Page 52 of Secrets of the Heart

“He does not satisfy you,” he went on, his voice rough. “I can tell. You have the look of a woman who—” his fingers slipped down beneath the top of her dress, caressing the soft skin and coming to rest upon the hard button of her nipple “—does not belong to a man.”

A small noise escaped Rachel at the touch of his finger, faintly roughened, on the sensitive flesh of her nipple. She had never felt anything so daring, so ungentlemanly and…Her teeth sank into her lower lip as his finger began to move on the bud.

She closed her eyes in pleasure, and her hands tightened into fists at her sides.

Michael watched her, shaken himself by the clear desire on her face. Impatiently, he shoved the neckline of the dress down and cupped her breast in his hand. A shudder ran through Rachel, and she swayed a little. Gently he squeezed the soft orb, his thumb tracing her nipple, now hard and pointing.

He was vaguely aware that he was very drunk and that he would probably regret this in the morning, but right now he did not care. The woman he had yearned for for years was in front of him now, enjoying his intimate caresses, and he had no desire to stop. He was not sure he even could stop. At the moment he did not care if Rachel was enjoying the caresses of another man in her mind. All he wanted was to taste her.

He bent and brushed his lips against hers. She drew in a little breath of surprise, but then her arms were sliding around his neck and she was kissing him back, her soft lips pressing into his, her mouth opening gently, naturally. With a groan, he wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her up into him, pressing her body flush against his.

Desire roared through Rachel, stunning her. She had never before felt the force of it, the driving need that pushed aside all else. Her thoughts scattered, and she knew only the hunger, the eagerness that burgeoned inside her. She clung tightly to him, kissing him back, her tongue twining eagerly with his. Her breasts felt tender and swollen, aching for the feel of his hands again. She moaned deep in her throat, rubbing her body instinctively against him.

His groan acknowledged her movement, and his arm slid down her back to her hips, pressing them into him. She could feel him hard and pulsing against her, and his hand caressing the curve of her buttocks aroused her even more. There was an ache deep in her abdomen, a blossoming of moist heat between her legs. The things that her mother had related to her years ago of what a man did to a woman seemed not frightening at all at this moment, only exciting and desirable. The ache inside her wanted filling, completion, wanted…him.

His hand went to the back of her dress, fumbling with the buttons, handicapped by the present uselessness of his wounded arm. Instinctively he started to move his wounded arm up to help, but he was stopped by an immediate and fiery stab of pain. He continued working at the buttons with one hand, but given his state of inebriation and his lack of practice at using just one hand, he moved slowly and clumsily.

Rachel stepped back, moving her hands behind her to help him with the buttons, but that act disconnected her from the moment, bringing her with a crash back to reality. They were in the study of Lilith Neeley’s house, and she was about to give herself to James Hobson!

She froze, horror at what she was doing dawning on her face. “Oh! Oh, my God! What am I—you—you should be in bed.” She blushed red to the roots of her hair. “That is—I mean—I cannot do this. This is insane. You are drunk, and I—I am mad, I think.”

“Rachel! No!” He grabbed for her as she whirled and ran to the door. “Don’t go.”

“I must! I cannot stay! This is terrible. We cannot—I don’t know what came over me. I—please. I am going upstairs and changing back into my own clothes. Will you send a servant to fetch a hansom for me? Please…” she added when he hesitated.

“Yes.”

Rachel hurried from the room and dashed up the stairs. Lilith’s maid was there, and helped her out of her clothes and into Rachel’s own dress. When Rachel went back down the stairs, James Hobson was standing there, looking so much like Michael that it sent a fresh wave of guilt through her.

“Rachel…”

“No,” she said quickly, raising her hand. “Nothing like that must ever happen again. We cannot do this. I know it must not seem like it to you, but I am a woman of morals. I have a husband: I will not betray him in this way. You must understand.”

He did not answer, his eyes blazing.

“Promise me you will not—that this will not happen again. I cannot work with you anymore if we do not maintain our distance.”

“You want me,” he said in a low voice that sent a shiver through her. “I know you do. I can feel it in you.”

“That does not mean that I have to give in to it,” Rachel replied firmly.

He looked away, then said, “All right. I understand. You will not make love with any man but your husband.”

“Yes. That’s right. You have to agree to that.”

“I agree.”

“Very well. Then…goodbye.” She hesitated, then walked around him and out the front door.

Rachel stayed in her house the next day, not at home to anyone. There was no one she wanted to see except James Hobson, nothing she wanted to do except be with him. It was insanity, she told herself; if she continued seeing him, it would be sure to lead to disaster. For the first time since her wedding, she was under Eros’s spell, and it shook her to the core. She had always thought of herself as a loyal, trustworthy, honest woman, one who would never think of being unfaithful. Yet last night, she had been only a hairbreadth away from going to bed with her husband’s brother!

Hobson had had some excuse; he had been inebriated. She, on the other hand, had been clearheaded—well, no, she thought, she had not been clearheaded at all, but her mind had not been fogged by alcohol. It had been made hazy only by her own passions. She could scarcely believe that she had done what she had done, felt the way she had felt.

It was only after much cogitation that she arrived at what she thought must be the answer: the excitement and fear that had sprung into being at Hobson’s close brush with death, the worry and tension of tending to his wound, had upset her so that she simply had not been herself. They had caused her to act in a way that was completely unlike her.

In the normal course of events, she would not have done that, she decided. Therefore, it was not something that would occur again, because they would not again be put into such a situation. Surely Mr. Hobson was not shot at every day of his life.

Besides, she had faced the fact of her attraction to James Hobson and had told him that she would not sleep with him. He had accepted what she said and had agreed to their not acting on their desire, either last night or in the future. With both of them avowed to it, there would be no giving in to the highly inappropriate lust they felt.