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“Do you remember what we just did?”
“I was there.”
Her feisty reply gave him the chance to kneel on the bed, to slowly wipe away the traces of their lovemaking and her first time.
“You gave me something tonight. The least I can do,” he said as he tossed the towel into a hamper, “is give you something in return.”
“You did. Twice.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Then we’re even.”
Her brows drew together. Another curse rose to his lips. He’d been clear about how things would stand between them. But did he have to make their interlude sound transactional? Especially in the moments after she’d just been with a lover for the first time?
“I...”
She stopped. He saw the insecurity flash across her face, the doubt. This was the moment he could break the pattern of holding himself back, and let himself connect with someone beyond a mutually shared pleasure.
Except the words couldn’t come. That he had been moved to do something as intimate as care for her after sex, that he was even contemplating inviting her to stay, were signs he needed to reverse course and reintroduce distance between them.
So he said nothing.
“Thank you, Griffith.”
Before he could retreat, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. A simple action, chaste compared to what they had just done to each other in his bed. But the sweet gesture stabbed deep and wrapped around his heart. Made him want things he didn’t want to risk wanting. Things that would require emotion, risk, sacrifice.
She rolled away and stood, plucked her dress off the floor and walked to the door. Did he imagine her hesitation as she grasped the handle? The shudder that passed through her as she turned it?
Then she was gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click. Alone, he leaned back into his pillows, closed his eyes, didn’t even bother to keep his demons at bay as they came for him, ripping him apart with guilt and self-loathing.
Yes, she’d asked. He’d given her pleasure, paid attention to her needs and wants because he had wanted to, not simply because of masculine pride.
All things he could argue he did for her that made the situation slightly less horrible.
None of them justified the glimpse of pain he’d seen in her eyes when she’d rolled away from him.
It’s better this way, his demons whispered. She’ll never want you now.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ROSALIND WANDERED INTO the kitchen the next evening. She’d slept well past her usual rising time, a pleasant ache between her thighs. And had stayed in her room for the rest of the day. Not quite daring to leave, not quite knowing what she’d do if she ran into Griffith.
Her emotions were still all over the place.
You’ve brought it on yourself.
Griffith had asked her right before he’d invited her into his room if she could handle a simple affair. He’d been nothing but honest with her about what this was, where it was headed. Yet during their lovemaking, the tender way he’d touched her even as he’d worshipped her body like he could barely stand not touching her, followed by the gentle way he’d cleaned her after... He was a practiced lover doing what he did best.
She knew that. Or at least her mind did. Her heart, however, had other ideas.
“Good evening.”
Startled, she turned to see Griffith framed in the doorway. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm against her ribs as she forced what she hoped was a relaxed smile onto her face.
“Good evening.”
His eyes roamed over her, as if he was trying to discern what she was thinking. Apparently finding nothing amiss, he advanced into the kitchen. Dressed in a white V-neck shirt and navy pants, he looked ridiculously handsome for someone dressed so casually.
“I trust you’ve had a good day?”
