Chapter Fifteen #3
The image of Leone Teres, her perfect, plump, even lips settling into a smug smirk rose in her mind.
Right.
This was about her.
Wouldn’t want his new bride’s papa finding out the man was anything less than the perfect, proper gentleman—in the most goyishe sense of the word—he pretended to be.
Especially not with someone like her.
She folded her good arm over her chest. “I thought we were never going to speak of that?”
He stared for a moment. “I’m not sure that’s wise anymore.”
Like hell it wasn’t.
As she’d told him, discovery of their mutual mistake held far greater consequences for her.
Consequences she could not afford. They would destroy all her hard-won respect, the life she’d spent so many years building.
It might not be much to the likes of him, but it was all she had—all that made her herself.
“What would you like me to say?” she asked.
“Not you, me,” he told her in that irritatingly serious, almost patronizing tone. “As I said before, I want to apolo—”
Rage flooded her senses, robbing her ability to hear, let alone think. Now she was the one marching up to him.
“If you apologize for fucking me, I will leave this house immediately, snow or no snow,” she told him, poking a finger into his chest. “I enjoyed it, am no worse for the wear, and don’t regret it in the slightest.”
“Neither do I,” he said, but instead of leaving things there, he paused and frowned once more. “But what I said after was—”
“Perfectly reasonable,” she finished, annoyance shaking her voice. “Marriage and sexual intercourse are ideally linked, but not always, and it’s clear that only the latter was appropriate for us.”
Which was true and logical.
Yet the man still appeared nonplussed. “Still, I could have said it—”
“I don’t require eloquence.” She inhaled, reaching for their previous banter, despite the situation and the odd ache beneath her breast. “Though I’d have been impressed if you’d said it in Greek or Spanish,” she quipped.
He paused for a moment, staring at her once more.
“I’ll do that next time,” he returned, his voice still soft.
He cleared his throat. “Hypothetically. I recognize that there won’t be a next time.
I endeavor for our relations to be, if not amicable, less contentious, and thus I would not jeopardize them with… ”
“Animalistic urges?” she suggested.
His eyes widened. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, shaking his head.
“I wouldn’t have gone that far, but perhaps,” he returned with a wry smile.
“What term would you have used?” she asked.
He took a step closer, his entire demeanor returning to its most desirable and, unfortunately, most dangerous. “Lack of control, I suppose.”
“And what precisely are you controlling?” she asked, as hers was gone as well, bearing her perverse desire to provoke him. Well, for more than that, but provoke was all she was permitted. “Urges?” she suggested. “Of the animalistic variety?”
“You’re very…” His eyes narrowed, but he did not halt his approach.
“Difficult?” she suggested, meeting him once again, close enough to nearly feel, not merely see, the rise and fall of his chest.
“That wasn’t the word I was going to use.” Leaning down, he reached out and stroked down her cheek, then took her chin in his hand, tilting it up toward him.
Yes, please, every part of her, save her head—the part that was still thankfully clinging to power—pleaded.
“What, then?” she asked, her body standing at attention, waiting, begging.
“Naughty,” he whispered then turned away from her and strolled toward the door. “Good night, Rebecca,” he called as he exited.
Rebecca stood for a long moment in the center of the most beautiful room she’d ever beheld, a lump welling in her throat, feeling as if she’d somehow lost.
Ridiculous.
She’d lost nothing. She was in no different a position than she’d been a few hours ago. Or truly, when they’d had the conversation for which he’d just apologized.
They did not and would never suit.
Certainly not for marriage. They saw the world and what was valuable within it completely differently. Rebecca pressed her lips together for a moment as she recalled the relief in the man’s eyes when his daughter had been found.
Mostly.
Yet all the knowledge, all the logic in the world, could not seem to make her body cease, well, wanting his.
Worse, the knowledge of his impending betrothal did not quench the desire. Instead, by the mere fact that it placed a deadline on the man’s unattached status, the knowledge that a repeat performance would be impossible in a few weeks added an urgency to her lust.
No, she didn’t need it, and it would almost certainly cause her harm, but she knew exactly what she wanted and unfortunately possessed the right sort of mind to craft an argument to justify it to herself, the means to skirt most of the consequences.
Proceeding to the exit, she moved through the corridor, not to the guest bed chamber but to the staircase to her workshop.
Yes, she knew what she wanted, and in approximately two hours, she would have to decide whether she was brave—or foolish—enough to chase it.