Romancing the Rogue (20 page)

“Please, make it go away,” she pleaded into his neck, dragging her lips to his ear.

He knew what she meant; no need for explanation. No other words could have moved him, not even red-hot desire. Begging for oblivion? That he understood.

Just a little,
he promised silently.

~~~~

Even when she
pulled her shift over her head, leaving her wearing only her skin, Wilhelm apparently didn’t comprehend her intentions. Lovely how he seemed content to pleasure her, but she had a plan to set in motion. He let her open his shirt; she knew he liked her hands on his chest. She traced and kneaded, saying with her touch,
Gorgeous. Masculine. Arousing.

She tried to make him forget about scars, forget about bounty hunters, money, and dead babies. Only Wilhelm and Sophia, alone in the dark. She kissed him again with a mood of challenge, which she knew excited him. She massaged from his navel to his shoulders, then dug her nails into his skin and scored down his chest. He groaned, his eyes sparking like polished silver.

He settled back against the stone, balanced sideways on the ledge framing the open window. She meant to test that balance. With a smile, she opened his trousers and teased him for a while, waiting for a particular thought to occur to him.

Like magic it happened, as simple as puzzle pieces. He choked and she sighed, then she saw his alarm. He froze, shaking his head as though clearing fog from his brain. No, she couldn’t allow that. She rose and sank down, relishing his strangled gasp as he leaned his head back, flexing every muscle in his body. Again. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, and she watched his eyes cast over in dark steel before fluttering closed.

He seemed to register the revelation that she didn’t have to lie flat on her back for this to work properly. Why he lacked the imagination was a mystery to her. She felt a little wicked, tricking him, seducing him. Come morning he would be angry, citing the risk of another miscarriage. If she performed her part well, he would be too stupid to do anything but grin in the morning.

She nudged him into a semi-prone position across the ledge. He reached down and cupped her knees, protecting her skin from scraping over the stone. His feet propped on the opposite wall, and then it was perfect, the delicious gentle rhythm. He shook with restraint, but he let her wield control.

Bliss
—
his large, strong body sliding against hers. She craved it, her own soft lines giving way to his more stark ones. She wanted to feel him shudder again, to make her feel protected. Feminine.

Last time, the moment he’d let loose, she’d been drunken with a consuming, primal gratification. She wanted that again. That he leashed his strength spoke of his humility and kindness, but she wanted something entirely other from him now.

“Come, Wil. Fight back.” She grasped him behind the neck and pulled, prompting him to rise to a standing position. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and his hands gripped her by the small of her back — exactly what she wanted. His hands felt hot on her skin, holding firm. She could move any way she wanted, and he could hold her effortlessly; she felt the strength in his arms.

Satisfied, she experimented with the balance of motion, her force against his. Like an itch that needed scratching, yet still a sensation of burning pleasure roaring from her core and radiating outward. It reared, consuming her.

She stretched backward, arching her spine, loving the rush of blood to her head that amplified sensation. His hands held steady but he leaned to prop his back against the wall, indulging her acrobatic whim.

Then she rolled forward and finally noticed his expression as she hooked her arms around his neck. She swallowed a bark of laughter. His eyes widened; she’d surprised him. Endearing, really, and she reminded herself that he was as new to this as she.

She thought askance that society had it all wrong, expecting men to come to the marriage bed experienced. She wouldn’t trade Wilhelm’s eager, enthralled glances for all the practiced skill of an Arabian prince. He was like Christmas morning. She framed his face with her hands and pulled him in for another kiss while he held her, following her rhythm. Like an argument, like a wicked dance. A race to scale a hill with no top.

Moments later it was all out of control, and she could not have explained how it was possible to be everywhere and nowhere at once, how she could partake in every possible way yet still claw for more, as though only
he
could douse the fire immolating her from the inside out.

Long deep waves seized her body, exploding in aching-sweet, rich flavors. It sang in her head, curled her toes, harnessed the heat of the sun… Wilhelm buried his face in her hair, his strangled shout echoing along the rafters. His back arched off the wall. Clutching her almost too tightly, his arms turned to sinewy steel under her hands while he tensed, his teeth bared in what looked like a grimace of pain.

