.”
“See? That’s how little you know—”
“I said—” she covered his mouth with her hand “—I’ll be quiet.” And she was.
Until she wasn’t.