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“I’ll take your word for it, Miss Sutton.”
With that pronouncement he laid a hand on her waist, the other sliding into her hair as he tilted her head back farther still. He heard her sharp intake of breath, felt the warmth of her skin beneath his hands.
And then his lips met hers and his world exploded.
For a moment she didn’t move. When she came alive, he knew he’d made a mistake. She didn’t shy away, didn’t pull back and call him a monster.
She returned his caresses with a fervor he hadn’t anticipated, couldn’t get enough of. Her lips pressed against his. He reached up, pulled at the band securing her hair and thrilled to the feel of curly silk cascading down, a strand whispering over his scarred cheek, his neck. She trembled as his hands moved up and down over her arms. When her fingers threaded through his hair, tugged, he groaned. His hands moved to the waist of her skirt, pulled the hem of her shirt free. He touched the bare skin at her waist, knew he was lost when just brushing her with his fingertips brought him to the edge.
His tongue slipped inside her mouth, deepened the kiss. Her answering moan, the way she met him with strokes of her own, drove him mad.
His hands slid higher, over her ribs, his knuckles grazing the silk of her bra.
He wanted it gone, wanted to touch her bare skin.
He reached around, fingers settling on the clasp. It wasn’t until he heard her whisper his name, felt the eager press of her body against his, that it hit him just what he was doing.
Stunned by his loss of control, he pulled back so quickly she stumbled. She stared at him, eyes wide, breasts rising and falling as she sucked in a shuddering breath. One hand drifted up, as if she were moving through a dream, her fingers settling on her swollen lips. With her shirt wrinkled and her curls pulled free of the bun, now hanging in wild disarray about her face, she looked ravished. Seduced.
Aroused.
No. Her wanting him, returning his desire, was the last thing either of them needed.
“Griffith...”
He shook his head. “Rosalind... Miss Sutton... I’m sorry.”
“No...” Her eyes were wide, luminous.
Wanting.
“Don’t be sorry.”
Her breathy voice curled around him, smoky seduction and tantalizing temptation.
It also had a surprising effect on Rosalind. She blinked, as if waking from a trance. Her fingers wrapped around the top of her chair. Something primal inside him howled, reveled in the effect he had on her even as he hated himself for surrendering to his base instincts.
She bit down on her lower lip. “I... I have to go.”
She grabbed the leather portfolio off the desk, turned and walked out.
Oh, Theé mou. At least she had come to her senses. That would make keeping their hands off each other easier over the next few days.
Liar.
It made nothing easier. Now that he’d tasted her, felt her answering passion, his need had become so intense it physically hurt.
How long could he spend with Rosalind before he dragged her down, too? Took that beautiful, optimistic light and squelched it with his own selfish needs and grief?
Is it worth the risk? Worth hurting someone else, hurting her?
He knew the answer. Knew the answer and hated it as much as he hated how he had very nearly lost control.
He moved to the bank of windows behind his desk. The gardens behind the house lay before him in all their glorious summer splendor. Roses swayed back and forth in the breeze. The benches and archways scattered throughout, providing havens for readers, explorers and lovers.
He turned his back on the gardens. Refocused on his office, the sanctuary of his own company, even as he ignored how his footsteps echoed off the walls and amplified the void inside his heart.
CHAPTER TEN
