No Ordinary Gentleman

“Having second thoughts?”

My God, she is stunning. She’s still wearing her evening dress, the one I’d bought. The one I’d imagined her in. The dress I’ll see flutter to the floor before very long.

“I’m still processing,” she replies what seems like eons later. Processing the reason she’s here? It’s a good attempt at a cover because looking at her now, I can see she wants me every bit as much as I want her.

Even if I can’t help but push her a little bit further.

“It’ll be just like old times.” I cast my eyes to the bed. “Though some parts might be a little more novel.”

If I don’t have her soon, I will explode.

My heart pounds as she takes a step away from the door. One step, then another, the only sound of her travels the swish of silk against her legs. And the pounding of my heart, which I’m certain must be audible to us both.

“What are you going to tell Griffin?”

My guts twist at the mere mention of his name. “I don’t want to hear his name in this room,” I murmur dangerously.

This wasn’t what I had in mind when I thought of pushing her. Goading. I’m almost tempted to tell her she can give up the act, that I know the truth, but where would the fun be in that? “I like that you kept your dress on.”

“Yeah, well, Griffin wasn’t in the room to undo the zipper.”

Anger flares inside me immediately, and before I register anything else, I’m across the room, falling on her like a lion does a gazelle. My fingers gripping her forearms, I press my mouth to her neck as I begin to devour the silky skin there. I want to touch her, hold her, allow myself the joy of her, but I’m afraid to let go. Then somewhere from outside of my frenzy, I realise she’s evading my lips even as her chest heaves with hot, hungered sounds.

“Kiss me, Holland.”

“I can’t,” she replies, the sound a bare rasp of want.

“You did earlier.” In the garden where this madness began. Where I took. Where she gave. Where I lost my mind for a few minutes. Though, in truth, I’m not sure it has at all been regained.

“You know why.” But there’s no reprimand or rancour in her reply.

“What difference does it make? Now? Then? Give me your mouth for no other reason than you want to.”

She gasps as I pull her to my chest, shock and desire as I cup her sweet arse, fitting her softness against where I’m hard. So fucking hard. “Then let me kiss you. Let me taste.” My words are breath over sandpaper, my teeth sharp on the shell of her ear. She gasps, her knees weakening and allowing me to fit her body tighter against me.

“Don’t be frightened, Holland.” Frightened to want me. Full of pride? Pride I understand more than most. Fear I understand, too. Not fear of what comes after tonight but fear of never getting my fill of her.

“I’m not frightened. You can force me to be here, but I don’t have to give all of myself to you.”

The stubborn little minx. Who knew she had such acting skills?

I should be laughing. I shouldn’t care, but like fuel to the fire, it doesn’t seem to matter that she’s fooling neither of us. I certainly shouldn’t be pushing her away.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Rage blurs at the edges of my consciousness as I almost anticipate what she’ll say next.

“That I’m not yours, your grace,” she snipes, her eyes glittering angrily. “And I never can be.”

An interesting distinction—can over will.

“Is that so.” My tone is low and dangerous, and she begins to back away, conveniently for me, in the direction of the bed. “Don’t worry, Holland,” I purr as her thighs hit the mattress. “You can tell my shit of a brother that you weren’t at fault. That you gave nothing freely away. That I took.”

She gasps, not fear, not pride, but excitement as I press her down onto the bed, my body following hers.

HOLLY

The noise he makes as his body meets mine is the sound I’ve been hearing in my dreams. Part groan, part growl as he presses himself against me, hard meeting soft as his mouth finds my neck again. I push my palms against the hardness of his chest, though not to push him away, I don’t think. Yet the feeling of his rapid heartbeat is a comfort. I’m not the only one feeling like this.

Why wouldn’t I kiss him? Why did I make such a fuss? Was it in case he discovered the truth? In case he discovered how much I want him? Or maybe it’s because I’m supposed to be playing the martyr, not the blessed.

Oh, God, I’d willingly sacrifice myself on the thing he presses between my legs.