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He remained by the door, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Then use me. Let me give you comfort.”
His deep voice resonated in the pit of her stomach. But she had felt these lovely little rushes and flutters before, in the early days of Paul’s courtship, and her feelings had betrayed her. The reality had been messy and violent, over quickly and best forgotten. Anything less comforting would be hard to imagine.
“Comfort?” The question should have been scornful. Instead, she sounded uncertain. Even, God help her, intrigued.
Griff nodded. “Comfort, aye. And pleasure.”
She thought of what had been done to her on the cloakroom floor and shuddered. “How could there be pleasure in that?”
His dark eyes lit with…laughter? “Let me show you.”
Emma licked her lips nervously. She had risked and lost everything—her position, her family, her hope of marriage, her self-respect—without feeling even a fleeting pleasure in return, without once experiencing the intimacy she longed for. She had nothing left to lose. Did she dare take one more chance at finding…What? Comfort and pleasure in the arms of a stranger?
“It’s a risk,” she said.
A terrible risk for any woman, but particularly an unmarried one. That fear, piled on top of all her other fears, had haunted her in the boardinghouse. What if Paul got her with child? For days afterwards, she had watched for her courses and prayed. Her prayers had been answered a week ago. But what if—
“I will not do anything you don’t want me to,” Griff said. “Let me take care of you.”
Oh. Longing stabbed her.
He was a careful man, thoughtful, thorough. He had already fed and clothed her, protected her, and held her while she cried. And now…Could he really care for her that way, too? Could he care for her at all?
He watched her, patient. Waiting.
Emma trembled. She desired him. Or rather, she desired what he could give her: a memory to blot out that other memory, the closeness she yearned for and had not found with Paul. Had never felt with another human being.
She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Why?”
“Because I know you.” His rough voice ran over her nerves like sandpaper, smoothing, soothing. “Because in one day I have seen the spirit and the spine and the heart of you. You showed courage on the ship and kindness to young Iestyn. Let me show you some tenderness in return.”
The brilliance in his eyes pierced her heart. Her chest ached. She had refused the security Paul had offered with its strings and conditions. She might have resisted comfort. But tenderness…
She trembled. When had anyone touched her in tenderness?
Griff stalked across the room toward her, all male strength and animal grace, and panic rose like a bubble in her throat.
“I have seen the spirit and the spine of you…”
She swallowed hard and held her ground. She was already ruined. Was it so wrong to wish for something else, to grasp at something more, before she went back to exile and indentured servitude? Griff at least would be gentle. She was sure of it.
He stopped in front of her, close enough for her to feel his heat.
She faced him, thrumming with anxiety and desire, her nerves stretched and humming like cello strings.
If he did not touch her soon, she would scream.
She bit her lip, an inappropriate bubble of laughter rising in her throat. Of course, if he did touch her, she might scream. That would stop him.
She did not want him to stop.
He raised his hand, his eyes dark and intent. This close s
he could see they were not black, not all black. A ring of deep, warm brown circled the wide pupils.
Emma braced, her heart hammering in hope and dread.
His thumb, warm and callused, rested on her mouth and rubbed lazily back and forth, freeing her lower lip from the grip of her teeth. She tasted him, his salt, his skin, there at the entrance of her mouth, and her stockinged feet curled against the cold stone floor. He cupped her jaw. She inhaled sharply in anticipation of his kiss.
