A Fine Passion (Bastion Club 4)

He didn’t say anything for several heartbeats, then his fingers shifted over hers. “You’re turning your back on what other ladies would kill to have.”

“Perhaps. But unlike them, I know the true value of what I’m refusing, and what I’m embracing in its stead.”

You. A different sort of life—a more fulfilling life.

“There are times when I find you very difficult to understand.”

She smiled, but it was a weak effort. “Never mind.” He didn’t understand that she loved him with all her heart, but then she’d only just realized that herself, and she didn’t know how he felt about her, either. She had no idea if anything would come of what was now between them; she could only hope. They were both complicated people with complex motives; being certain of what was driving the other would never be easy. Not unless they stated it.

And as she looked into his now-familiar hazel eyes, for once in her life, she wasn’t brave enough to simply say, in so many words, what she felt.

Sometime, perhaps, but not tonight.

Tonight, the feelings were too raw, too roiling, the full realization too new.

She hadn’t expected to fall so deeply in love.

Gently disengaging, he stood. Taking both empty brandy balloons, he set them on the mantelpiece, then looked down at her. Studied her eyes, her face. “If you’re sure…”

“I am.” She held out her hands. He grasped them and drew her to her feet.

For a moment, they stood face-to-face, close, then she smiled; retaining possession of one of his hands, she turned, and led him to her bed.

In the cool shadows of the night, in the soft billows of her bed, despite their ease, their familiarity, an element of something different prevailed. As if, with her refusal of his forced suit, they’d stepped beyond the bounds of regimented life and were now free, between them openly free, of all constraint.

So that he could now drive her further, harder, and she could respond, not just with passion but with an abject surrender that went deeper and meant infinitely more. As usual, they passed the reins back and forth; when it came her turn, she lavished pleasure and more, a deeper worship, an appreciation that was physical, emotional, sensual, and still something more, upon him.

The engagement started simply enough, a touch, a sigh, a kiss. But desire caught them, then spiraled until they burned, not fast and furious but strongly, steadily. Wanting more, needing more, consuming more.

Surrendering more.

Giving more.

The night shadows embraced them; in the sweet dark in his arms she finally found what she had thought she never would, the full measure of what she was truly meant to be. All she could be.

Her heart soared, and she no longer cared if it would later break. To be this way with him was reward enough.

That, and knowing that she loved him.

Jack woke in the small hours of the morning. Beyond the walls, the world was wrapped in deepest night, quiet and still; within them, peace, soft shadows and a comforting, comfortable warmth prevailed.

Beside him, Clarice lay deeply asleep, one small hand spread on his chest, the gentle rhythm of her breathing a cadence some primitive part of his mind faithfully tracked. Lying back in the cocooning softness, luxuriating in a sea of sensual well-being, he took stock.

She’d refused to marry him.

Logically, he should feel dejected, cast down. Instead, he felt as if some tricky, unexpected, unprecedented hurdle fate had conspired to throw in their path had been successfully negotiated and overcome. As if they’d somehow triumphed.

She’d refused him, but he couldn’t fault her reasons. He hadn’t wanted to offer for her hand like that, but had felt compelled to. Even now, in the same circumstances, he would do it again; that offer had had to be made.

And she had had to refuse it.

Somehow, that—him offering, her refusing—had freed them. Cut through the web of social dictates that had threatened to trap them. But more, the moment had lifted a weight from his heart and dispersed all lingering clouds from his mind.

The way forward was clear, and his reasons for following the road he’d selected had never been more definite.

It was time to act. To seize the moment. Every warrior instinct he possessed assured him that was so.

He glanced at Clarice, let his gaze drift over her fine features, relaxed in sleep, then carefully, without disturbing her, he eased from her side, and the bed.