27. Chapter 27 #2
“Zeke said, ‘I hear tell Biddington’s a crack shot,’ and, ‘Sorry mate, but Lady Constance did agree to the dance.’ Then he suggested Dillon turn his attentions elsewhere. ‘No use getting your head blown off over a fickle female.’” Sterling’s Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed, hard.
“And what did you say?” she asked gently.
He met her gaze. “I said, ‘Honor demands it. Call him out.’”
“You were only a boy.”
“I was a man.”
“Barely. You said so yourself. And you did not issue the challenge. That was on him.”
“I egged him on,” he argued.
Deep understanding laced with sadness swamped Annabelle. How much weight her husband carried on his broad shoulders. Little wonder he had embraced his role as the “overprotective” big brother. He’d seen, firsthand, the consequences of ill-conceived action.
But in his grief, he’d confused one crucial element. “He would have done so no matter what you advised.”
“You do not know that.”
“He was the ringleader, Sterling, and older than you. The responsibility and the choice were both his. He did what he wanted to do.”
He looked past her, brows furrowing, and she could see him considering her words.
But then his gaze hardened, as his demons refused to cede ground.
“When he died, when he drew his last breath, I suddenly comprehended the fragility of life. In that instant, I learned that no woman is worth a bullet in the chest. Especially not a feckless, flighty hoyden with looks to spare and not a genuine bone in her body.”
“I know,” she said. “Like me.”
His gaze snapped to her. “No, not like you,” he argued.
But they both knew that was not true. “A little like me?”
“No, damn it. There’s more to you.”
He pounded his fist on the mattress in a rhythmic beat, nostrils flaring, as he seemingly searched his mind for the words to convince her.
But then, his expression changed. Grew pensive.
“I’ve always blamed her for what happened.
I never once thought of it the way you did—that she was merely playing the hand life dealt her. Maybe there’s more to her, as well.”
She cupped his cheek and urged him to face her again. “Maybe. Maybe not. We are all individuals, are we not? Some of us are better than others.”
He covered her hand with his. “Some of us are far worse. I think you know that.”
She frowned, uncertain what he meant by that. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“I’m sure I am,” he said, his tone belligerent. But the look in his eyes bespoke old pain, and she could not find it in her to be annoyed.
“I know one thing, Sterling: what happened on that dawn field was not your fault.”
“You know that, do you?”
“Beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
A tiny smile played at his broad mouth. “You see? One of your hidden traits. Compassion.”
Her heart seemed to swell to a size too large for her chest. She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It’s not compassion, it’s the truth. It wasn’t your fault.” She kissed the opposite corner.
She’d only meant to comfort him, but something was happening to her, inside and out. An intoxicating warmth pooled low in her belly, and her nipples had gone taut. And like before, the place between her legs thrummed, and she could swear, grew damp.
He had not mentioned the odd and embarrassing phenomenon the first time. She could only assume he was being kind, or, better still, that he had not noticed. Would that he not notice, again.
She kissed a trail to his ear, then, on impulse, nipped his earlobe.
He groaned, tightened his arms around her, and lifted his head, his mouth seeking and finding hers for a voracious kiss.
His hunger thrilled her, making the blood in her veins sing.
“I want you,” he breathed against her lips, “but it’s too soon. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“No, I…want you, too. Please, make love to me.”
“Annabelle.” Her name was like a prayer on his lips. He shifted their weight, edging her onto her side, turning onto his so they faced each other. Wedging one powerful knee between her thighs, the hand he’d freed coursed over her back, her waist, her hips.
“So soft.”
Then his fingers slid down to stroke over her curls.
“Oh, no,” she said on a gasp, squeezing her thighs to prevent him from touching her there.
It was almost as humiliating as when he heard her sing.
She ducked her face into his neck. “I’m terribly sorry, but it seems…
I’m almost certain I’m wet. Down…there,” she finished on a squeak, pointing to the offending area.
The next thing she knew, he was shaking.
She drew back to eye him, then glared.
He was laughing. The blackguard was laughing. She reached for the first thing she could grasp—a pillow—and swung it at his head.
He blocked it, easily, the cur, still wearing a blinding smile. “Darling, that’s…Someone should have talked with you about what happens between a man and a woman.”
Her cheeks burned. “I would have died had anyone dared, and I’d rather not discuss it now.”
An indulgent grin curved his mouth. “Very well. At the very least, allow me to tell you that this,” he slid his fingers into her apex before she could react to stop him, and pleasure shafted through her.
“This moisture means I’m doing something right,” he finished gruffly, insinuating one long finger into her.
His thumb found that particularly sensitive spot from before and circled, slowly, slowly.
Her breath stuttered in her lungs, and though still mortified by her messiness, and not entirely convinced he spoke the truth, the wanton in her had her parting her legs to invite more of his touch.
He loosed a shuddering breath. “You like this?”
She nodded, closing her eyes as the sensual need inside her built.
He pressed her onto her back and his lips sealed over one of her nipples, suckling her, while his clever fingers played, twisting her insides, tighter, tighter, like an overwound spring ready to soar.
Abruptly, the tension reached a tipping point, and pleasure burst through her like the sun burning through a cloud. She heard moaning, realizing it was coming from her, only when Sterling covered her mouth with his, swallowing her cries.
When he’d wrung every last ounce of the exquisite sensation from her, he eased himself on top of her.
Her thighs fell open in helpless invitation. She locked eyes with him, watching him in wonder as he guided himself to her opening and slowly sank himself inside of her.
The pinch from last time did not recur. There was pressure, but it was…exactly right. Him, filling her, his weight pressing her into his lush mattress. Nothing had ever felt more right than Sterling’s steady, relentless invasion.
Tears stung her eyes as happiness, unlike anything she’d ever known, overtook her. She reached for him, wrapping him in her arms and legs, needing to hold him to her, to draw him closer.
He choked in a breath, and his control seemingly snapped. His hips drove into her, deeper, faster. In another moment, he groaned, set his jaw, and reclaimed his rhythm. “Not this time, Minx,” he murmured, before kissing her tenderly. So tenderly her heart threatened to burst.
“Sterling, Sterling,” she all but sobbed. Because the heat inside her, the tension, was building with each glide of his hips. “I feel…I need…” She shifted, she arched, she squeezed.
He groaned. Gritted his teeth. Claimed her. Again. Again.
She clung to him, wanting nothing to separate them, not even air. “Please,” she begged, uncertain what she was asking for but certain he would know.
And then, more pleasure unfurled. Sparkling, glittering, like a dozen shooting stars. She cried his name, as her body shuddered and quaked in dizzying release.
Her undoing seemed to spark his own. He arched up, gasping, grinding into her, and calling forth another burst of unimaginable delight.
And then he collapsed atop her, breathing hard. They lay still, locked together in the most intimate manner possible.
The closeness wasn’t real, of course. The happiness she felt would be every bit as fleeting as the intoxicating sensations he’d coaxed from her body. She knew as well as anyone that people ultimately pursued their own best interests. For now, theirs were aligned.
So long as her needs did not clash with his, so long as he found her beauty and allure entertaining, they would do well together.
For now, it was enough.