Page 52 of A Perilous Passion

She pressed her lips together. “You’ve had too much physick. It’s dulled your senses.”

“On the contrary. It’s heightened them. If it weren’t for the danger—and the secrets—that keep us apart, I’d offer for you right here and now.”

She gasped in surprise. “Stop. You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” His eyes held hers, and something responded in her womb—a sensation that was warm, enticing, and eager. This man affected her like no other—not even Justin—simply by looking at her, promising all kinds of pleasurable new experiences with just his gaze.

Her cheeks heated. Her whole body heated.

Suddenly, the events of this turbulent day didn’t seem so dreadful, after all. She was alone with a man who fascinated her, and he was very much alive, looking more devilishly handsome in his disheveled state than he did when appropriately dressed.

The flicker of desire in her belly suddenly took flame, and she was grateful she was sitting down, as her knees would have failed her. Images of his mouth on her breasts that day behind the laurel bush swamped through her. The remembered touch of Rafe’s lips replaced any hurt she’d felt at being sent away.

She met his eyes and saw in them the knowledge of what she was feeling.

“Come here,” he murmured.

She shouldn’t.

But she went anyway.

He made room for her on the bed and opened his arms to her.

Madness.

She shouldn’t let him touch her. He was a danger to her in more ways than she could say.

He didn’t mean what he’d said about marriage. It was just the nostrum speaking. And even if he did mean it, Rafe was an earl. She was the daughter of a felon. A match between them was utterly impossible.

But, oh, how she wished it weren’t!

“I just want to hold you,” he said softly. “Nothing more. I have an injury, remember? I need to keep my leg still.”

So, she relented, and lay gently against him, on top of the covers, and settled her head into the valley between his shoulder and his neck. She felt a soft kiss on the top of her head.

This was the best pillow she’d ever nestled into—warm, firm, and inviting—and when his arm came round to cradle her shoulder, it felt safe, as well. His gentle breathing lulled her, and the stillness of his body soothed her. She felt cherished, and that was just as powerful as feeling desired. More so, especially by a man as sturdy, as admirable, and as perfect as Rafe.

Yes, perfect.

She snuggled closer, and his fingers caressed her arm. She felt another soft kiss on the top of her head, a gesture of affection that kindled her heart. Evidently, he was happy just to hold her.

But…was she?

What would it feel like to steal an arm across the tempting rise of his chest? Unbidden, her hand began to move.

“Have pity on me, Charlotte, and be still,” he said with a groan. “You cannot know how difficult it is for me to restrain myself with you.”

“Actually, I believe I do,” she murmured back, smiling. She laid her arm across the muscled landscape of his chest and tucked her hand into his side.

Sighing deeply, he turned a little toward her. “And this is how it begins. So easily. Holding you was definitely not one of my better ideas.”

She was starting to think it was actually a rather good one.

Her fingers twitched, longing to explore the smooth planes and angles of his chest, the rippling muscle of his abdomen, the heated skin beneath the rough linen of the nightshirt. Once again, she felt that tug of excitement deep in her womb that she’d only ever felt with Rafe. Her body yearned to enfold his.

She rolled toward him, pressing her hips against his side, and her leg came up over his bared shin. She wanted to melt into him as if they were one and the same being.

It seemed a simple embrace might well be beyond them. His body drew hers like a magnet. Lifting her head, she looked into melting brown eyes lit with reflected light from the fire. She examined his beautifully sculpted mouth, with the little quirks at the corners, and brushed a finger across them.