“Perfect.” Royce waited politely until she was seated, then followed suit. “The fire feels wonderful,” he murmured, realizing even as he said it that it was true. “Just what I needed.”
A flash of guilt flickered across her face. “Y ou're cold and you're exhausted. You haven't slept in days. I feel terrible—and responsible.”
“You're not responsible; the killer is. And you've tried sending me away three times already. It's not going to work. I'm not leaving you alone. So let's drop that particular subject.”
“Very well.” Her back was rigid, her palms pressed tightly together as she stared into the flames.
Clearly, she was distraught, whether or not she chose to admit it.
“Breanna...” Royce leaned forward, gently touched her arm. “I'm on the verge of figuring out something important. I'm just not certain what it is— yet. But I will be. Hibbert will be back tomorrow, and between the two of us...”
To his surprise, Breanna rose abruptly, shaking her head and waving away his explanation. “That’s not it. That's not what I wanted to discuss.” She whirled about to face him, her fingers knotting in her gown as she spoke, her chin coming up in a purposeful gesture that seemed to contradict her nervousness.
“The next few days are going to be an emotional nightmare,” she proclaimed, her words frank and deliberate. “I don't want to have this discussion then, not when the assassin is closing in and you might misinterpret my feelings to be something less than they are, or worse, to try unduly to protect those feelings and me. I want to have this conversation now, when I'm still strong and in control and you realize I mean what I'm saying, and that you also realize I won't fall apart from the conversation's outcome.”
She gave Royce no chance to respond.
“Having said that, I have to add I'm a novice at this,” she confessed, never averting her gaze, although twin spots of red stained her cheeks. “But then, so are you—not at the physical aspect, since I know you're quite seasoned at that. I'm referring to the emotional aspect. That part's as new to you as it is to me. Well, neither of us has much experience at speaking our hearts. And since one of us has to have the courage to go first, and since your scars are apparently more extensive than mine, I decided that someone should be me.”
This time she did pause, but only to draw a slow, unsteady breath. “I'm falling in love with you, Royce. And whether you laugh in my face or bolt from the room, I have to tell you so. What's more, I believe you have feelings for me, too—deeper feelings than you choose to. If I'm right, tell me so. Then, take whatever time you need to decide what you want to do about it. If I'm wrong, or if what you're feeling is simply lust and not love, just say so. I've endured a great deal in my life. I won't shatter. But having lived amid secrets, I know I'd much rather face the truth than cling to a lie. So tell me what you're flunking, and what you're feeling. Not about the assassin. About me.”
She broke off, watching his reaction, a flushed but expectant look on her face.
Royce just stared, wondering if he'd ever been rendered so off-balance. This was Breanna, casting aside propriety and self-restraint, not in the threes of passion, but to speak her mind. She was relaying her feelings with all the dignity she possessed and a directness that came with great effort.
His first coherent thought was how incredibly proud of her he was. What she'd just done had taken an amazing measure of courage—a measure of courage he was a stranger to.
ironic, he was reckless, daring, downright formidable when it came to his enemies. He was also the consummate risk-taker. Yet, when it came down to it, she was far braver than he.
His second thought wasn't a thought at all. It was a surge of feeling so strong it nearly felled him—as did the realization that accompanied it.
She might be falling in love with him, but his fall was already complete.
All that was left was to acknowledge it, to her and to himself.
Slowly, he rose, watching the firelight turn her hair to an auburn blaze as he reached out, framed her face between his palms. “You've given me candor. Let me give you the same in return.” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. “I thought about you every minute I was away. I told myself I wouldn't hurt you, that if I couldn't be everything you needed, I'd walk away But I won't. I can't. Because, whether or not I believed myself capable, whether I can give you every fragment of emotion you deserve, whether it happened so fast I never sew it corning, I love you. I love you in a way I never imagined, much less experienced.” His thumbs caressed her cheeks. “Does that answer your question?”
“One of them, yes.” Breanna gave a shaky nod. “The next question is harder. What do you want to do about it?”
“What do I want to do about it?” Royce's reply emerged with a will all its own, having formed somewhere inside him that required no conscious awareness. Yet even as he spoke the words, he knew they were true. “I want to protect your life with my own. I want to immerse myself in your beauty every moment for the rest of our days. I want to drag you off to the nearest church and make you my wife.”
Two tears slid down Breanna's cheeks. “I didn 't expect ...” She brought herself under control. “I didn't expect an answer. Not right away. I told you to think about it.”
“I don't need to. My answer won't change.” He captured her tears with his thumbs. “Don't cry. Just consider my proposal. I know I'm not the staid, conventional man you expected to marry. But—”
“I don't need to consider it. I accept.” Breanna stood on tiptoe, brushed his lips with hers. “I love you. I want nothing more than to marry you. As for the last...” Her eyes sparkled through her tears. “Since I met you I discovered something about myself. I loathe convention. It bores me to death.”
“Does it?” Royce was still reeling with the impact of what had happened, all he'd just discovered about himself. Feeling almost giddy, he caressed Breanna's nape, continuing to let his impulses guide him. “May I test that claim in a way I've wanted to since the first instant I laid eyes on you?”
