Page 37 of The Devil Himself
So he decided to explore the house. He knew there was a game room. Perhaps he could play some billiards, stretch his injured arm a bit without actually hurting it…
Oh, he was hardly fooling himself. He wanted to snoop about. He took the stairs to the second floor, where the bedrooms lay, and he started for the opposite end of the long hall from his guest chamber.
Rys had come to his chamber for breakfast that morning they had clashed in the breakfast room, and once since, but he’d never seen Rys’s bedchamber. And he wanted to.
He knew it was a trespass. Luc couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty. Pacing down the hall, he stopped at the final door, peering about first to make sure none of the very efficient staff was about.
Assured that he was alone, Luc knocked. Just in case. No valet called out, and Rys was definitely gone, so…
He opened the door, stepping in and closing it behind him. The scent of sandalwood, citrus, and musk came to him, and he breathed in deeply. Rys always smelled so good. Luc cast a learning eye around the room, noting the details.
The room was spare but somehow also opulent. Everything was of the finest quality, from the cut pile rug to the chest to the bed, which was an antique half tester that had to be a few hundred years older than the house.
“Fit for a king,” he murmured. “Or the devil himself.” He wanted to go farther into the room, but then again, he felt so out of place. Like an intruder. He turned, ready to leave, and he ran right into the solid wall of Rys’s chest, bouncing backward. “Oof!”
“Here now.” Rys caught his good arm. “No falling and injuring yourself.”
“I’m sorry!” He wasn’t even certain what he was apologizing for. “I didn’t truly enter. I immediately felt like an intruder.”
“I saw.” Rys’s lips quirked as he advanced into the room, his eyebrows rising. “But if you wanted to see my bedchamber, you need only have asked.”
“I did not want to step out of place.” Luc didn’t know what to do. A man’s bedchamber was his sanctuary, and he had invaded Rys’s without an invitation.
“No misstep at all. I had to come home because I spilled coffee all over my damned clothes. Now I’m glad I did.” Rys advanced on him, and he moved back, realizing only after he did that it took him deeper into Rys’s rooms.
He glanced about, but there didn’t seem to be an easy escape.
“What do you think?” Rys asked.
“Of what?” he countered, rather stupidly. Of course, Rys meant of the room.
“Of my quarters, Luc.” Rys backed him right up against the bed, his arse landing against it.
“They are very austere, honestly, save for the bed.”
“Well, what I do here is sleep.” Rys winked. “Mostly.”
“Oh, I?—”
“I meant that I take myself in hand on occasion, Luc. I have never brought another here.” Rys pressed up against him from hip to chest, his heat astonishing.
“Never?”
“No. If I have had a lover, it was at the club or at another residence. My home has been sacrosanct.”
“You have no lover now?” Luc asked, hoping against hope that Rys did not have the equivalent of a mistress set up in a house somewhere. That would be utterly humiliating, and didn’t seem like Rys at all.
“I have you.” Rys stroked his cheek. “I want you now, in fact, Luc.”
“I want you too.” They had spent a great deal of time at play in recent days, but Rys had been ever conscious of his injury, only doing things to him, rather than with him. Luc needed that to change.
“Thank God.” Rys’s smile was so wicked that he lived up to his devilish nickname at that moment. “And my bed just happens to be at our disposal.”
“It does at that.” Luc pushed back with his good arm just enough, then moved around to the side of the bed. He wore only shirtsleeves and trousers, so he unbuttoned the shirt and pulled it off over his head. Then he opened his trousers.
Rys stripped quickly, shedding coat, waistcoat, and shirt before he’d even gotten to his smalls.
“Eager,” he teased.
