The Secret Beneath the Veil

“I do,” she admitted with a weighted sigh, even though the very last thing she ever wanted was to engage in a fistfight. She couldn’t help wondering if Grigor would have been as quick to hit her if she’d ever hit him back, though. She’d never had the nerve, fearing she’d only make things worse.

Mikolas’s treatment of her in the gym, as dispassionate as it had been, had also been heartening. He seemed to have every confidence in her ability to defend herself if she only practiced. That was an incredibly compelling thought. Empowering.

It made her grateful to him all over again. And yes, deep down, it made her want to make him proud. To show him what she was capable of. Show herself.

Of course, the other side of that desire to be plucky and capable was a churning knowledge that she was being a coward when it came to sex. She wanted to be proficient in that arena, too.

The music was on low when they came into the lounge of his penthouse later, the fire glowing and a bottle of wine and glasses waiting. Beyond the windows, stars sparkled in the velvet black sky and moonlight glittered on the sea.

Had he planned this? To seduce her?

Did she want to be seduced?

She sighed a little, not sure what she wanted anymore.

“Sore?” he asked, moving to pour the wine.

“Hmm? Oh, it’s not that bad. The massage helped. No, I was just thinking that I’m stuck in a holding pattern.”

He lifted his brows with inquiry.

“I thought once Hildy was sorted, I would begin taking my life in hand. Trina was supposed to come live with me. I had some plan that we would rent a flat and take online quizzes, choose a career and register for classes...” She had been looking forward to that, but her sister’s life had skewed off from hers and she didn’t even have the worry of Hildy any longer. “Instead, my future is a blank page.”

On Petrides letterhead, she thought wryly.

“I’ll figure it out,” she assured herself. “Eventually. I won’t be here forever, right?”

That knowledge was the clincher. If it had taken her twenty-three years to find a man who stirred her physically, how long would it take to find another?

She looked over to him.

Whatever was in her face made him set down the bottle, corkscrew angled into the unpopped cork.

“I keep telling myself to give you time.” His voice was low and heavy, almost defeated. “But bringing you into my bed is all I can think about. Will you let me? I just want to touch you. Kiss you. Give you what you gave me.”

Her belly clenched in anticipation. She couldn’t imagine being that uninhibited, but she couldn’t imagine not going to bed with him. She wanted him so much and she honestly didn’t know how to resist any longer.

Surrender happened with one shaken, “Yes.”

He kind of jolted, like he hadn’t expected that. Then he came across and took her face in his two hands, covering her lips with his hot, hungry mouth. They kissed like lovers. Like people who had been separated by time and distance and deep misunderstanding. She curled her arms around his neck and he broke away long enough to scoop her up against his chest, then kissed her again as he carried her to his bedroom.

She waited for misgivings and none struck. Her fingers went into his hair as she kissed him back.

He came down on the mattress with her and she opened her eyes only long enough to catch an impression of monochromatic shades lit by the bluish half-moon. The carpet was white, the furniture silver-gray, the bedspread black.

Then Mikolas tucked her beneath him and stroked without hurry from her shoulder, down her rib cage, past her waist and along her hip.

“You can—” she started to say, but he brushed another kiss over her lips, lazy and giving and thorough.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured and kissed her again. “I just want to touch you.” Another soft, sweet, lingering kiss. “I’ll stop if you tell me to.” Kissing and kissing and kissing.

It was delicious and tender and not the least bit threatening with his heavy hand only making slow, restless circles where her hip met her waist.

She wanted more. She wanted sex. It wasn’t like the other times she’d wanted sex. Then it had been something between an obligation and a frustrating goal she was determined to achieve.