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“You what?”
Be brave. Bold. Confident.
One more moment of hesitation. And then she stepped off the ledge and flung herself into fantasy. She raised her chin. “I touched myself and imagined it was you.”
A growl emanated from his chest, rumbled up his throat as his jaw tightened.
“This is my choice, Griffith. I choose you. I hope you’ll accept that.”
“Mori.”
The word sounded torn from deep within him. And then he was in front of her, sweeping her into his arms as he kissed her with that incredible passion that sent flames licking over her skin and a deep, pulsing need straight to her core.
“I’ll be damned tomorrow.” His voice rumbled against the sensitive skin just below her jaw as he trailed his lips down her neck. “But tonight, Rosalind...” His hand tangled in her hair as it had the first time he’d kissed her, arched her head back and bared her throat to his mouth. He knew just where to kiss, to nip, to drive her wild until she was panting and wet.
“Tonight,” he repeated as he brought his lips back to hers, “you’re mine.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HOW HAD HE ever thought her straitlaced? Buttoned-up? Because the sensual creature in his arms was anything but staid. She moaned, gasped, met him touch for touch as he explored her with his lips and tongue.
She’d touched herself. Thought of him while bringing herself pleasure. Despite his scars, what he’d shared, she still wanted him. Her desire for him, coupled with their undeniable chemistry, stripped away the last of his misgivings.
He leaned down, slid an arm beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms. Unlike their adventure out on the plains, where he’d barely been able to resist from tasting her, he now feasted. He carried her next door to his bedroom. He stopped next to his bed, his fingers sliding the zipper of her dress down. When the material pooled at her feet and his hands came up to cup her breasts, he nearly lost it when he realized she was completely naked.
“Rosalind...”
“There wasn’t any underwear in the trunk,” she said with a smile that turned into a moan as he stroked a finger down the slope of one breast. Her sharp inhale was music to his ears. He kissed her again as he continued to stroke and touch. He took everything she had to give, demanded more.
Selfish.
And he couldn’t stop. The only thing that could have made him stop was her, and she responded to every touch with a need that made him so hard it nearly hurt. He teased the seam of her lips with his tongue. She opened to him, gasped into his mouth as her fingers dug into his hair. Pressed her body against him. Deepened the kiss.
He stopped by the bed and lowered her down onto the silken cover. Reveled in her moan of protest as he straightened.
And stared.
His eyes consumed the sight of her. The swell of her breasts. The slope of her stomach, the flare of her hips, the dark curls, the curves of her thighs.
Her skin, still pink from the heat of her bath, darkened as a flush spread over her body. But she didn’t move to cover herself. No, his tenacious beauty shifted, slowly arched her back and looked right into his eyes.
“Are you sure, Rosalind?”
She nodded. The trust she placed in him, the desire that flamed in her forest green eyes as she looked him up and down, pierced his armor in one fell swoop. That she trusted him with something so important, that she still wanted him despite his scars, touched him in a way he’d never experienced before, enhanced the desire pulsing through him.
What if she knew it all? Would she still want you then?
He pushed those thoughts away. She knew how things stood between them, that what they were about to do wouldn’t go further than the chateau. When they both left, that would be the end of anything personal between them.
His fingers closed around the hem of his shirt.
“Wait.”
Disappointment felt like a cold fist around his heart. A sensation that disappeared almost immediately as she stood and reached for him, her hands tentative but her eyes luminous. Her fingers settled over his, slipped beneath his shirt and grazed his stomach. His eyes drifted shut as his breath escaped in a harsh exhale. She pulled his shirt off.
Then froze. He uttered a silent curse as he suddenly remembered.
The scars on his face paled in comparison to the marks down his left side. One scar stood out from the rest, an angry slash over his ribs down to his waist. Smaller scars branched out from it, some faded and pale, others more visible.