He gasped for breath then made a low growling sound in his throat. When he looked down, her insides leapt at the heated, nearly predatory look he speared her with. A dark chuckle, then he ducked to lick from her collar to chin, planted a hot kiss on her mouth, then exhaled in a gust, kneading his hands over her flanks.

She hung on to his shoulders, delirious with an ecstatic disembodied sensation
. She soaked in the feel of his heart hammering over hers and relished every residual shudder and twitch. Here was true power: having this man helpless in her arms, so spent he seemed unconscious of what he was saying under his breath. She never imagined such scandalous words could sound poetic.

The singular most blissful moment of her life.

He heaved for breath and dropped his head back against the wall, making an erotic pose she wished she could capture and frame. Beads of perspiration shone on his skin, reflecting the moonlight also highlighting his cheekbones, the curve of muscle, the ends of his hair, and especially his steely eyes.

She wanted to blurt, “
Oh, how I love you, Wil,”
but he didn’t seem the sentimental type, and she never forgot that he’d married her out of a sense of duty. No need to embarrass him with such a heavy sentiment. Perhaps he would reciprocate in time. Right now she thought riding a star was possible.

“My knees,” he complained, shifting his weight. Still gripping her, he plodded toward a wooden platform and set her down gingerly without unraveling their pose. “My ears,” he added groggily, shaking his head and leaning his weight on the plank. “I can’t hear. Everything sounds underwater.”

She waited until he recovered his senses before asking him to process speech. “You are a clever man, Wilhelm. I felt not even a shadow of fear.” She squeezed the tight columns of muscle down his back, coaxing him to relax. She would never tell him the spasms caused a sympathetic cramping in her abdomen, that irritating dull throbbing she’d come to loathe. Mending the discord between them was well worth it and then some. “Whatever shall we do with your discovery?”

“Repeat it, I suppose.” Nice, how he stroked her legs from ankle to thigh. He probably didn’t even notice he did it. “But I thought
—
”

She waited, and waited longer. “Oh, no, you don’t, Wilhelm Montegue. I mean to hear the second part of that thought.” She braised her fingernails along his jaw, rasping his evening whiskers. Did his skin heat? He could not be blushing?

“I assumed you — ah, that a lady would have no taste for, ah… Oh, hell.”

She smiled, brushing her lips against his neck. He thought the only way to bed a blueblood was on her back? She spared him the crass admission. “Well, I am no lady. By all means, exercise your creative genius.”

He raised his head to find her lips and gave her a deep, lazy kiss. “I want to curl up on this table and sleep naked with you,” he mumbled in her ear. “But then I remembered this is the kitchen. And there is an odd smell in the vicinity of the broken jars.” He released her and stretched, presenting an inspiring silhouette.

He gathered her discarded clothes but didn’t give them back. Instead he lifted her and carried her through the dark house, straight to his bedroom. All the way she heard sweet strains of triumph, like some glorious Beethoven symphony unfurling a melodic theme with forty violins. And cymbal crashes, timpani rolls; plenty of percussion.

She expected a whole lot of noise.

On The Benefits Of Losing A Game Of Croquet

A beam of
light woke her, tickling her shoulder, warming her navel. The unfamiliar sensation came by virtue of the curtain panel that had been pulled down. Or perhaps the incessant deep cracking sound outside had stirred her from her sleep.

She failed at her first attempt to open her eyes and dozed until the rhythmic
boom-crack-crack-thunk!
sound came again. She looked upward, and the sagging cobalt bed curtains wrapped around the splintered stump of a bedpost came into focus. The scene felt dreamlike as flame-orange light from the sunrise painted the blue room with its fundamentally opposite color. Not the Scarlet Suite, but the earl’s bedchamber.

Wilhelm was gone.

Boom-crack-crack… thunk!

Sophia rolled, since the small muscles in her belly protested sitting up, probably because of her amateur acrobatics the night before. And the broken bedpost? Well, Wilhelm had reached back to hold on to it for balance, and the narrow top joint had broken off in his hand. The loosened corner of the bed curtains had fluttered around them, but he hadn’t broken rhythm, even draped as a tent.

She sat at the foot of the bed, the same spot where she’d collapsed the final time, tangled in Wilhelm’s arms. The echo of a sated achy feeling lingered, like having laughed until it hurt. Beneath that was a bone-deep glow, the thrill of anticipation.