“By all means.”
His fingers glided into her hair, caressing the satiny crown before—in slow, exacting motions—he began tugging out the pins, tossing them randomly about until her auburn tresses tumbled free.
He threaded his fingers through them, draping them around her, then capturing her shoulders, pulling her to him. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Now come here.”
She stepped closer, and his arms encircled her, brought her up against him. “No one's ever seen your hair this way—free, uninhibited—have they?”
Breanna's breathing was unsteady. “No. Not my hair, and not me.”
“Good.” He lowered his head, covered her mouth with his.
The kiss was slow and hot and deep, and Breanna's soft sound of pleasure vibrated through them both. Royce gathered her more closely to him, savored her taste, the softness of her lips, the exquisite feel of her tongue as he possessed it with his own. She leaned into him, molding the contours of her body to his, wrapping her arms around his neck and wordlessly showing him how much she loved him.
Royce responded with a hard tremor, lifting her up and into him until there was nothing separating them but the impeding layers of their clothing.
The kiss went on and on, ending only to begin anew, generating fiery currents that flowed between them, intensified more and more with each passing second.
It was Breanna who eased away, leaning back a fraction, and staring up at him with jade eyes that were smoky with passion. “Royce?” His name was a wisp of sensation against his tips.
“Mmm?” He could barely speak.
“I really wanted to give you time to think about our future.”
“I know. I didn't need it.”
“That's not what I'm getting at.” Her fingers trailed across his jaw, drifted down the side of his neck. “When I asked what you wanted to do about the fact that you love me, I meant it in the more immediate sense.” A
suggestive pause. “As in, what do you want to do about your feelings now?” Her lips traced the path her fingers had taken, feathering kisses along his heated skin. “Right now.”
Royce's eyes slid shut, her vivid invitation making hot need explode in his loins. “Breanna...” His fingers tangled in her hair, intending to move her away from him but never quite doing so. “I promised myself I wouldn't—”
“Break that promise,” she whispered.
All Royce's good intentions crumpled. “You want to know what I want to do about my feelings?” he rasped, his palm moving down to cup her breast, his thumb teasing her already hardened nipple. “I want to lay you down by the fire and bury myself inside you.”
She shivered, stifling a cry as she shifted herself more fully into his hand. “Follow your instincts. They've always served you well.” Blindly, she pushed open his coat, slid her palms up the front of his waistcoat.
“Breanna—”
“Don't be noble, not this time.” She unfastened his buttons one by one—first his waistcoat, then his shirt. “It took all my courage to bare my heart to you. Please don't shield yours from me now.” She slipped her fingers inside his shirt, caressed him tentatively. “Protect me when I need it. Not when I don't.”
He felt her delicate touch on his skin, and the last of his resolve disintegrated into dust. “Sweetheart...'' He forced out the words, determined to say them before it was too late. “This time I won't be able to stop.”
Her smile was tremulous. “I'm glad.”
“Are you?” It was a lost cause, and he knew it. He was already reaching around to dispense with the buttons of her gown, frantic to have her in his arms, under his body. “First, we should be talking about the future. What you need, what you deserve”
“We'll do that later. What I need now is you.”
Something inside Royce snapped.
He swept Breanna up into his arms, placed her on the rug in front of the fire, and followed her down. His mouth devoured hers, leaving it only to blaze kisses down her throat and neck to the top of her bodice. His fingers finished their task, and he tugged down her gown, his mouth continuing its journey even as his fingers shifted to the ribbons of her chemise.
His lips surrounded her nipple, and he tugged at it, first through the barrier of her chemise and then beneath it. He lost himself in her flavor, his tongue lashing across one hardened peak and then the other, and he reveled in her cries of pleasure, the uninhibited motions of her body.
His hands were shaking as he dragged away her clothing, tearing the delicate material in his frantic haste to have her naked.
When he finished his task, he sat back on his heels and stared.
She was breathtaking, more beautiful than even his fantasies had evoked. There were no words profound enough to express his feelings, so he settled for making love to her with his eyes, drinking in the glow of her skin by firelight, the perfect curves and hollows that she'd offered only to him.
God, he was blessed.
“Royce?” She reached for him, not with uncertainty, but with eagerness. “Please—”
“Have you any idea how beautiful you are?” he choked out, letting his hands explore her, stroking upwards from her legs to her hips, then higher to cup her breasts, whispering over the tender points of her nipples. “Any idea?” He absorbed her quivering sigh, his hands retracing their journey, this time pausing to caress her thighs, to part them to his touch “You humble me.” He brushed the auburn cloud that beckoned him, first lightly, then more intimately, his fingers opening her, gliding inside to explore the velvety folds.
She was so perfect, Royce thought he'd die from it. He repeated the caress, and Breanna cried out, arching against his hand, her entire body responding to the new, unbearably erotic sensation.
Royce's fingers slid deeper, pushing into her gradually, his entire body pulsing with a need so acute, he actually wondered if he might spill himself before ever getting his breeches off.
Breanna provided that answer.
When she inadvertently tightened around him, warm and wet, tiny tremors shimmering through her, he regained control—only to feel it slipping away again.
