Page 88 of My Hellion, My Heart
“As if I could forget. You are a temptress,” he said in a choked voice, taking the glass from her hands and pulling her to him as if she were the banquet instead of the food waiting upon the table.
Henry kissed her, savoring the whiskey on her lips and tongue and wanting to devour her. He wanted to lick whiskey from her throat, from her breasts, lap it from her smooth, bare stomach. He wanted to bathe her in it and feast from her body. His hand fisted at her hip, winding into the material of her dress as he explored the interior of her mouth, the combination of her intoxicating taste and his lewd thoughts making him senseless.
With a reluctant sigh, Irina pushed him away and drew a breath. “Henry, wait. I need to tell you something. Before everything happened, I went to your residence. I wanted to tell you that I’d decided not to marry Max.”
He reached for her. “I know.”
“No, there’s more,” she said, stalling him. “I…don’t want there to be any more secrets between us. It’s about the wagers.” Flushing with shame, she turned away from him, and something slithered uneasily in his gut. Had she done something? Had Remisov done something? Had she done somethingwithRemisov? Jealousy reared its ugly head inside of him while he waited in a numb state for her to continue. “I told Max to start the wagers. It was all my idea.”
Relief flooded him. “I know.”
“You know?”
“Remisov told me as much.”
Irina wrung her hands. “And the idea of getting married, that was mine. I didn’t think you…” she trailed off, swallowing, “that you wanted me.”
“Irina, I have wanted you from the first day you touched your lips to my whiskey glass,” Henry said, gathering her into his arms with a groan.
“I meant in marriage.”
“I didn’t think I was…suitable.”
Irina stared at him. “Is it because of what Max said…about your demons?” She faltered, nervous fingers twining into the linen of his shirt. “And not being able to stay the night with anyone?”
Henry nodded and swallowed, stung by shame. “Remisov was right about that. Being touched in my sleep seems to bring back awful memories, ones my body has yet to forget. At night, I’m consumed by dreams brought on by the devil himself, and I lash out. I nearly hurt someone once. A courtesan. And I vowed never to put anyone in such danger from me again.” His knuckles skimmed her cheek. “I would never want to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me, Henry,” she said.
He drew a measured breath and realized something. Weeks had passed since his last night terror. He could not recall the last time he’d woken in a demented panic, though he was positive it had been before Irina had returned to London.
She blinked up at him as if worried by his silence. “You can’t truly believe you will hurt me.”
“No.” Henry shook his head, a sense of wonder filling him. “You are right. I don’t believe I will. You calm me, Irina. I don’t know what it is about you, but my body, my mind…you speak to me, you lure me from the edge, even when you say nothing at all.”
He trailed his fingers down the elegant curve of her throat. “I’ve never thought about anyone as much as I’ve thought about you. You’re so ingrained in my thoughts that, lately at least, when I do manage to sleep, somehow the terrors remain at bay.” A wicked grin curved his lips. “Though I haven’t woken up with torn bedding, I do tend to find myself in a veryuncomfortablestate.”
“Uncomfortable?”
“Aroused, then.” His smile turned wolfish, and a becoming blush flooded her cheeks.
“Oh.”
“Though that is vastly preferable to the alternative, I assure you,” he said with a laugh as he took her lips in a sweet, swift kiss. She met him as she always had, with urgency and passion, and with complete honesty. No wilting wallflower, his Irina.
HisIrina.
Drawing away, Henry sobered as his eyes drank in her features. Her dark, glossy hair fell in cascading waves around her face, and her eyes were a blue so deep, a man could happily float in them for eternity. Her cheeks remained flushed from his teasing and his kiss, and her lips were plump and rosy. It made him want to devour her again. Want to haul her up against him and never let go. To think of how close he’d come to losing her on that ship. The realization had loosened something buried deep…he wanted more time with her. Heneededit. He wanted to make her laugh, to see her skill with a sword, to bask in her sparkling wit and curiosity. But most of all, he wanted to please her with a desperation that he’d never felt before. Not for anyone. And not since France, when the monsters inside had chased anything good in him away.
Irina’s courage was humbling, and her faith in him was staggering. It buoyed him and terrified him at the same time. He did not deserve her. He could never deserve someone so perfect.
“I still think I’m not the man for you.”
Irina’s hands reached up to cup his face, her eyes sparking with anger or passion, or some fiery combination of the two. “You are theonlyone for me,” she whispered fiercely. “That was what I was coming to tell you in London. That I didn’t care if you didn’t want to marry me, butIcouldn’t marry anyone else knowing what I feel.”
“And why is that?” Henry rasped, an aching feeling taking hold of him.
“Because I love you, and I always will,” she said with a shy laugh. “You’ve ruined me for any other man.”
