had made me wear my only truly pretty bra today, underneath my blouse? A coincidence? Or had I known, even before I came downstairs for dinner, that I intended to end my night this way?
“So beautiful,” he whispered, his hands touching everywhere, sliding over my bare skin. “You’ve been driving me mad....”
“Me too...” I breathed. We’d been both alone, I realized, both wounded deep inside, in injuries we’d caused ourselves. But in this moment, it felt like loneliness no longer existed. My heart and my arms were both overflowing. We were together. We were the same....
I pulled him down hard against my body, wanting to feel his weight over mine. I heard the appreciative murmur from the back of his throat as I kissed him, hard, and tried to unbutton his shirt. My hands were trembling and clumsy.
“Stop,” he said huskily, putting his hands over mine. For a moment, I was afraid he’d changed his mind. Then I realized he was unbuttoning his shirt for me, his expert fingers doing it three times as fast. Rising from the bed, he unbuttoned his cuffs and dropped his expensive tailored shirt to the dark floor. I gasped when I saw the muscles and planes of his naked chest, lit by the slanted moonlight. I’d seen his body before, during massage and occasionally when I’d taken him to swim at the local center. But never like this. Never with the full knowledge that I could run my hands over his skin, that I’d soon feel his naked body roughly take my own.
Edward’s eyes never left mine as he deliberately undid his trousers and pulled them with his silk boxers down his thickly chiseled thighs. A choked noise came from the back of my throat as he stood naked in front of me. He’d been naked in the gym that morning, but I’d been afraid to look. I was still a little afraid now. Blushing, I started to look away.
His gaze locked with mine, challenging me. With a deep breath, I lifted my chin, and looked, really looked, at his naked body.
He was not ashamed, standing there with quiet pride and giving me time to look, to accept. His shoulders were broad, and a dusting of dark hair trailed like a V from his nipples and hard-muscled chest down to a taut, flat waist. His legs were powerful as a warrior’s, and as he shifted his weight in front of me, he moved with an athlete’s grace. His thighs were hard and huge. Which could also describe what I saw if I dared to look between his thighs... But there my nerve failed me.
He was powerful. He’d been healed. But the injuries had left scars that couldn’t be denied. The raised scars across his torso, where his ribs had been broken, left white lines across perfect olive-toned skin. Similar lines slashed brutally across his right shoulder and arm, and his left leg, like cobwebs of his body’s memory, forgiven but not forgotten.
Men prey on the tender weakness of the feminine heart, Mrs. Warreldy-Gribbley had warned. He will lure you into bed by using your own heart against you.
Turning away, I squeezed my eyes shut. The mattress moved beneath me. I felt Edward come closer, felt the warmth of his body as he said in a low voice, “What is it?”
“This is wrong,” I whispered. “You are my patient.”
“It’s wrong,” he agreed.
My eyes flew open.
He was looking down at me with a glint in his eye. “You’re sacked, Miss Maywood. Effective immediately.”
I gave an indignant squeak. “You’re firing me?”
“You said it yourself.” He quirked a dark eyebrow. “I don’t need a physio anymore. What I need...” Reaching out, he slowly stroked down the valley of my breasts, “is a lover.”
Lover. I shivered at the word. So erotic. So suggestive. Not just of sensual delights, but emotional ones.
“You want me to be your girlfriend?” I breathed.
“No.” He gave a low laugh. “Not a girlfriend. Just my friend. And my lover. For as long as we enjoy it.” Lowering his head, he kissed my naked belly, making me shiver at the sensation of his lips and rough chin and tiny flick of his tongue against my belly button. He looked up. “This isn’t a commitment. I won’t be asking you to the movies with a box of chocolates, asking to meet your family.” His eyes narrowed. “I am not nice, Diana. I look out for myself. I expect you to do the same.” His lips lifted at the edges. “For all I know, you’ll soon go back to Jason Black.”
“I—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he cut me off. “I don’t expect you to stay with me forever. It’s fine,” he said lightly, searching my face. “I wouldn’t want to get too accustomed to you.”
I am not nice, Diana. I look out for myself. I expect you to do the same. When a man tells you something bad about himself, that is the time to listen. I stared up at him in the shadows of the bed, hearing only my own ragged breath, my own heartbeat, as I tried to focus on his words. But I was distracted, burning hot with his naked body over mine.
Don’t lie to yourself about what the end will be, Mrs. Warreldy-Gribbley had warned. If you forget yourself and let him lure you into his sensual designs—
But I didn’t want to think about her anymore. The woman had written the book in 1910, I thought irritably. What did she know? I shut the book in my mind, locking it away forever.
And I smiled up at Edward. “Good to know,” I said, matching his light tone. “I wouldn’t want to get too accustomed to you either. I have things to do in life.”
“Do you?” he said, sounding amused. Then, moving closer, he looked at me. My heart pounded as his breathtakingly beautiful face, just inches from mine, was illuminated in moonlight, making him look like a dark angel. “Yes,” he murmured. “I think you do. You’re meant for great things in life, Diana.”
My lips parted, and I felt suddenly tearful for no good reason, other than that no one had ever said such a thing to me. No one, not since my mother had died—
“Great things,” Edward whispered again, lowering his head to mine. His lips curved wickedly. “Starting with tonight...”
He kissed me, his hands stroking down the length of my body, slowly removing the last of my clothes, my skirt, my cotton stockings. He ran his hand appreciatively along my hips, my thighs. My breasts. He unclasped my bra so easily, he practically just looked at it to make it spring open. Dropping the flimsy blue silk off my body, he cupped one of my breasts with both hands. I sucked in my breath, my whole body taut.
He pulled away with a low curse.
“I forgot you’re a virgin.” He shook his head with an irritated growl. “So let me make this really clear for you. One more time. For the sake of my own conscience.”
“I thought you didn’t have one,” I said weakly.
“This is all I can give you.” His eyes met mine. “No marriage. No children. All I can offer is—this.” He kissed me, feather-light, running down my bare, trembling throat, to my clavicle. I felt his hands cup my naked breasts, felt his fingers lightly squeeze the full, heavy flesh. He lowered his mouth with agonizing slowness to an aching nipple, then stopped at the last moment. He looked up at me. “Do you agree?”
As he spoke, his lips and breath brushed my taut nipple, and I shook beneath him, lost in desire, lost in
