Page 41 of His Innocent Seduction

‘He was a judge. Respected and liked. Fair.’

‘But he killed her.’

‘I know.’ He stiffens a little. ‘It wasn’t just the violence. It was everything. He took every single one of her hopes and aspirations and he ground them down into dust. He took the woman she was and berated her and belittled her until she was just a shell. He killed all of her, gradually, slowly, and finally his fists finished the job.’

My heart aches for the picture he’s painted. ‘That must have been incredibly wretched for you.’

His eyes lift to mine. There is darkness there. Confusion. ‘I thought it was normal,’ he says. ‘For a long time. As a child you live in a bubble. Eventually I stayed over with friends, saw their parents, realised my own family was particularly, uniquely fucked up.’ He lifts a hand, stroking my cheek. ‘She never got to experience life outside the home. She never got to walk away from him, to travel, to do anything without him. He oppressed her, he controlled her, he dominated her. She deserved so much better.’

‘Of course she did.’

He’s quiet.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Now I lift my face towards his. He’s watching me with an intensity that makes something inside me ache. I have no interest in pretending that what we’re doing is purely for fun any longer, even if it is temporary. I lift up on tiptoes and press my lips to his. ‘Thank you for telling me.’

He’s very still; he doesn’t kiss me back. ‘I don’t know why I did,’ he murmurs, shaking his head. ‘I never speak about them.’

‘I’m glad you did.’

‘Why?’

I shrug, awkward. ‘I don’t know.’

His smile is more of a grimace.

‘You told me our grief is different. You said you’ve accepted she’s no longer here and that you’ve become used to living without her. That it’s a faraway pain. But I don’t... I think you’re misrepresenting how you feel.’

‘You’re calling me a liar?’ he asks, stroking my back again.

‘Not exactly. But maybe you’re a little bit in denial.’

‘Why?’

‘Because your father killed your mother and he’s still alive and every day you have to make a choice not to see him. That’s hard.’

‘I made the choice a decade ago. I will never re-evaluate it.’ His certainty sends a shiver dancing down my spine. He’s hurting, despite what he says, and I don’t want him to.

At first I wanted to sleep with Michael Brophy because he’s drop dead gorgeous, sinfully sexy and clearly knows what he’s doing.

But now, in this moment, I’m making a decision and it’s motivated by other factors. I want to go to bed with Michael to erase this pain from his heart, just for a moment. I have limited power with him, but I want to wield it. I want to turn the grief that is wrapped around him and spin it into something else altogether.

‘Take me to bed, Mr Brophy.’ I lift up and kiss him softly. ‘Take me to bed right now.’

* * *

The bedroom is in darkness, but Michael makes it light. He reaches for a lamp, switching it on as I walk to the edge of the bed.

I lift my eyes to find him watching me, his eyes chasing the fleeting expressions and making sense of them. He unbuttons his shirt, his gaze not leaving my face, his face wearing a mask that is impossible to decipher as he slowly, painstakingly slowly, removes the shirt from his body. My throat is thick, my skin covered in fine goosebumps, and my stomach is in knots.

The shirt slides down his body, dropping to the floor with a soft noise. I hear everything—the brush of cotton against his hair-roughened arms, his exhalation as he pushes the shirt free, the fall of it through the air of this bedroom, and then its landing—it’s as though my senses are on alert.

I can only stare at him.

His hand strums my hip, his fingers splayed wide there before dragging upwards, finding the top of the zip. He watches me the whole time he loosens it, sliding it down my side, all the way to my hip, so the dress parts and the night air whispers across my bare skin.

My senses are on high alert, so when he eases the dress down my body it’s its own kind of foreplay. I bite down on my lower lip as it brushes over my nipples and then my sex, my so very aroused, very ready body aching for satisfaction and touch. He drags my underpants down with the dress; I am naked to his touch, his inspection. I am naked to him. The knowledge of how exposed I am makes me crave him in a whole new way.

‘Michael,’ I murmur as he crouches at my feet, holding the voluminous dress for me to step out of. I press a hand on his shoulder and lift out of it. He stands slowly, running his hands over my legs, my body, with a reverence that robs me of breath.

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