Not only was he not there, but the sheets had long cooled. What, did he mean to dismiss her like some shameful mistress? Or perhaps he had gone for his morning exercise, slave to habit. If he came through the door with a breakfast tray, she vowed she would make it worth his while, tease him into letting her try something he’d been too bashful to attempt the previous night. Any minute now…

Boom-crack-crack-thunk!

Sophia found her crumpled shift on the desk where Wilhelm had tossed it when he’d carried her through the doorway. Her gown had probably been dropped downstairs, no doubt scandalizing the kitchen staff. She found Wilhelm’s robe, a luxurious oriental black silk number, and belted it around her waist. She followed the sound to the east entrance, past the courtyard, toward the riding field where the noise grew louder.

Clearer now she heard three rhythmic claps of thunder then the clatter of heavy objects tumbling together. She heard a low very male growl and followed it past the stables to the gardening shed. A dramatic sight: Wilhelm, dressed sloppily in boots, dusty trousers, and a linen shirt unbuttoned and untucked, plastered to his chest with perspiration. Unruly hair draped across his brow, disguising his expression.

He slammed a section of log onto a wide stump and raised an axe high above his head. With a graceful swing, he dashed the head of the axe into the log, neatly splintering it from top to bottom in one stroke. In rhythm he swung twice more then knocked the cut sections into the pile.
Boom-crack-crack-thunk!

Spectacular, the sight of him
—
not a man chopping wood, but a half-crazed demon unleashing violence with an axe. His pile of firewood already measured past her waist, and he seemed determined to make a year’s supply. When the next stroke of his axe sent a woodchip flying in Sophia’s direction, she moved to dodge it and caught his eye.

Wilhelm turned slowly toward her, lowering the axe. He panted for breath and wiped sweat from his brow on his rolled sleeve. She wasn’t ready for the electric silver of his eyes as he met her gaze. The strengthening rays of dawn glowed bright orange, framing him in fiery menacing shadows. His fearsome expression did nothing to allay her impression of a demon. A dark, temptingly beautiful one.
Sordid inspiration
…

Sophia swallowed then spoke first, but her voice sounded raspy. “Good morning, Wilhelm.” She couldn’t quit staring nor keep her heart from dancing in her chest. It didn’t help that Wilhelm was looking at her
that way
.

“I can feel it when you’re near.” He rubbed the back of his neck. She recalled the same sensation of prickled nerves; it happened to her when he came close. “Why is that?”

Sophia didn’t like the first answer that came to mind and brushed it away. Too effusive, too mystical. She said instead, “A soldier’s instincts.”

He reached her in three large strides and pressed his lips to hers in a feather-light kiss. “Good morning.” His tone, his furrowed brows, did not appear to mean
Good morning.

She turned to glance eastward at the sun peaking over the crest of a wooded hill for a reprieve from his grim expression. She hadn’t expected him to be so upset. Really, what could she possibly apologize for?
I am sorry for seducing you, for indulging in a long night of delirious pleasure we have both craved for months. Punish me, darling.
See? She could scarcely be serious in her state.

He finally stepped back, much to her relief and disappointment. “I’m sorry I woke you.” He nudged a stray log into the pile with his boot.

“No matter. I needed fresh air.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” His gaze met hers then followed the loose strands of her hair twirling in the breeze.

“You are upset?” she asked as lightly as she could manage. At his look of dark humor, she cocked her head inquisitively and waited.

He gave a short laugh and embedded the axe in the stump. “What gave you that impression?”

“A wild guess. But if you ever tire of life as a peer of the realm, you show promise of being a fine woodsman.” She shifted her weight to the other hip, uncomfortable with the energy rolling off him in waves. “You cannot regret last night, Wilhelm?”

“Regret the best night of my life? No.” He rolled his shoulders and reached to rub the spot over his bullet wound. “The consequences are another matter.”

“You worry I will get with child and miscarry it again.”

He winced as though looking directly at the sun then averted his gaze down at his boots. He kicked a rock and sighed. “It was a nightmare, Sophia.”

“I know, but I’m still pleased to learn I am not barren. I should be, considering my illness. All the best continental doctors said so.” She sidled closer, attempting to thaw him with a little flirting. “Or perhaps you are exceptionally virile.”

One corner of his mouth pulled in a smirk, which probably meant he wasn’t impressed with her flattery. “I shouldn’t have given in. It was wrong of me. And foolish.”

“I have never been so happy, Wil.”

“And I have never been so
terrified
. I can’t
—
” He raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t lose you, Sophia. I am already going out of my mind at the thought.”

She could
feel
