She closed her eyes. Then she put her hands over her face, her nerves stretched to the breaking point, her mind awash in unfathomable sensations. Alexander’s grip tightened on her knees, spreading her farther apart. The sound of flesh against flesh, of rough breathing and broken moans—his and hers—filled Lydia’s ears. She was hot, so hot, sweat dripping down her neck, her breasts, her thighs.
He grasped her wrists again, pulling her hands away from her face, forcing her to look at him. He was close, she knew it, saw it in his hard features, felt it in the tension vibrating from him. And still he surged forward and back, again and again, stroking her and pushing her arousal ever higher.
She broke for the second time, bliss sparking through her veins in a delicious torrent. Alexander pressed his fingers to her sex to draw out every last pulse of pleasure, but as the burst of light began to fade, Lydia remembered.
“Alexander.” Her voice cracked. She had to tell him, should have told him earlier…. Panic began to claw at her insides despite the lingering pleasure. “You can’t…”
With what must have been enormous self-control, he pulled from her before surrendering to his own release. Lydia’s body slackened with both pleasure and relief as she watched him ride out the final spasms. Her heart continued to thump hard, her blood pounding in her ears. Then Alexander collapsed onto the bed beside her, reaching a hand to urge her closer.
Lydia turned to curl into his side, trying to push away the uncertainty, the tension, the doubts beginning to crawl like insects back into her consciousness.
Alexander’s hand slid over her back, a warm stroking that brought her back to him. She rested her cheek against his chest, closed her eyes, and breathed.
Chapter Eighteen
He was asleep, and beautiful in his slumber. Lydia’s heart tightened. His dark hair was a stark contrast to the white pillow. His chest moved with deep breaths. And though even in sleep his features remained set, a faint softness eased the angles of his jaw and cheekbones. If she looked at him long enough, she might believe he possessed more than a touch of vulnerability.
Lydia dragged her gaze from Alexander’s face and reached for her chemise. The embers of the fire burned low and red, emitting wisps of smoke and little heat. She pulled on her shift and reached for her corset just as he spoke.
“Lydia.”
His baritone voice rumbled into the cold. She stopped. Apprehension skittered across her skin as she turned to face him. Her breath caught at the sight of his naked body burnished in the pale light. All traces of softness gone from his expression, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his trousers.
Arousal tugged at Lydia as she watched him hitch the trousers over his hips, his muscles shifting as smooth as cream beneath his taut skin. Her fingers tingled with the urge to slide her palms over his shoulders again, to feel the flexing of his body, the tense grace that coiled through every one of his movements.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Back to my room.”
Anger flashed in his eyes as he moved to stoke the fire, jabbing at the smoldering logs as if they had somehow wronged him. Sparks cascaded onto the hearth. He stabbed harder. The wood split beneath the poker.
“You’ll go nowhere until we’ve settled this.” The poker clattered back onto the stand. He paced to the bed and back again, pulling a hand roughly through his disheveled hair. “The risk of an affair is too great. I will not tolerate it.”
The irritation in his tone stung her. “You appeared to tolerate it quite well several hours ago.”
He glowered, even as heat flared in his eyes. “No man could resist a woman half undressed as you were.”
Her stomach twisted. She’d known enough to expect this reaction, not that she could blame him. “If you believe it was a mistake—”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” Alexander interrupted. “It was inevitable. The minute I saw you, I knew I would have you in my bed.”
The beat of her heart increased, the sound pulsing into her thoughts and masking the admission that she had known the very same thing.
Before she could respond, he crossed the room to her and gripped her wrists in his hands.
“But this stops now,” he said. “I will give you two weeks.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Two weeks,” Alexander repeated. “If at that time you don’t agree to