Seven Nights to Forever (25 page)

Instead she had accepted his offer, and now she could not ignore the sense of obligation that came with those pound notes, spoiling what should have been nothing but pure, giddy anticipation to run straight into his arms. Regardless of his assurances to the contrary, she was here for him and not herself.

It wasn’t that she did not adore being with James. She did. And if she was being honest with herself, her feelings for him had grown beyond adoration. But his desires came first, and hers . . . only if they happened to align with his.

And his desire at the moment was for her to make an appearance in his bedchamber.

She got up from the bed, checked the screen to ensure it would fully cover the hearth in her absence, and doused the candles. Breath held, she opened her door, quickly checked the corridor to ensure it was clear, and darted across.

And then paused, knuckles poised to knock, to glance down the corridor again. Thinking better of knocking, she reached for the knob.

The door swung open soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. She slowly released the knob, damping the effect of the
click
of the door shutting, and glanced about.

This was most definitely James’s room. A navy coverlet on the large bed, matching curtains covering the windows. The mahogany furniture more substantial than that in her own room. She took a deep breath, catching the faint clean, masculine scent of him on the air. The rapid beat of her pulse slowed to something that approached normal levels as the knot in her stomach began to ease.

He stood before the washstand on the other side of the room. His upper body was bared, his trousers hugging the muscular curves of his arse. The muscles in his back bunched and flexed as he dragged a length of towel over his face. Then green eyes met hers in the mirror. He smiled, slow and sinful. “Good evening.”

“Good evening, James.”

Turning from the washstand, he dropped the towel next to the ceramic basin. His chestnut brown hair was damp around his face, clinging to his temples. On bare feet, he walked toward her, stopping beside the bed.

She watched as what had been the beginnings of an erection swelled, tenting the placket of his trousers.

“Do you plan to join me, or do you plan to linger by the door all evening? I hope you aren’t expecting an offer from me to watch,” he said, all playful indignation.

A laugh burst from her throat at the unexpected comment. Her back almost propping up the door, she must look just as he had nights ago, when he had hesitated to take more than a step into her bedchamber. “Not expecting, but if the offer’s there . . .” she trailed off, arching a suggestive brow.

His eyes flared slightly, his expression momentarily blanking. Goodness, was that a blush staining his cheeks?

All traces of hesitation gone, she finally moved from the door, walking toward him. “My apologies. I couldn’t resist. I was only teasing.” Though the thought of watching as he took himself in hand . . . Arousal spiked her senses, lust pooling low between her thighs.

Stopping before him, she tipped her head back to meet his gaze. A little smile curved his mouth, prompting an answering one from her. For a long moment, neither of them moved.

“That’s my bed.” He inclined his head toward it as if it wasn’t already obvious.

“Is it?” She gave him her best politely interested expression.

His lips quirked. “Yes.”

Large hands gripped her about the waist and before she knew it, her feet left the floor. She knew a second of being suspended in the air and then she landed on her back in the middle of the bed. The mattress was soft enough to cushion almost any landing, but he had thrown her so gently, so carefully, that the extra padding hadn’t been necessary.

She brushed the stray hairs from her face and watched as he settled beside her, stretching out on his side, his jaw propped up in his palm on a bent elbow.

With the lightest of touches, he traced the deep
V
neckline of her wrapper. Her pulse skipped a beat as his fingertip just grazed the swells of her breasts.

“You’re beyond beautiful.”

She swallowed, found her voice. “Is there such a thing?” she asked, near breathless from the heat of his stare.

“Yes. And you define it.”

The reverent awe, the absolute conviction in his voice, in his eyes, in his touch . . .

“Kiss me.” The plea whispered past her lips. The need for him, so strong it suddenly filled her entire being, sent a tremble rocking through her.

His lips met hers in a soft press of skin against skin. Wrapping her arms about his neck, she arched into him, needing more. A low growl shook his chest, reverberating through her, as he shifted fully on top of her, her legs eagerly opening for him. His lips slanted over hers, his hot tongue found hers, and she lost herself in his kiss.

WITH
the languid, drowsy haze of sleep clinging to her senses, Rose shifted closer, nuzzling James’s broad chest, seeking his warmth. The coverlet had nothing on the heat pouring off his powerful body. The drapes were not fully closed, but the breaks in the navy damask offered little by way of light. Shadows cloaked the bedchamber, the air chilly and damp. Rain lashed the windows, a sharp staccato interspersed with strong gusts of wind that rattled the panes.

James stirred, his arms coming around to loop about her waist. Bare skin slid luxuriously against bare skin, her legs falling open to bracket his, as he pulled her fully on top of him. The hard brand of his erection nudged her upper thigh. Desire curled down her spine, rousing her sleep-fogged senses. She pushed up enough to look into his face. His eyes were still closed, his features relaxed, the notched between his brows completely absent. The man was so handsome, so ruggedly masculine. The strong body beneath her possessed such great strength, yet he touched her so tenderly, with such great care, that her heart couldn’t help but want to throw all caution to the wind. A dangerous temptation indeed.

She should let him rest but . . . she couldn’t resist brushing a kiss along the line of his jaw, his morning beard a gentle scrape against her lips.

The edges of his mouth tipped up, his lashes sweeping up just enough to reveal a glimpse of soft, olive green eyes. “Good morning,” he said in a scratchy rumble that made her toes curl.

“Good morning to you as well.”

