Page 21 of Bedding his Innocent Mistress

Ivy couldn’t have said how long they lay entwined like that, her legs wrapped around his waist, with him inside her throbbing heart, but eventually, he shifted, and she made a small sound. A sigh. A sob.

His eyes lifted to her face and a frown etched his lips.

She stared up at him, wondering at the change in his demeanour, but when he lifted a hand to her cheek and stroked it, she felt wetness. Embarrassment flooded her. She was crying? She pulled at her wrists and they didn’t give.

“Can you undo me?”

He nodded, but didn’t move. “You’re crying.”

“I didn’t realise. That was … intense.”

“Mmmm.” A gravelly admission, but his frown lingered as he moved his fingers upwards and stretched her underwear so that she could wiggle a wrist out. With one out, the other gave easily.

Rafe held the underpants in his hands, a smile tickling his lips. “I think we’ve ruined these.”

“And my shirt,” she said with a small nod, wiping her palms across her cheek to remove any sign of the emotions that had been unwelcome guests upon her face.

“You’ll have to go home half-naked,” he teased, bringing his mouth to hers.

And the idea of going home sat strangely in her mind. The realisation that maybe he expected her to leave again immediately flooded her with uncertainty.

The first night she’d come to his apartment, she’d crept out in the middle of the night because she hadn’t wanted her unsophistication in such matters to show. The idea of wearing out her welcome had been anathema to her. So too the idea of his warmth and heat turning to unwelcoming cool.

And now? He wanted her with a desperate passion that was on a par with hers.

When Steve had left her, she’d been blind-sided. Surely there’d been signs, but she hadn’t seen them. She’d ignored them. She’d been so caught up in her own blissful pleasure and happiness that she’d failed to see his unhappiness. Maybe if she’d paid better attention, she would have read Steve’s feelings better; anticipated his needs. Known what was coming.

Well, she wouldn’t make that mistake again. Having a man tell her to leave, or feeling that she’d outstayed her desired welcome, was not something she’d ever go through again. From this moment on, Ivy would leave before she could be asked to go.

Her smile was perfunctory. She drew on reserves of strength that had failed her in the past as she pushed out of the bed and strolled through his bedroom. Her body was tingling and her muscles felt stretched. Pleasantly stretched. His bathroom was palatial; she remembered it clearly from the early morning escape she’d performed weeks earlier. She also knew he had a walk-through wardrobe just beyond it. She slipped inside, unaware that Rafe was sitting in bed watching her with a mix of confusion and amusement.

His clothes were hung with military precision. Starched shirts, pants, ties. She selected a white shirt and pulled out drawers until she found his underwear. As she lifted a pair of his silk boxers in place, she couldn’t help but get a kick of arousal. They were enormous on her, but they were better than nothing.

She stepped out of the bathroom, hair pulled over one shoulder, face unreadable save for the practiced smile she’d forced herself to offer.

“Am I to ruin my own shirt now, as payback?” He pondered, arching a brow in an expression that was so sexy it made her stomach churn.

“I really do think it would cause a stir if I got on the tube in just a bra and skirt.”

“Mmm,” he grinned. “You could be right.”

He stood up, walking towards her with a determination that was predatory. “So when you go, you can wear this.”

She spoke without a hint of emotion. “I’m going to go now.”

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, his hands linked behind her back. “You’re leaving? Again?”

She wouldn’t stay so long that he tired of her. “Yeah.” Her smile was a fraud. “I got what I came for,” she winked to soften the offense he might take from the words.

But his laugh was a deep rumble. “I see.”

But Ivy sobered. “It’s all I want, Rafe. I need to know you get that.”

He scanned her face, and again, she had the strangest sense that he was reading her, decoding her, understanding her even when she was telling him how she felt. What more was there to know?

“Fine,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

She swallowed. Good. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? Boundaries, rules, an understanding that this relationship was limited by what had happened to her, and by what Rafe was. There was safety in parameters. “I’ll just get my skirt.”

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