him.
He wanted her to look at him, to see him.
Wanted her to want him…
“I…I thought I should return your coat.” She held up her hand, the coat he’d draped over her shoulders earlier hanging from her fingers. “Just in case you were cold.”
He drew closer still, so close she might have touched him, her soft fingertips dragging over his bare skin, and took the coat from her hand. “I don’t sleep in my coat, Cecilia.”
“No, of course not. Nor your shirt, either.” She flushed and backed toward the door, as if preparing to flee if he moved another step closer to her. “I-I shouldn’t have come. I’ll just…I beg your pardon, Lord Darlington.”
She turned away, but Gideon moved quickly, catching her wrist in his hand. “No. Don’t go. Please. Tell me the truth, Cecilia. Did you come here for Duncan, or…did you come for me?”
Her slight body was trembling, but she met his gaze bravely, her dark eyes burning. “For you. I came for you.”
Desire, passion, the last year of grief and loneliness, the fierce yearning he felt for this fragile, dark-haired woman with her sweet voice and sharp tongue all exploded inside him at once. He drew her against him, his breath catching at the drift of her hair over his skin, her curves against his body.
She settled her hands on his chest, her palms warming his bare skin, and Gideon caught his breath as that warmth flowed over him, through him, touching every part of him, inside and out. He went still, closing his eyes, savoring the feel of her soft hands on his chest, his shoulders, his neck and face—
“Gideon. Look at me.”
Gideon’s stomach jumped at that sweet voice, a voice he’d come to crave, lower now than when she sang, with a hint of huskiness. He opened his eyes to find she’d risen to her tiptoes, and was gently urging his face down, closer to hers, her dark eyes on his lips…
He caught his breath on a moan when her lips found his. Her kiss was hesitant, shy, as if she’d never kissed a man before and wasn’t quite sure how to do it, but the soft, damp drag of her full mouth against his made his lower belly clench with want, and nothing mattered then but getting closer to her.
“Your mouth is so sweet, Cecilia.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her against him so he could take her mouth more deeply. Her shawl fell to the ground, leaving her in just her night rail, and he gathered her closer, a broken groan tearing from his lips.
God, it was maddening, the way her rounded hips fit into his hands and the line of her delicate thighs pressed against his. Did she know what it meant, that he was this hard for her? “Cecilia. Wait, sweetheart.”
But Cecilia didn’t wait. She pressed a kiss behind his ear, then trailed her lips lower, her teeth grazing his neck before she pressed an oddly chaste kiss to the vulnerable notch of his throat.
Gideon sank his hands into her hair, stilling her as he opened his mouth over hers, his kiss deep and wild and fierce. She gasped when he sucked her plump lower lip into his mouth, and her fingernails dragged over his sensitive flesh as her hands curled against his chest.
“Shhh. Let me…” He dragged his tongue over that pouting mouth once more before he slipped it between her lips. Cecilia gasped, straining to get closer as he devoured her, his hands slipping from her waist down to the firm curve of her bottom.
He didn’t realize he’d lifted her against him, his erection cradled snugly against her soft belly until he heard her gasp. He lifted his mouth, dazed, and realized his hips were moving sinuously against hers.
“Cecilia, wait.” A despairing groan tore from Gideon’s lips at the loss of her, but he took her gently by the shoulders and set her away from him. “We can’t…I shouldn’t be…you need to go back to your own bedchamber.”
She gazed up at him with dark, searching eyes before shifting her hand over his heart. “Aren’t you tired of being cold, Gideon? Here.” She patted his chest. “Aren’t you tired of being cold here?”
He stared down at her, his heart beating a wild rhythm under her palm.
How did she know?
He’d been cold for so long, so long, and he was tired. God, he was so tired.
No one had touched him since Cassandra’s death—not his body, and not his