it: the wily spirit of a stallion that seemed to possess him. His words came dangerously close to crossing the line between affection and devotion. But since he’d had no inclination to whisper any variation of
I love you
the previous night, with no fewer than four such opportune moments, he didn’t seem eager to do so now. But he did care for her — obviously. Deeply and genuinely, because he was a man of integrity. That should be enough, more than she had a right to expect.

Wilhelm watched her with a raw boldness; he seemed to see through her clothes, through her skin into her soul, where she couldn’t hide her thoughts. Probably reading her mind again.
She
had three words to say, but her instincts warned her to silence. Bad form to turn a business arrangement into a classic, pathetic case of unrequited love. How gauche to fall in love with one’s spouse. Really, surprising she found herself in love at all.
But there it is.

Can you see that too, Wil?

His gaze scoured hers until she looked at his hands — shaking. He grasped the handle of the axe again to still himself. Sophia finally comprehended what it meant: in his tumult, he craved liquor but desperately tried to abstain, as he’d done with general success over the past few months. No harmless glass of wine for dinner or a snifter of brandy with company would satisfy him. At the moment, he wanted to get completely sloshed. But he didn’t do it.

She felt overwhelming compassion and pride for him but tried to keep it out of her expression; he wouldn’t want coddling from a woman. “Shall I hide your cognac?” she teased softly.

He raised his eyebrows. Had she been too direct? “That wouldn’t stop me. I could go to the pub if that’s what I wanted.”

“Then you must seek a distraction.” She said this innocently, without a hint of irony.

His bark of laughter startled her, then his chuckling wound down slowly while Sophia glared, self-consciously crossing her arms over her chest. “Drinking
is
the distraction, Sophia.”

“Distraction from what?”

He saved his ironic smirk for his boots and kept his head down. “From the same muse who stole my sleep and put an axe in my hands this morning.”

Sophia looked at a trail leading away into the woods then back to an uncomfortable Wilhelm, who shifted his feet and kneaded his grip on the axe handle. He was making her nervous, too. “You worry too much, Wil.”

“My brain says
What if
?”

“Mine says
I want you.
And I win.”

Just then the housekeeper cracked the door open to let Fritz out and he came bounding toward them. Sophia patted his head, then Fritz nudged Wilhelm until he scratched behind his ears.

Wilhelm rolled his shoulders again, his eyes still averted. “I always want you.”

Oh, my.
He actually blushed, spots of pink under his morning stubble.

Their eyes locked, and the short distance between them crackled with potent magnetism. “I’m in a bad way, Sophie,” he confessed. “After last night, I have this… insatiable appetite for you. I can’t imagine going back — living like a monk, I mean. But nothing is worth the risk. Not the pleasure, not even a child.”

“I will be more careful, now that I know. No more riding bareback and baiting gypsies, I promise.” She used her best arrow in the quiver. “I trust you to protect me, Wil.”

It worked; he squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest a little.

“Think of it: a little boy with dark hair and grey eyes — the tenth Earl of Devon. Or a little girl with Madeline’s ringlets. A tiny voice calling, ‘
Papa
.’”

She had him smiling, but then the color drained from his face as it melted into a scowl. “Oh,
damn
.”

“What?”

“I never considered — my illness. It would be a crime for me to pass it on to a child.”

She nearly blurted, “
Surely it can’t be inherited,”
out of curiosity. What she really meant to say: “
I love you just the way you are.”
What actually came out of her mouth was, “Far better than what lurks on my side of the family.”

Ah, there. He fought a smile then kissed the top of her head, lingering to smell her hair. “I owe Thor a run, and then I have a meeting with Colonel O’Grady. I would invite you and Sadie to ride along, but you promised to be careful.”

She groaned in protest but didn’t argue. “Queen of Compromise, that is me.”

He slid an arm around her waist and lowered his head for a kiss that promised more later. The simple gesture shot lightning straight down to curl her toes and filled her head with a sharper blend of his leathery pine-and-spice scent. Her own skin had absorbed it last night, and she could still smell it in her nose after he walked away toward the stables. Yes, she watched him walk, appreciating how his clothes stretched over finely cut muscles, his gait a blend of jockish and feline predator.

Wilhelm turned before he swung open the door, just in time to catch her ogling his rear end. He winked and puckered his lips, earning a chuckle from her. She spun on the ball of her foot and let him watch
her
walk away, knowing the thin silk robe clung to her form in the breeze. Let him find a reason to clear his schedule.

