Beauty Tempts the Beast (Sins for All Seasons #6) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,110

looked as though he’d been battling demons and had quite possibly lost. “What happened? Where have you been?”

He stepped into the room, slammed the door shut. “Walking through Whitechapel. I need you, Thea. God, I need you.”

The buttons on her nightdress scattered over the floor as he tore it off her, his own clothes quickly following. His arms came around her like bands, pressing their bodies close, her breasts flattening against his chest as he took possession of her mouth, his tongue delving, his hands frantically stroking as though he couldn’t get enough of her, might never be able to get enough of her.

Tearing her mouth from his, she cradled his face, studied his eyes, and what she saw terrified her. He looked to be a man who had lost his way, and she was the North Star that would guide him home.

She leaped up and he caught her, his hands cupping her bottom as she wrapped her legs around him and reclaimed his mouth. Whatever was wrong, he would tell her. For now, in order to bring him back to her, she would be what he needed, wanted.

With long strides, he carried her to the bed, lowered her to its edge, and plunged into her. His groan was savage and raw as he pounded into her, lowering his head to her breast, licking it before drawing it into his mouth, his fingers kneading before he moved to the other.

Meeting him thrust for thrust, she stroked his chest, his shoulders. The pleasure came fast, hit hard like a runaway horse that never again wanted to feel the bit. When it broke free, he lowered his shoulder and she closed her mouth over it to silence the scream that would have woken everyone.

He followed her into the realm of ecstasy with a growl that sounded feral in its intensity. Breathing harshly, sweating, he collapsed on top of her.

Wrapping her arms around him, she simply held on.

“Did I hurt you?” He knew it was a little late to ask. He had probably frightened the devil out of her, taking her like he was riding a tempest.

He’d moved her farther up on the bed, and now he was on his back, with her sprawled halfway over his body, his arm protectively circling her, while his free hand skimmed lazily over flesh not hidden away by the sheet. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her.

“No.”

She combed her fingers through his hair. He loved when she did that, had been a fool to have stopped her from doing it sooner.

“Tell me.”

If there was anyone he could tell, it was her, but he didn’t even know where to begin, how to begin. He’d spent the evening dining and talking with his parents—his parents. He still couldn’t get used to that. His mind stuttered every time he thought the words.

They’d told him about themselves, their estates, their families. Had asked questions of him. He’d told them about his mum, his brothers, his sisters. He hadn’t told them about Thea. He didn’t know why. She seemed too new, too private, too special. He’d told them about his ships, his writing, some tales from his youth—not about Three-Fingered Bill or Sally Greene or the brothel. He didn’t want them feeling guilty because he’d been attacked. He didn’t think they’d look favorably on the rest of it, and none of it mattered anymore anyway. They’d begun moving his building into the realm of respectability.

He knew he should be able to tell his parents everything, had never felt a need to hide anything about himself from his mum. But his relationship with the duke and duchess was too fragile. He’d felt as though he’d been striving to walk over eggs without breaking any. Occasionally, he’d hear a crack and he’d revert to the part of himself that relished privacy, that seldom revealed much. It had always amazed him that Thea had been an exception, that he’d given more words to her than he’d given anyone.

When the hour had drawn late, the duke had sent him back in the coach, but when he’d arrived, he couldn’t bring himself to go in just yet. He’d felt raw, untethered, not himself. Therefore, he’d walked through the streets that were familiar, that had shaped him. But only now with Thea in his arms was he beginning to feel a bit more like himself again, like someone he knew and recognized. She was the way home.

“Was it that Ewan Campbell? Who is he? What did he