But a frightened Tilly? No. He had absolutely no defenses when she was like this.
He stood and crept over to the bed. The room was dark, but he could see enough to tell she was curled up into herself and shaking.
He lowered himself to the bed. “Scoot over.”
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice edged with tears.
“Don’t worry, I’ll stay on top of the covers, but you’re frightened.”
She hesitated, not moving. Lightning flashed and he could see the fear in her face as she looked at him. Then her gaze lowered. She swiped the tears from her cheeks. “You’re not wearing any clothes.”
“As are you, which we established earlier. Don’t fret, I still have on my blanket. Move over, Matilda.”
Her gaze locked onto his bare chest, but then she moved over. She kept the blanket tight to her body.
He moved in behind her, staying above the blankets, but he pressed himself against her. She stiffened initially. He wrapped his arm around her middle and pulled them as flush as possible between both their blankets. “I’ll warm you up, too. It’s freezing on that floor.” Eventually, she relaxed against him.
“Try to concentrate on the sound of the rain falling. Just the rain. The more you hear the way the drops hit against the windows and the ground, the less you’ll notice the rest. Do you hear them?”
“Yes, I hear them.”
He counted the rhythm of the drops. It had rained like this in India. There the water ran red because of all of the fallen bodies surrounding him. He pushed the memories away, and for the first time since he’d returned he succeeded. They didn’t pull him under and force him to relive every death, one by one. He inhaled deeply the scent of her skin and hair. He’d never been this close to her, and to say he was tempted was a gross understatement. The spicy and sweet scent of her seemed to warm him from the inside.
“Why is it always you?” she asked.
“Why is what always me?”
“You always seem to be there whenever I’m revealing my most humiliating secrets.”
He could well ask her the same thing.
There was only one woman in all of London he lusted after this fiercely. And only one woman whose judgmental disdain he found so irritating. Why was Tilly that one woman?
Did she think he wanted to be the one to know her secrets? The one to rescue her?
He did not.
Nothing would have pleased him more than to never see her again and be able to forget about her entirely. But instead, fate had cursed him.
His stomach knotted. He tried not to think about that night so many years ago when she’d confessed her love for his brother, Thomas. He took a chance and smoothed a hand over her hair, hoping she wouldn’t pull away. She didn’t.
“I’ve never told anyone about that. And I won’t tell anyone about this, either.”
“Promise?”
“Of course. Your secrets are safe with me.” One more rub of her hair and then he dropped his arm back to her and pulled her tighter against him. “Go to sleep.”
“Just listen to the rain,” she murmured, her voice sleepy.
“Yes.” Meanwhile, he’d try to sleep. Despite the curve of her bottom pressed against him. Despite the fact that his hand rested against her stomach. He could so easily slide it upward and tease her nipples, or downward and sink his fingers into her warmth. He’d attempt to sleep, even though his cock was hard to the point of being painful. He’d try to ignore all of that, but most of all he’d try to pretend this didn’t feel right. That having her pressed against him in bed, his mouth mere inches from her neck wasn’t absolute perfection.
Tilly was having the most delicious dream. Warm breath blew gently on the back of her neck. A firm palm was cupping her breast, her nipple tender and puckered.
She moaned, arching into the touch, then realized with alarming clarity that she was neither dreaming nor asleep.
Sullivan. In bed with her, pressed against her. And she was naked.
She assessed the situation. She was still mostly covered and he had, true to his word, stayed atop the blankets.