~~~~

A neighborhood tea
had much in common with Waterloo: opposing forces, precise stratagem, general-sized egos, and someone always went down in a blaze of glory.

Fortunately, Elise didn’t seem the one destined for shame. She sat with her hands in her lap, smiling pleasantly, showing off her Cavendish dimples. She had yet to burst out with open-mouthed laughter, in fact she’d barely spoken. But she did watch a Lieutenant Sherman, a friend of Philip’s, out of the corner of her eye. And he watched her.

The two looked like a long lost couple of Olympian titans, with their willowy golden looks. Sophia scanned the room of neighborhood acquaintances, and found she was not exaggerating
—
Elise and Lt. Sherman stuck out, like a matching pair. Others noticed too. Everyone seemed to expect something, and all the sideways glances and not-quite-whispering became comical. A brief introduction between the two would not suffice; everyone wanted to see what would happen when the two were thrust together.

Philip had been standing guard over Elise, grasping a snifter with one hand and the back of his sister’s chair with the other, feigning sociability but coming off more like a bulldog on a short chain. Sophia finally caught his eye and he came to her side like a faithful swain.

“It can’t be avoided, Philip. But perhaps a garden game might defuse some of the tension.” She lowered her voice and hid her mouth behind a glass of punch. “Do you name some grievous flaw of character which prevents recommending your friend to your sister?”

Philip furrowed his brows and frowned, pulling his dimples in contrast. “No, I suppose not. Sherman is fairly a straight arrow. I just don’t want him near Elise.”

“She is nineteen. Nearly twenty.”

“But naïve as a babe.”

Sophia couldn’t debate that. “All the more reason to surround her with trusted acquaintances as she makes her debut into society.”

Philip looked at his lovely sister, only to see her sneak another glance at the dashing Lt. Sherman, who stole a glance at her. Both winsome faces lit up then colored. Philip let out a little groan, and Sophia felt some small sympathy for him. “But the way he looks at her…”

“Nauseating, I know. Why don’t you suggest croquet, and I will place your three colors together — everyone expects such maneuvering from the hostess. And then you can knock Sherman’s ball into the water.”

He endorsed the idea, and Elise managed the introduction to the princely Lt. Sherman without giggling. She did bat her eyelashes, but he seemed to like it. Oh well. Sophia couldn’t recall ever being so innocent, and she’d never believed in fairy tales.

She studied Lt. Sherman as carefully as Philip, watching like a hawk for some sign of irony beneath his gold-plated façade. She paid more attention to his manner than trying to hit the ball in the proper direction through the wickets. He seemed genuine if not a little vapid and naïve himself. Ten minutes in the garden with Elise and her suitor, and Sophia tentatively changed her mind about fictitious fairy tales. She wished Elise a happy, romantic experience — if such simplicity existed.

Grateful to tune out their buttery conversation about Naval uniforms, Sophia followed her errant croquet ball around a hedge. Elise had probably hit it there on purpose. Ever venting her angst over her mentor’s strict regime, unaware her newly acquired ladylike behavior probably kept Lt. Sherman at her side after her beauty had lured him there. “How did you earn your gold tassels?” her syrupy voice purred, thick with admiration.

Where is that dratted ball?
A little farther she found it, but draped over its wooden rings lay a single coral long-stemmed rose, dethorned. At first it put her in mind of the rose hedges lining the drive to Rosecrest. Then she wondered why
orange
until she remembered the popular symbolism for roses. Orange meant desire.

