The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (76 page)

“I concede.”

Her heart stopped as the words drifted across her shoulder, and she turned slowly toward him, her side coming to rest against his solid chest. He should have moved to give her room. It would have been the proper thing to do. He didn’t. He did what a rake would do: he crowded her infinitely more by flexing the muscles that caged her to the window. “You...what?”

“I concede, I yield, I will do as you wish.” His voice was so low she felt it in the breath that sang across her ear, through the vibration of the words where she was drawn up against him.

She felt his breath quicken then, the tempo with which his chest expanded and released picking up. She glanced around the berth, as if there would be witnesses to this. As if he were not so experienced that he knew the precise location of each of his men without looking, not to mention every other passenger, porter, conductor, and engineer. Rather quickly, she realized the reason she could feel his breath come and go so easily was because hers was completely still. She huffed it out, then tried to convince her lungs to take in more air—she needed it desperately. She heard the choking sound come from her throat as she watched his eyes widen, and his lips parted when she finally took a breath. She could not take her eyes from them.

“Unless...”

“Unless?” She felt as though she might simply faint.

“Unless you have changed your mind?”

He sounded almost hopeful, but a line marred his perfect expression just between his brows. She fought her nerves, which at the moment were clearly working against her.
Say something, anything. Nod, smile, acquiesce. Somehow. Move!
Her head jerked.

“You have, then? Changed your mind, I mean?”

“No!” Thank goodness for that sound. “No, I have not. I haven’t changed my mind. Thank you.”

His lips caught up in a slow grin. They were silent. She turned to the window, quick jerky movements that were forced from her by will. The sway of the train on the tracks and the sound of the distant engine were all that filled the empty space.

“When?” she asked. There was almost no sound and she cleared her throat. But didn’t turn to look at him.

She felt the shift in his muscles, his breath hotter and impossibly closer, his mouth descending to her neck. She melted then and he caught her, but her muscles stiffened, fought his capture. He released her to the seat then followed her down.

“I’m sorry, I— I don’t appear to have complete control at the moment.”

He knew he had to progress slowly. To make sure she wouldn’t become frightened. After all, it was only the simple things that had set her off thus far. This—any part of this—could terrify her and send her into a panic. He reined in his fervor and kissed along her jaw, but she jerked away, so he slowly moved his hand around her back to steady her. Her entire body tensed at the pressure, and when his other hand went to her knee she kicked him—solidly.

“I’m sorry,” she said, a blush spreading from the top of her forehead down her face like a closing curtain.

He set her away from him and stood, looking down at her. This wasn’t going to work. He paced the length of the berth, trying to think of a way that she would be able to accept his kisses without fear. When he reached the door, he swiftly locked it then turned.

Every time he touched her, she shook or shuddered, jerked away or lashed out. He could
not
take her if she feared him. He would not be able to bring himself to that. He stopped in front of her. “Stand.”

She stood.

“Undress me,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him with a confused expression, and he closed his eyes against the pain and fear he saw in her eyes. He shook his head and looked down at her, taking her hand gently where it grasped her traveling cloak and bringing it to the buttons of his waistcoat.

“If this is what you want…undress me,” he said. He left her hand there and dropped his, watching, waiting. She tightened her fingers on the top button and twisted slowly, the button popping free.

She worked her way down the row of buttons while he shrugged out of his jacket and loosened his neck cloth. She continued with the buttons of his shirt, then reached up and held both sides of the shirt and waistcoat. She pushed them open slowly, revealing inch by inch his heavily muscled chest. Perry pulled his shirt from the waistband and let it fall to the floor with his waistcoat.

She gazed at it, now bare and warm. She could feel the heat of him. She could see the pulse at the crest of his ribcage, there at the very base of his neck. Lilly inhaled, quelling her nerves, then thought he smelled of strength. She had no idea what that meant, but knew that it calmed her.

He didn’t move, only allowed her inspection. She swallowed. He was so different from anything she’d ever encountered. Perfectly sculpted, restrained, patient.

She reached out and touched the smooth hair dusting his chest. At this she saw his arms move, and she pulled back.

“Wait— Don’t.” He held his hands together behind his back.

She stepped forward again, reaching up and tracing the patterns of his muscles, the lines of his ribs on each side, the gathering of muscles below. They twitched under her searching fingers, and he lifted his hand to stop her momentarily. She glanced up, worried.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I am a bit sensitive there, and the way you are touching me is—”

She started to turn away but he stopped her again, placing her hands back on his chest. She waited, patiently, trying to catch her breath, then followed her hands down his chest with her gaze, halting when they reached the waistband of his trousers. She could see the ridge of him through the fabric and she froze. Her breath hitched and he put his hand over hers. She looked up at him.

“You don’t seem to understand that you have all the power here. I have none. I’m at your mercy. You will see, even as a woman, that you can control me.” His eyes glowed with the fire of his restrained need. His hand moved to the clasp at her throat, releasing her cape and letting it fall behind her.

She flinched at the sudden movement and the raw edge in his gaze, amazed by the difference between the inner passion she could see all too clearly and his outward demeanor. He raised his eyebrows, then clasped his hands behind his back, silently urging her on. His chest broadened in this stance, appearing more powerful, and she felt the command emanating from him, his questioning gaze demanding her touch. His control, though he professed none, was palpable—and she balked.

She stepped back, and he let out a long breath as she spoke. “Mayhap— Mayhap this was a mistake, mayhap you’re right,” she said quietly, then turned away from him.

Her touch, her exploring gaze, were part of the most impassioned exchange he had ever experienced with another person in his life. Unfortunately, she had persuaded both his mind and body and neither was interested in being dissuaded now. His thoughts raced as he tried to find a way to convince her, to gain her trust. He groaned and sank to his knees behind her, his head down, waiting patiently. He swore to himself that if she walked away now that would be it. He would move to another berth and not return.

She turned, and his head came up slightly. He saw the shock cross her features when she found him on his knees. He was still so large that his nose came to just beneath her breast. His warm breath moved the shirt against her abdomen, and she inhaled sharply. He closed his eyes, the floor shifting as they took a bend in the track. She took the step back to him and he felt her hand skim through the thickness of his hair, pulling his head back slightly, then his body forward. He leaned into her, his chin grazing between her breasts, and she jumped at the touch but did not release him.

He leaned back on his heels and opened his eyes, looking down at first so as not to scare her off again, trying desperately to control the desire that must be so obvious. He needed to be able to look on her without disquieting her. His gaze moved up her body. He counted the buttons on her shirtwaist, the stitches in the placket, and the threads in the fabric, slowing his gaze as he came to her bare neck, where the twin pulses rushed at each side. He swallowed hard and waited.

He made his look one of pleading permission, and it was apparently exactly what she needed. She tugged his hair, pulling him back so that his eyes caught hers, and she gave it, running her thumb over his open mouth. Then she stepped back, sitting at the edge of the seat. “Milord,” she said with a breath. He wasn’t sure if it was meant to call him, or simply an exclamation.

“Perry,” he said. “If we are to do this, you will call me Perry.”

“I— I cannot,” she stuttered.

He grumbled and she shrank away from him. He was immediately penitent. “Call me what you will,” he whispered.