Chapter 15
“Dash it all,” Damien grumbled.
He struck a line through yet another sentence of his letter, and dipped his pen in the inkwell to begin again.
He readied himself to rewrite the sentence, but as he took in the page, he paused.
There were more crossed-out sentences than legible ones, making the letter look a mess.
Realizing he had to start over, he crumpled the page in his hand and tossed it off his desk.
It was the fourth correspondence in the last two days that he had had to rewrite several times.
For even though he told Caroline that his thoughts and attention were on finding George’s parents, the truth was that what he was truly focused on was her.
The way she felt, the way she spoke. The way her eyes glittered with pure mirth when she let out that beautiful laugh the other day.
The lust in her eyes when she saw him nude in the pond, even if she would never admit it.
A good man would have let that go and remained focused on her other features, but he was not a good man. Which was why, in the center of all those thoughts, lay the image of her at the pond.
That damned dress.
The water had rendered it all but useless, clinging to every curve of her body like a second skin and leaving precious little to the imagination. He had seen women in far less, and none of them had ever undone him the way she had in that soaked, modest, entirely respectable gown. It was maddening.
The contract. Always that blasted contract.
Last evening had started with him sparring with Paul, his valet, in the small practice room adjoining his chambers.
He had pushed the man harder than was fair, he knew, but Paul was loyal enough not to complain and skilled enough to keep up for longer than most. Even so, by the time Damien finally dismissed him, Paul had been visibly flagging, and Damien had barely taken the edge off.
He had called for a cold bath to be drawn, thinking that if exercise would not help him, the freezing water would temper his desire. The bath, however, had never happened. Instead, her screams had.
He had no choice but to break down the door to ensure her safety, but the imagery of her in her bed was still haunting him.
Flushed and devastatingly beautiful, her nightgown slipping from one shoulder, her dark hair loose around her face.
He had sat beside her in the dark and listened as she shared things she had never told another soul, and all he had wanted was to pull her into his arms and not let go.
He had reached for her twice without meaning to, and twice he had stopped himself.
He clenched and unclenched his hands presently, still feeling the quiet yearning to reach out and touch her even though the moment had long passed.
His cock began to pulse and lengthen at the fantasy of kissing her plush lips again, of letting his hand move lower than her throat, to the soft swells of her breasts, and down that narrow waist of hers.
He had done his best to ignore it all at the time, but the moment he had put the door back up, those images of her were all his mind wanted to focus on.
No matter how hard he tried to work on the letters to his men investigating George’s parentage, or how he tried to work out his growing lust with exercise, his need for her only continued to grow.
For over five years now, that small ember of desire for her had steadily grown into a raging flame, and she was the only woman he had wanted.
Yet how could he tell her? After she had shared her opinion of him the other night, how was he to make her believe that it had been over five years since he had even looked at another woman? Let alone touched one.
Yes, he may have been a rake when he was younger. The constant supply of trysts had kept his mind off what his father had done to him. What their sire would have done to Jeremy if he had not stepped in.
That was the entire reason why he continued to so steadfastly refuse that George was his son—because it was impossible. Damien had not bedded a woman for over five years. Ever since he saw Caroline for the first time.
His thoughts swirled with yearning and the overwhelming longing that came with the realization that she would never believe him, even if he told her. He leaned his head back against the chair rest and smoothed his hand down over his aching length, trying to adjust himself.
Pleasure shot through his veins like tiny bullets, making him shiver and clench his teeth. An image of Caroline sliding those plush, pink lips around his cock sprang vividly to his mind, and he stroked himself again, letting out a soft groan.
I should stop. I need to find George’s parents. I need to prove—
His thoughts dissolved as his hand stroked down his cock again on its own volition, and he let out a hissing breath as he closed his eyes.
Realizing it was only by giving himself some relief that he could possibly return his focus to his task, Damien stopped fighting his arousal and drew his aching cock from his breeches.
His fingers wrapped around his thick base, his girth so wide from thinking about his wife, and he gave himself a long, slow stroke from root to tip. Pleasure made his mind go blank, and he repeated the motion, this time muttering Caroline’s name.
He thought of the pond once more. Of how her dress had turned transparent from the water, draping perfectly over her delicious curves as he pulled her from it.
Of how her eyes had gone wide and dilated when she had seen his naked form, and he fantasized about showing her how his body could bring pleasure to hers.
He would start slow, not wanting to scare her.
He would draw her into his arms and kiss her until that clever little mind of hers went blank, and she melted into his touch.
His tongue would trace down that little vein in her neck, over her collarbone, and he would draw those pert breasts into his mouth one at a time until she was shivering and begging for more.
He would work his way down that narrow waist, over the soft curve of her hips, and when he finally settled between her thighs, he would make her say his name.
And when she was trembling and spent, he would fill her slowly, watching her face as he did, and he would not stop until she had forgotten every reason she had ever given herself to keep him at arm’s length.
“Please, Damien,” his imagination conjured her breathy plea as she looked up at him with need-filled eyes. “Please give me more.”
And he would. He would give her everything. And when she thought she could take nothing else, he would give her even more.
If only she would let him.