“Wilhelm?” She picked up the ball and rose stem then stood, smelling the exotic perfume. Freshly cut. From where? Rougemont grew no rosebushes that she knew of.

“Here.”

She followed his voice behind the hedge and nearly trod on another rose, lavender, for enchantment. Following a trail, she found a yellow bud for friendship, pink for joy or appreciation? And the white could be purity, secrecy, or reverence, but all of those seemed unlikely. Well, before that she’d guessed Wilhelm meant to send her a romantic message. Now that she thought of it, yellow could also mean jealousy. What sort of game was this? And the next rose: dyed blue, in full bloom?

“The unattainable, transcending,” he answered, stepping away from a saddled horse. Sadie, free of her harness and reins, grazed in a little hollow surrounded by ancient garden hedges. Voices drifted faintly from the lawn; apparently the game had gone on.

“I gave Philip the high sign. He will make your excuses,” Wilhelm answered her unspoken thought. “Stay a moment, please.”

She looked around to notice he’d lured her into a thoroughly secluded spot, shaded and overgrown, with soft beams of light filtering through the branches.

He brought a single red rose from behind his back and took the other blooms from her hand, arranging them as he spoke. “Enchantment and friendship. Mystery in spades. Then solace and respect. Always desire. And at the core
—
” He gave the bouquet back with the red rose at the center.

She held it while her sluggish brain processed the gesture — was he saying what she thought?

“Love.” He stepped closer and speared her with his soul-reading gaze, hypnotizing her. “All these ways and more. I am madly in love with you, Anne-Sophia.”

First a wave of surprise, then as it faded, consuming warmth swept over her. It gave her heart a jolt, tingled over her skin and made her eyes mist. She bit her lip to keep tears from spilling over. It seemed the lovely soaring feeling singing through her veins would sweep her into the breeze.

“It didn’t seem right to let you think I would use you, especially now that… But I don’t ask you to — because we both know I’m not, I mean, I
wish
… Oh, hell.” He sighed and shook his head in frustration. “Sophie, I’m no good at this. Say something.”

She accidently knocked him in the side of the head with the flowers — did some symbolism exist for that? — as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him like it was their first and last. The croquet ball dropped to the ground, narrowly missing their toes.

Almost impossible to let him go, but she made herself step back and catch her breath. She reached to stroke his jaw, adoring the strength and humor visible in the way he held it. He had shaved, showing the scars as well as the dimples. His razor had missed the shallow cleft in his square chin. Another wave of tenderness weakened her knees, and she allowed herself to lean into him a little.

“I love you, too, Wil. With all my heart. I have for a long time.” Oh, the ice-hot way he looked down at her! All the fluttery, absurd feelings she had silently mocked Elise for rushed her in a frenzy, like laughing with a mouthful of champagne.

She wanted romance? Well, here came more than she could handle. “You feel like a miracle and Christmas morning to me. I thought a man like you didn’t exist, and I never dreamed you could be mine. If it is all a dream, don’t wake me.” She dared glance up at him, and the genuine, humble surprise in his expression prompted her to add, “You make me so happy.”

Sunlight and moist air brushed across her shoulders before she became aware of Wilhelm’s fingers lowering the fastener at the back of her dress. She thought he wanted a quick tumble in the garden, not that she meant to complain, but then he turned her around and kissed slow trails from the nape of her neck down over her shoulders, her spine, everywhere the scars marred her skin.

It made no sense to weep, but she couldn’t help it. At least Sophia tried to do it quietly, not wishing to distract him. An odd effect she had not anticipated — healing. Months’ and years’ worth of angst, fear, even hatred melted away. No room for it in her heart, not with splendid elation taking its place. It seemed his lips on her skin mended her from the inside out, filling her with pleasant memories to eradicate the bad.

He managed to remove her clothes and most of his own without pausing, clever man. Sadie blew a snort and stamped, either affected by the surge of emotion from the humans or impatient for a run. Wilhelm whistled low and the horse nickered in argument but lowered its head to graze again. No one would find them, would they? Or hear them?

