“You don’t need to blindfold me to find joy, Jonas,” she snapped, wanting to hammer the truth into his stubborn head.
His eyes were bleak as they settled upon her. “Let me play my games, Sidonie. They harm nobody.”
Frustration coiled in her belly. He wouldn’t admit that she was different from those other women who had scarred his soul as deeply as some assailant had scarred his face. “We made love without the blindfold the first time.”
A grim smile flitted across his lips. “You assaulted me before I made my usual preparations.”
“You didn’t offer much resistance.”
“I thought you’d left me forever. I wasn’t myself.”
Ah, at last. An admission of need, even if he didn’t recognize it as such. It gave Sidonie hope that perhaps before the week was done, he’d surrender his whole self to her. “And you’re yourself when you blindfold me?”
“Precisely.” He picked up the blindfold and extended it. He’d retreated from harrowing honesty. She could see his defenses go up against her as clearly as if he erected a physical wall between them. “It’s my eccentricity, but I hate the idea of anyone watching me when I’m with a woman.”
“You hate the idea of losing control,” she said shortly.
The smile built. “That, too.” He paused. “Are you complaining?”
She sighed. Curse her soft heart. He needed her and if the only gift he’d accept was sexual pleasure, she’d live with that. For now.
“No.” She reached out and snatched the blindfold. “I’ll give you your way.”
“I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.” He waited for her to cover her eyes, then lunged forward to kiss her with a passion that incinerated lingering doubts.
The next two days whirled by in a daze of sensuality. Sidonie existed on a plane that retained no link to her life before Jonas Merrick took her to his bed. She should be ashamed of the wanton she’d become. Instead for the first time she felt utterly true to herself. But for all the joy she found in Jonas’s arms, she was poignantly aware that each hour together was measured.
Inevitably, remorselessly, their last afternoon arrived. Neither mentioned the fact, but mutual awareness of approaching separation weighted the air like a miasma. Sidonie watched Jonas now across the library, memorizing every detail, because soon memories of him would be all she had.
Can I bear to leave tomorrow?
An hour ago they’d ventured downstairs. The bedroom had become a private universe that neither was eager to escape. But Jonas had mentioned something in a book, the route of a yacht trip he’d taken with his father down the Greek coast. He lounged on the window seat, a large atlas open on his lap.
Since she’d become Jonas’s lover, golden hours of physical pleasure had spun into eternity. The prospect of relinquishing this rich, vibrant connection so soon after discovering it made Sidonie want to weep. Although she hadn’t cried. Not once. She’d have ample time to cry once she left.
“What is it?” Jonas turned a page of the atlas before looking up.
“I’m wondering what’s for dinner.” She perched on the desk, flaunting herself. She wore the red dress and her hair tumbled in disarray down her back.
A smile lit his eyes. “Is that so?”
She cast him a look under her lashes that she’d learned drove him wild. “All right, should I tell you what I’m really thinking?”
“If you must.” Light through the tall windows gleamed on his overlong black hair. He wore breeches and a loose shirt open at the neck. How could she resist touching him? A
lthough delay built potent suspense.
“I must.” She smiled and swung her bare feet in a consciously provocative action. “I was thinking if I’d known what fun debauchery was, I’d have chased the gardeners years ago.”
Jonas slammed the book shut, surged to his feet, and covered the distance between them in three strides. “Stay away from the gardeners, madam.”
“They wouldn’t mind.” Goodness, when had she become this flirtatious trollop? She shouldn’t enjoy his blatant jealousy quite so much.
“I’m sure they wouldn’t.” He placed his hands flat on either side of her, hemming her in. He didn’t touch her but his big, powerful body was near enough for her to feel his heat. “But they’re off limits. As are footmen and postboys and cowherds—and butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers.”
She drew Jonas’s scent deep into her lungs. Even trembling with desire, she fought to maintain her light tone. She liked teasing him. Over the last few days, she’d discovered teasing him had one certain outcome.
She liked that outcome even better than teasing.