Another brush of her lips, this time against his. The strong arms around her waist tightened. A hint of a low, content growl vibrated his chest. The light flick of his tongue against the seam of her lips had her opening eagerly to him. Their tongues twined decadently together. There was nothing hurried or rushed about his kiss. No heated push toward something more. Nothing but a desire to savor their kiss.

His hands roamed her body, coasting along her back, pausing to palm her derrière, the tips of his fingers tickling the crease, as he continued to kiss her. His skin warmed from sleep, his movements slow and lazy, yet backed with intent. Waking with him was such a wonderful experience. An experience she could easily become much too fond of.

A nudge prodded the back of her mind. She pulled back, breaking the kiss. A glance to the brass clock on the mahogany dresser identified the source of the nudge. Yesterday he had been clear about his plans for their holiday. She well understood a busy man like James could never fully escape his responsibilities, even if only for a few days.

“I hadn’t realized it was so late. I shouldn’t keep you. Surely the morning post has arrived.”

“Damn the morning post,” he said, in a gravelly growl. He gave her backside a firm squeeze, hitching her higher up so that her sex slid along the hot arch of his arousal. A thoroughly wicked smile curved his lips. “I want to stay in bed with you all day.”

“All day?” She chanced a quick glance over her shoulder to the closed door. “But what about the Webbs?”

“What about them?”

“They’ll know I’m with you.”

“And? You are here as my guest. I do believe the Webbs have deduced we intend to do more than share meals.” He passed a soothing palm down her back. “Not that their opinions should matter, but I highly doubt they care either way.”

She knew he was right, but still . . . At night, under the cover of darkness when the rest of the house was abed was an entirely different situation than staying closeted with James in his bedchamber in the light of day. If she belonged here with him it would be different. Yes, she had arrived with him, but as an unmarried young woman without a chaperone. There could be no doubt she was not a proper young lady. The right to label herself as such had been thrown aside long ago, but she did not like being so blatant about it. The thought of coming face-to-face with Mrs. Webb again, seeing the censure the woman would not be able to hide . . .

“Don’t you wish to stay in bed with me?” With a light touch, he tucked her hair, which had fallen over her shoulder, behind her ear.

The genuine hurt on his handsome face tugged at her heart. It was the height of selfishness to allow her worries to dictate his holiday. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t want to spend the day with him, right here, in his arms, but . . .

No reason to fight with herself, at least not over this.

She pressed her lips to his. “Of course I do.”

THE
hours fell away with Rose in his arms. Few words were spoken between them, for none were needed. Her soft smiles, beguiling kisses, and tantalizing touches spoke for themselves. Just having her close roused his desires, but James hadn’t yet fully given in to his baser instincts. Rather they had simply lazed the hours away, enjoying being together. Never had he done something so hedonistic as to spend a day with a woman in his bed. Closeted away from all responsibility. The only requirements bare skin and indulgence. Not a thing he should make a habit of, but definitely the perfect way to spend a rainy day.

And most definitely not a habit Rose had ever acquired, at least judging by the way her gaze had darted to the door when he’d first given voice to his plan for the day. He hadn’t expected her reticence, but he was fast realizing he should have. She possessed an odd mix of traits—a complete lack of inhibition coupled with the manners of a lady. Regardless of her occupation, she was not one to throw propriety to the wind.

He wasn’t one to throw propriety to the wind either, but they were at Honey House. The Webbs had been with him since he purchased the house and had shown themselves to be discreet. He had never known them to gossip about even the most mundane of details. Quite simply, he trusted them. If he couldn’t indulge here, at the only place that felt like home, then he couldn’t indulge anywhere.

He glanced to the silver tray on his dresser that held the plates and cups from their breakfast. While he had been more than fond of the idea of remaining with her, luxuriating in the feel of her warm, naked body and not leaving his bed until the sun rose tomorrow morning, his stomach had had different thoughts on the matter. Mindful of Rose, he had pulled on a pair of trousers and a shirt before stepping out to the corridor to relay his instructions to Mrs. Webb, meeting her again in the corridor, the closed door at his back, when she had returned. Breakfast in bed with a beautiful naked woman—now that had been the height of indulgence.

Rose shifted slightly, her calf rubbing against his. She was nestled beside him beneath the coverlet, her arm slung over his waist. She fit so perfectly beside him, as if she had been made for him. The rain had died down to a faint rhythmic patter against the windows some time ago. The fire in the hearth needed to be prodded again, but . . .

It could wait, just as everything else today could wait until later. Well, everything beyond his bed.

“Come here. I need a kiss.”

She arched, stretching her back, her firm breasts pressing against his side, and then pushed up onto an elbow. The coverlet slid down, revealing the delicate curve of a slim, ivory shoulder. “Just one?”

“Definitely more than one.”

The kiss quickly turned heated. The arousal that had been simmering right beneath his skin, staying just far enough from the surface to keep him from tackling her, flared to full life. With a little tug, he pulled her fully on top of him.

She gave his bottom lip a nip and pushed up to sit astride his waist. His grip tightened on her hips, fingers pressing into her soft skin, wanting, needing. If he moved her back just a few inches, she’d be perfectly positioned, and then he could lift her hips and slide into the slick, welcoming heat of her body.

She trailed her fingertips from his wrists, over his forearms, her touch so light it sent a ripple of sensation through him, raising the hairs on his arms. Bending slightly at the waist, putting those luscious breasts closer but not quite close enough to his mouth, she reached higher, hands splaying when she reached his upper arms.