Shoving himself to his feet, he tore off his clothes, scarcely giving her time to breathe before he covered her body with his. He moved against her, torturing himself with the motion, then kissing her fiercely as he repeated it.
Breanna undulated beneath him, rubbing her breasts against his chest, urging her lower body up to his, and wrapping her arms around his back.
“Don't.” He shuddered. “God, Breanna, don't.”
“Why?” she whispered breathlessly. “It feels so good.”
He tore his mouth away, stared down at her through a red haze of passion. “Because I want you too much. I'm not going to be able to hold back.” Another shudder. “I already can't hold back.”
“I don't want you to.” She caressed his spine, traced the taut muscles of his back. “Please, no holding back.”
“I'll hurt you.”
“No you won't.” She arched restlessly beneath him. “Tell me what to do.”
“Just... yes ...” he grated out, as her thighs parted beneath him. He nudged them farther apart, settling himself in the cradle between them, his rigid shaft finding the heated entrance to her body.
“Like this?” she whispered, raising her knees to hug his flanks.
“God ... yes.” He was already crowding into her, his hips moving reflexively, blatantly ignoring the dictates of his mind, which warned him how small she was, how delicate and tight. As if to further test him, Breanna melted around him, hot and clinging, stretching to take him deeper, her soft moans of pleasure obliterating any hope his mind had of regaining control. “Sweetheart...”
“Make love to me,” she breathed, her hands gliding down to the base of his spine, as if that motion alone would be enough.
It was.
Cupping her bottom, Royce pushed into her, reached the barrier of her innocence, then thrust beyond it. He sank into her, sweat drenching his body as he buried himself inside her the way he'd burned to do from the start.
Breanna tensed, instinctively biting back her cry of pain—which gave Royce the strength he needed to wait.
“Don't,” he said fiercely, raising his head to look deeply into her eyes. “Don't hide what you're feeling—not your pleasure or your pain. No holding back.” Deliberately, he repeated the same phrase she'd spoken to him.
Slowly, she nodded, her body relaxing even as she did. “It doesn't hurt anymore,” she murmured, wonder in her eyes. “It feels so... oh...” She cried out, this time with pleasure, as Royce drew back slightly, then pressed forward, sinking deeply into her.
“So incredible?” he finished for her.
“Yes incredible.” She urged his mouth back to hers. “Don't stop.”
“I couldn't if my life depended on it.” He kissed her hungrily, beginning an exquisite motion of plunge and retreat that made the world spin away in a torrent of sensation.
Instinctively, Breanna understood the rhythm, and her hips lifted, undulating to meet each one of his quickening downward strokes.
A roaring commenced in Royce's head, a passion he'd never known mingling with a love he'd never imagined, his every nerve ending attuned to Breanna, and to the engulfing culmination that hovered just beyond their reach.
“Royce...” She was frantic now, her inner muscles taut, slick with need, her nails scoring his back as she struggled for that elusive peak she couldn't yet fathom but was desperate to capture.
Beyond conscious thought, Royce simply reacted, hooking his elbows beneath her knees and pulling her legs up higher around him, opening her fully to his possession.
He penetrated her with one deep, inexorable stroke, then another—this time caressing her inside and out, only to do it again and again and again
Breanna plunged over the edge.
She arched wildly, a dazed, stunned look
widening her eyes as she reached the pinnacle of sensation, and fell.
Royce covered her mouth with his, swallowing her sharp cry of pleasure and shuddering as her hard spasms gripped him, spiraling out from deep inside her—quickening in pace, intensifying in strength— clenching his engorged shaft until he could take no more.
He climaxed violently, his own release slamming through him with the force of a blow. Biting back a shout, he gave in to the wildness, his hips moving convulsively as he poured himself into her, each burst of completion more powerful than the last.
The moment seemed to go on forever, tiny aftershocks of Breanna's climax rippling over him, triggering yet another burst of wetness as the last of his seed emptied into her.
Then... peace.
Royce collapsed on top of her, his head dropping into the crook of her neck, his body blanketing hers. The room was silent, but for the crackling of the fire and the harsh, rasping sounds of their breaths.
Sanity returned in increments and, slowly, Royce became aware of his surroundings. Beneath him, Breanna sighed, her legs unclenching and sliding down to sink into the rug, her arms going lax around him. Her breathing was still ragged and, abruptly, he realized she was trembling.
“Breanna?” He tried, unsuccessfully, to lift his head, and settled for murmuring in her ear instead. “Sweetheart?”
“Mmm,” was the muffled reply.
“You're shaking.”
“And you're astonishing.”
He smiled at the dreamy quality to her voice. “That compliment belongs to you. I think I'm half-dead.”
“No, you're not.” Her fingers trailed lightly down his back. “I can vouch for that.”
He kissed her neck. “Am I crushing you?”
“Only in the most wonderful way.”
Forcing himself to move, Royce rolled to one side, taking Breanna with him and keeping their bodies tightly joined. Then, he groped around until he found the blanket he'd seen lying near the armchair, pulling it over them until they were securely covered. “How's that?”