Page 47 of In Want of a Wife
Lily craved Rafe.
“Come to bed, love.” He released a jagged sigh against her mouth, begging.
Words escaped her, and the battle was lost. As long as Rafe was around, Lily would think of nothing else but his lips on hers, and the way the world suddenly opened up to a brighter, bigger place.
And for once, she wasn’t so lonely.
She gently pushed him back against the mattress and stood, placing a finger over his mouth to quiet his protests. Lily walked around to the other side of the bed and quickly plaited her hair, thankful to have it off her neck.
“Close your eyes.”
“Do I have to?”
“You kiss too well for someone with a smart mouth, Rafe.”
He laughed again, instantly groaning.
“Best not to laugh. Now, close your eyes.”
“I’ve had captains less strict than you.”
“Perhaps that’s where they went wrong.”
He clamped his hand over his eyes and laughed, wincing. “Lily Abrams, get into this bed.”
One day, she would long to hear her name upon his lips. One day, he wouldn’t be there to utter it. She pushed aside the panic that clawed in her chest. “Or?”
“I will show you what happens when sailors are disciplined.”
She laughed to herself as she wiggled out of her dress, leaving on her chemise, then slipped underneath the thin linen sheet. She rolled away from him, awareness prickling over her skin at his closeness.
“Good night,” she whispered, staring at the wall. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears as she slammed her eyes shut and prayed for some miracle, where time would stop and everyone’s expectations of her would vanish. She would exist simply in this moment, sharing a bed with Rafe. And that would be simpler, as well.
Instead, it was complicated, and it felt as if she couldn’t breathe as she struggled to let go of what she could have and accept what she had set out to claim as hers. She was in this room with her future bridegroom’s brother.
It didn’t have to go beyond a kiss tonight. No one would know. And then, even if Henry was the very devil, she would remember that one summer, where someone had truly looked at her and touched her as if they wanted her. Of that one summer where she discovered pleasure and embraced the courage stirring within to claim it for herself without shame or fear of what may come.
Rafe’s hand skimmed along the line of her bare arm in the lightest of maddening, drugging touches. She rolled over to face him, frustration and desire thrumming through her.
His face was bruised, and dark stubble shadowed his jawline. The cut above his eye had been stitched but was red. It made him appear far too roguish for her well-being, especially with his short, curls standing this way and that.
“Good night,” he whispered.
Or maybe it was something else. She couldn’t remember because her eyes had been on his lips, and then she was on her knees with his face cupped gently in her hands, and they were kissing ever so softly.
“I don’t wish to hurt you,” she said.
“Too late,” he replied.
She didn’t seek out clarification. They both knew he wasn’t talking about his ribs. Hearts were a much trickier matter.
The birds were up.And though Rafe had slept some, it was near impossible to melt into this bed and drift off to sleep with Lily there beside him.
And his damn ribs ached.
Not sprained as he feared, or bruised as he had told Lily, but likely broken, according to the surgeon. And just as well.
But he would be mad another day. He couldn’t stomach that now, not when her hand brushed against his shoulder as she lay sleeping, her dark brown curls spilling over them in bed.
