Page 63 of Four Promises to Love

Take care of her.

In that hidden room behind the fireplace, Rose—for he no longer doubted that it had been her spirit—had charged him with the task. He didn’t know why, but he did know that he wanted nothing more. He yearned to protect Finn. To take care of her. To spend his days laughing and sparring with her and perhaps…fall in love with her.

For the first time in years, love did not feel like an impossibility. He didn’t know if the change came from within him or if it was due to Finn. He didn’t care that she turned his world topsy-turvy. Or that he had questions left unanswered. Or that they were possibly drawn together by the spirits of lovers who’d died over eighty years ago. What mattered was how he felt when he was with her, and he decided to trust that.

Right now, Finn was kissing him with a feminine intensity that tested his self-control. She’d clambered onto his lap, her knees bracing his hips as she plundered his mouth. She’d shed his frock coat, and her nightgown was bunched around her hips, her pussy pressing against his rock-hard cock. As their tongues tangled, she rubbed herself against him, her warmth seeping through his trousers. It was too much—not enough. He had to have more of her.

Grabbing fistfuls of her nightgown, he tried to pull it over her head. In his haste, he’d forgotten to undo the buttons at the neckline, and Finn’s head got stuck in the voluminous folds. He tugged on the garment to no avail—she was well and truly trapped.

“You need to work on your undressing skills.” Her words were muffled by the flannel and her laughter. “You would never get a job as a lady’s maid.”

“Why is there so much fabric?” His attempt to find the buttons was not helped by her fit of giggles. “Hold still.”

“I c-can’t. This is too amusing. Some rake you are.”

“Who said I was a rake?”

Why are the damned buttons so small?

“Xenia. She said that while you may have acted rakishly, you were always sincere when it came to your affections.”

He freed a button. Then another.

“I was never a rake.”

“Oh, really. Then what would you call yourself?”

Feeling a third button slip free, he pulled on the nightgown again. It slid smoothly over Finn’s head—and his breath jammed at her beauty. She glowed with vitality, like a flower lit from within. Her hazel eyes sparkled with mischief and mirth, and her hair was a silken cascade down her back. While he was not possessive by nature, he wanted her all for himself. To be her shelter as she was his haven.

“Lost,” he murmured.

“Pardon?”

“I was lost.” He took her hand and tenderly kissed each scar, including the ones that climbed her arm. It was an act of penitence for doubting her—and one of worship for who she was. “Until you.”

He saw her pupils dilate, the nervous way she bit her lip. Truth be told, his own heart was pounding. It wasn’t terror he felt but recognition—and he reckoned she felt it too. Reading her intent to escape, he tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling her mouth to his. Desire leapt between them like a flame. With a moan, she melted into him, and her surrender was the sweetest thing he’d ever known. He tongued the curve of her ear while she trembled. When he nibbled on the plump lobe, she squirmed in his lap.

“That’s right, love,” he said huskily. “Rub yourself against my cock.”

Palming the firm mounds of her bottom, he worked her against him as he licked the delicate tendon of her neck and the hollow of her throat. He couldn’t resist leaving his mark, a tender bite below her collarbone. She didn’t seem to notice as she gyrated against his turgid length and soaked him with her dew. He cupped her breasts, savoring their heft and bounty. She tipped her head back, moaning as he played with her nipples.

“I want you to come for me,” he said. “Like the last time I sucked your pretty breasts.”

He strummed her nipples while tracing her succulent curves with his tongue. When he grazed her tender bud with his teeth, she arched her back. He lapped and laved and swirled, layering on sensations. Sealing his lips around one swollen peak, he drew upon it while giving the other nipple a sharp pinch.

“Blooming hell,” she gasped.

Her look of startled bliss aroused him beyond bearing, as did the warm gush against his wool-covered erection. He held her through her tremors. Afterward, she melted into him like a sleepy kitten, her head tucked in the crook of his neck. Amused, he stroked her back, enjoying how sweet she was in the aftermath even as he fought to contain his own raging arousal.

“Owen?” she murmured.

He thought she’d fallen asleep. “Hmm?”

“Why are you still dressed?”

At the catch of laughter in her voice, he narrowed his eyes.

She sat up and gave him the sultry smile that always hit him in the prick.