Page 43 of Love Unraveled
“Viens,” she said and walked away from him.
Gaston was a mess of emotions himself, not the least of which was the desire that, at all times, burned beneath the surface of his skin and his every thought. He was not about to decline an invitation to follow her, even if it might not be appropriate considering her state of mind. He assumed she’d pause in the drawing room in which they had spent the night, but she did not. She moved through a smaller sitting room and into her boudoir.
Her maid was dozing by the empty grate. Sophie walked to her and gently shook her shoulder.
“Cara,parti…per favore.”
The elderly woman jumped to her feet, ready to obey. She hesitated and glanced at Gaston before returning her gaze back to Sophie. “Stai bene?”
Sophie’s nose twitched, and she clamped her mouth closed, the tension clear in her jaw. Gaston knew she was anything but okay, and her maid did not believe Sophie’s assurances any more than he did. The woman had the audacity to look at him with warning as she exited. He should have been angry, but he lauded her loyalty to Sophie.
“Gaston,” Sophie said on a whisper, stepping closer and cupping his cheeks before pulling his face down to hers.
Although he knew he should, he did not resist the invitation. He kissed her soft lips gently, but she was having none of that. She opened his mouth with her tongue and slowly, methodically tasted him as he relished the flavor of her. In moments, the tender exploration turned into full-on warfare, and Sophie took siege of his mouth until they both took a step back, panting and staring at each other. Her eyes were still glazed, but he could see the need in them. The desire.
“Gaston,” she said again and yanked at her sash, undoing its fastening. He watched, mesmerized, as she pulled her dress over her head, tossing it to the side. Her stays accentuated her shape, and her delicate chemise barely hid her voluptuous body. He shifted uncomfortably but did not take his eyes off her. One at a time, she pulled the pins from her hair, and hismembrerose higher as each lock fell. She set the pins on the pool of scarlet cloth on the floor and held out her hand.
“Sophie?” His body screamed for her, but he was unsure. Did she truly want this?
She turned and walked away, her derriere sashaying enticingly. Her chemise left little to the imagination, and he grew impossibly hard. He growled, part frustration, part confusion, and stalked her to the bed after she stretched out upon it invitingly.
He stopped and stared, drinking in her beauty, her sensuality, her Sophie-ness. “Mon Dieu, you make me ache.”
She ran her hand slowly down her neck, between her breasts, and along her stomach, pausing shy of where he’d like to be. “Come,mon amour, let me ease your ache.”
Gaston need not be asked twice. He tossed his overcoat aside and fell upon her, her soft flesh the sweetest bed he’d known in years. This time, it was he who laid siege, taking her tongue into his mouth, exploring the dark corners of deliciousness that was Sophie. She moaned, and he abandoned her mouth, smelling her sweet scent as he kissed his way toward her breasts.
He pulled back and tugged at the ribbons on her stays. She watched him, her sensuality and vulnerability clear in her eyes. He was awed by her trust in him, by this gift she was offering. He yanked the ribbon free, and the garment fell to the sides, her breasts falling free. He groaned, rubbing himself against her as he leaned in for a taste.
His hands caressed her as his mouth suckled. He was mad with desire, his years of dreaming coming to life beneath his hands. She arched against him, and he knew he could wait no longer. He rose to disrobe and froze. Her dark eyes were watery pools, and the pain in them impossible to ignore. Tears stung his own eyes as he lowered himself and pressed his forehead against hers.
But Sophie was not deterred. She rolled her head side to side and ripped at his jacket. “Gaston, please.S’il te plaît.”
His heart broke at her plaintive appeal, but in her plea he found his truth. He could not satisfy his body this night at her expense. For she was not giving it freely. She was using hers to run from the pain.
“Non. Pas ce soir.” It could not be this night, but he would continue to hold hope for the future.
Gaston eased off Sophie and lay on his back, his labored breathing slowly abating and, with it, the sound of her quiet crying becoming more apparent. He edged onto his side, watching her. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she stared at the ceiling.
“Mon petit chou,” he said, stroking her cheek. She rolled into him, and he held her as her quiet tears turned into a torrent of sobbing.
He was aware of her soft breasts against his chest, of the curves of her hips, of the scent of her hair, but they did not distract him from recognizing the rightness of having sought her out. If Sophie did not need him—if, in the end, she turned from him—he had this moment. A purge. Perhaps an acceptance of all that had happened. For sure, a cleansing. She had run from her past for too long. If his only role was to help her face it and find peace, he would die a happy man.
Chapter Thirty-Three
And ask ye why these sad tears stream?
Why these wan eyes are dim with weeping?
I had a dream—a lovely dream,
Of her that in the grave is sleeping.
—Alfred Lord Tennyson, “And Ask Ye Why These Sad Tears Stream?”
Sophia had wovenher life into a seamless shape, no beginnings, no endings, simply the present. Now it was coming unraveled. She was coming unraveled. She could make no sense of these intense emotions brewing constantly beneath the surface, bubbling and exploding at the mere suggestion of the past.
She curled into Gaston, his gentle strokes and steady heartbeat eventually calming the storm inside her. She felt no shame in her behavior, but she did not understand it. Despite what she’d led society to suspect, she’d not lain with anyone since Carmine. And she would have given her all to Gaston, although now that sanity was returning, she was glad he’d stopped her. It was not how she wanted to entice Gaston back into her bed.
