Page 43 of The Devil and the Heiress
Tossing the remnant of his cigarette into the cold hearth, he walked toward the stairs like a condemned manapproached the gallows. He could not stay down here all night. She would almost certainly be asleep by now anyway. The lamp on the bedside table was turned low, and her chest rose and fell in an even rhythm. He breathed a sigh of relief and quietly began to disrobe down to his drawers. He reached for the nightshirt borrowed from Dr. Mitchell but decided against it. He rarely slept clothed, and the shirt was scratchy and served to keep him awake. Though he had worn it their first few nights here, there was hardly a need since she was asleep and he would be dressed before she awoke in the morning. Abandoning it, he slipped into bed, thankful she faced away from him on her uninjured side. He could not look upon her beauty tonight. It was too much to ask of himself. He laid as close to the edge of the bed as he dared to keep space between them and reached up to turn the lamp down.
“Wait.” Her voice was raspy with sleep, and he cursed himself for waking her.
“Do you need something?” he asked, careful to keep his gaze straight ahead on the ceiling.
She shifted, pulling the blanket taut across his hips. Traitorous creature that it was, his cock stirred at the sensation. He closed his eyes and forced out an even breath.
“Do you think you might rub my lower back? I’ve been abed too long. It aches.” She gave him a shy smile over her shoulder.
“Should I retrieve Mrs. Mitchell?” Please say yes. Touching her would be too torturous.
“No.”
“All right,” he said, his voice noticeably huskier. Clearing his throat, he sat up. “Do you think you can lean forward?”
She complied, sliding onto her belly. He stared at her small body swathed in yards of cotton fabric and wondered how he could find this so arousing. The outline of her hips and the swell of her arse drew his gaze, and he busiedhimself by settling the blanket in his lap, lest she see how much he already ached for her. Without the bandages, he had no way of knowing by feel where her bruises were, so he said, “Guide my hands. I don’t wish to hurt you.”
“Lower,” she said when he pressed fingertips to the middle of her back. “Lower,” she urged, guiding him downward. “There.”
He started softly, pressing the pads of his fingers to the muscles he felt. She sighed, a sound that vibrated down his spine, settling with a flickering and tightening heat in his scrotum. He shifted as his blood thickened like honey in his veins. This was too much to ask of him. He was already drunk on arousal and need. It swam through his head like whisky, making his thoughts give way to instinct and consequences appear murky. His hands roamed lower, until his fingers touched the softness of her bottom. Gratification roared through him, but he forced his hands higher back where they belonged. She didn’t seem to notice.
“More pressure, if you please,” she said.
Certain all the time that he would hurt her, he pressed down, but she only hummed in pleasure. It was a sound he heard with his cock. Christ! He closed his eyes tightly as his blood roared in his ears. Softness met his hands again, his palms this time. He squeezed, and his hips gave a barely there thrust in automatic response as he imagined sinking into her tight, hot grip.
“Christian.” Her aching whisper forced him to open his eyes.
He held handfuls of her perfect arse. It took a herculean effort, but he managed to release her. “Violet.” He meant to apologize but could only repeat her name. He had never been this undisciplined with a woman, especially one he was meant to leave alone. He would not ruin her—while it might be too late if people ever found out about this jaunt, he would know that he had not corrupted her.
Surprising him, she turned over and took his wrist with her left hand. As if she sensed his need to run, she said, “Don’t leave.”
He shook his head, unable to speak for the moment as he saw his own desire reflected back at him in her face. “I have to,” he finally managed, his voice tortured and deep.
“Stay.” Through eyes that had somehow become disconnected from his body, he watched her guide his hand back to her body. She led it to her left breast, the nipple already puckered. Despite his intention to remove his touch, he caressed her instead, testing the weight in his palm and letting his thumb brush over the tip. Her breath came faster in response, and she never took her wide brown eyes from his face.
“This isn’t right,” he said, even though his thumb continued to disobey him, circling around her nipple before brushing over the extended tip. He longed to see beneath her nightdress. “I have no claim to you.”
“Does that matter? I want this. Isn’t that enough?”
He dragged his gaze from her breast to her face. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
She frowned, her jaw clenching. “I’m not a child, as you can plainly see. I know what I want. And I know what you want. Now, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been treating me like a sister. I thought perhaps I had misread your earlier interest.”
“A sister?” He was incredulous. How could she possibly think he had treated her that way? He gently tugged her nipple, drawing a gasp from her. “I do not think of you as a sister.”
“Then why have you been so distant?”
“Because I have been trying to keep my hands off you.” Which is what he should be doing now. With a groan, he finally managed to do just that and pull his hand away.
She sat up, and the nightdress slipped off her shoulder.His gaze lingered on her creamy skin before he managed to look away. He had to leave and find somewhere private where he could momentarily assuage his need for her.
“But I don’t want you to keep your hands off me. I want your touch, Christian.” Her voice was breathy, and it shook with her want.
He groaned, clenching his teeth in an effort to keep himself in check. He did not deserve to touch her. “You do not know what I’ve done.”