She unfastened the rest of his buttons and stood back to look, already working for breath. Anticipation, excitement churned low in her belly. Oh, how she wanted him!

The world shrank to this hidden garden behind the hedges. Possibly he’d selected the spot for this purpose, with the grass springy and thick like carpet. Confident of him to presume it would go over this way. Or perhaps he’d read her mind and already guessed she was completely in love with him. Now that she understood his perspective, she could count dozens of his tender looks she might have misinterpreted. Too much time wasted in misunderstanding. The thought made her eager to make up for it.

“Stop thinking,” he muttered into her hair. Then he angled her head to bare her neck and nibbled down the center. He dropped to his knees and kneaded his lips around her navel until she squealed, ticklish. “And touch me.”

Her hand covered the block of muscle over his heart. She squeezed and felt his heart kick, then grazed her palms up and down his arms. Familiar, enticing, his every contour over muscle, bone, veins, and scars. She could find him in the dark by touch, if his heady mint-pine-leather scent didn’t give him away first.

Lovely
—
he cradled his arms across her back and lowered her to the ground, following her down, his lips provoking hers with ghostlike kisses. Hands raking from her waist to ribs, he nudged her to raise her arms over her head then kneaded her palms with his fingertips, lulling her into submission. He wandered downward, detouring at every sensitive spot between her wrists and ankles. Then he did the same with his teeth, shooting electric pleasure through her nerves. It rang in her head, arched her back, and made her want to purr.

Wilhelm watched her as he moved deliberately, likely waiting to see if she could tolerate him lying over her. She cradled him with her knees, relishing his protective shoulders shielding her, his powerful arms caging her in his embrace. Nothing better than feeling him everywhere at once, beyond skin, beyond the physical act, deep in her soul.

That addicting soaring feeling unfurled in her core, possessing her limbs and then her mind. Pleasant insanity. She leaned her head back and swallowed a moan, and he nudged her to look back at him.
Stay with me,
his silent prompting.

Not often could she stand to look so closely into his eyes, faceted silver-grey, deeply set with sharp brows and an almost feminine spray of blond-tipped lashes. Unearthly, a little frightening, and fathomless. He always saw too much when he studied her. Honest moments when he communicated with his eyes, the intelligence as well as the masked pain there always struck her. Too intense. Now she saw a tenderness that broke her heart and put it back together.

An edge of wildness colored the mood, turning the smooth rhythm into a playful battle. Impossible, feeling desperate for
more, more, more
the same moment he gave her everything she demanded. Intoxicating friction, a ravenous hunger that inspired uncivilized urges. Such as biting. She braised her teeth over his shoulder then captured his head so she could nibble on his neck in a rough version of what he’d done to her. She smiled at his mangled syllable of protest; he sounded helpless.

His movements lost their fluidity, his efforts to restrain his strength failing. She felt the first twinge of irrational fear. Sophia desperately did not want to panic. So close, so near… Did it even have a name, the episode of tumult that washed her entire being with indescribable euphoria?

Her thoughts ceased —
Oh, a sweet spot
. Her body seized, anticipating… Wilhelm must have noticed, he repeated the motion mercilessly until it happened. He caught her mouth in a rowdy kiss as she cried out, grasping him, riding wave after wave of delicious mind-stroking pleasure.

Her pulse pounded in her head and heat flooded her vision, or else sooner she would have noticed him tense and slide down, burying his face in her abdomen. She loved that moment when he shook and bucked and fought the onslaught with those charming erotic smiles. But what was he doing? She’d missed it. Or he had.
Bereft
was the word, and the sting of rejection punctuated it.

Wilhelm kneaded over her sides and dotted kisses across her belly, humming in between heavy gusts of breath. When he seemed to regain his senses, she asked softly, “Why did you do that?”

He grunted in reply then seemed to register it wasn’t viable communication. He mumbled in a groggy voice, “Compromise.”

“What?”

“I can’t keep my hands off you. But I will
not
risk losing you, and now you know the true reason why.”

“You mean to prevent conception? Why — but…” She fidgeted and he let go so she could roll away. Anger threatened her lovely mood, so she tried logic on him instead. “A little late for that after last night, don’t you think so?” She pretended to clear her throat. “To the fourth degree, if you catch my meaning.”