Grayson Brothers Series Boxed Set (4 books in 1) (69 page)

This was his home, the place where he took off his mask. Being in his private space was like being inside his skin, and her stomach fluttered with excitement. Would she finally see the intimate, secret side of him tonight?

He picked up the lantern and guided her out of the kitchen.

The parlor was a dark, manly-looking room with pine wallboards painted forest green. Sturdy hickory armchairs and a camel-back sofa were upholstered in a green damask fabric. But the red carpet with a saucy green and yellow pattern made her head spin.

She shifted her gaze to the dark mahogany mantel above the fireplace, and tried to remember how many glasses of wine she had.

Oblivious to her spinning head, Boyd set the lantern on a hickory coffee table then lit another lantern at the end of the sofa. “The water closet is in there.” He nodded toward a door off the parlor. “Take one of the lanterns with you.”

She fumbled with the tiny buttons that closed the bodice of her velvet dress. “My fingers don’t seem to want to cooperate. Would you help me remove my corsage?”

Wariness stole into his eyes, but he moved to stand in front of her. She lowered her arms to her side, giving him access to the tiny pearl buttons, to herself.

His artist’s hands were nimble, but too efficient, as if he didn’t trust himself to be near her. After he opened the buttons along her bodice and wrists, she turned her back to him, pretending a modesty she didn’t feel. He peeled the fabric over her shoulders then cupped his palms over her bare, upper arms. Gooseflesh speckled her skin as he drew his warm hands down her arms, pushing the soft material to her wrists.

His warm breath caressed her neck.

She longed to lean back in his arms, but he tugged the sleeves over her hands and stepped away. He draped the top section of her dress over the arm of the sofa. “There’s a mirror above the basin,” he said, his voice low and gritty.

Until now, she had considered honor a virtue, but the vein of integrity keeping him from making love to her was becoming a major obstacle to her plan of seducing him. How could he act so deliberate and controlled? Was he so used to undressing women that it didn’t arouse his ardor?

She ducked into the spacious, and surprisingly clean, water closet. The instant she closed the door, she set the lantern on the cabinet and pressed her hand to her pounding heart. He couldn’t be rejecting her. He had just told her he wanted her. He’d said he wanted to make love to her. And he’d flirted with her shamelessly almost from the moment they met. Was he waiting for a sign from her? She asked him to unbutton her dress. What more of an invitation did he need?

The mirror flashed her own conflicted expression back at her. She leaned toward the glass and peeked at the one-inch gash marking the crest of her shoulder. The slash of dark red blemished her skin, but it wasn’t that bad, and it wasn’t bleeding, thank goodness.

What if he changed his mind? She was as committed and as ready as she would ever be. She couldn’t lose this opportunity. Somehow, she must force him to see her, to forget everything but her for this one night.

She turned away and unbuttoned the waist of her skirt and petticoats. They fell to the floor in a puddle of lace and velvet. She stepped free of the yards of fabric then bent down to remove her stockings.

The room tilted.

She braced her hand on the basin stand to steady herself. Was she drunk? Was that why she was peeling off her clothes in Boyd’s water closet? Suddenly, her actions seemed illogical, reckless, irresponsible, absurd. What was she thinking?

Boyd wasn’t Abe—and Claire wasn’t her grandmother. She was a lonely widow who’d had too much wine. She would regret this tomorrow. She... oh, Lord, that wasn’t true.

She must do this.
She must!
If she turned coward now, she would never forgive herself for passing up her one chance for a grand passion. She would never be free if she didn’t exorcize Jack from her memory and embrace a new man, a new life—her
own
life.

It had to be tonight.

She rolled down her stockings, stripped them off her feet, and dropped them on the floor in a wrinkled heap.

Years of depending on herself allowed her to struggle out of her corset. It fell to the floor with the rest of her garments, and she took her first full breath since dressing that morning.

Shivering, she stood in her chemise and lace drawers, suddenly afraid of how Boyd would see her, how he would react to her outrageous behavior.

Would he find her too wanton?

Of course he would. How could he not?

But would he reject her for her wantonness?

She was dressed in her unmentionables, and bent on seducing him. What else could her behavior be called but wanton?

Daring.

Stupid.

Adventurous.

A gamble.

Back and forth her mind rushed, questioning and weighing the rewards and repercussions of her actions until she clenched her fists to her temples. Her racing heart could not endure this a moment longer. For better or for worse, she was going out there. She would storm his senses before he could think, before the serious, noble side of him demanded he act with honor. She wanted the charmer, the rake, the man who had been seducing her for weeks.
That
man would make love to her.

With her stomach cartwheeling, she wrenched open the door and stepped into the parlor.

* * *

Boyd looked up from the carving he’d been fiddling with. Before him stood Claire Ashier, the widow he wanted to seduce, the woman he wanted to protect. She was ethereal and glowing in her lacy white chemise and drawers. Silky, golden hair draped her narrow shoulders and breasts, lifting and falling with each panting breath from her parted lips. Her stormy blue eyes, filled with questions and doubts, were fixed on him.

“What the...” He cleared the squeak from his voice, but could barely force words from his tight throat. “What are you doing?”

She crossed the carpet and sat beside him on the sofa. “I’m ready to give you that sinful kiss,” she whispered.

His knife and wood carving fell to the floor.

“Tonight,” she said. “If you want me.”

If he wanted her? Manic laughter welled up inside him. He wanted her so much he was shaking like a schoolboy in a brothel. He wanted her from the first time he’d seen her standing on her porch. That evening she tried to scare him by pointing her revolver at him, but she only intrigued him. Tonight, though, he knew real danger. Her bare skin and lacy garments were a weapon he couldn’t defend himself against. Her nearly naked body was a lure from which he could not turn away.

She angled her body toward him, her long, bare, incredibly gorgeous legs stretched out beside his. “Do you want me?”

He wanted to devour her.

He gripped her arms and held her away from him. “Any man alive would want you.”

“I don’t want any man. I want you.”

He could hardly believe this was the same Claire who mere weeks ago had refused to let him touch her foot. “I shouldn’t have allowed you to drink so much wine.”

“You didn’t allow me to do anything,” she said. “I’m capable of making my own decisions, and I’ve decided I want you.”

She leaned forward and kissed him, fusing their mouths together with such heat, his mind reeled like a runaway tire hoop. She lifted her knee across his lap, fitting herself more tightly against him, killing him, killing his willpower, killing every thought but those of her.

He roamed his hands over her body, sculpting her rounded bottom beneath his palms, pulling her around to straddle his hips, promising himself he would stop soon.

He kissed her tenderly. She took the kiss deeper, pushing him to respond until his breath came in gasps against her cheek.

She arched her neck, offering her smooth white throat to his mouth. He tasted her, sucked and kissed and nibbled until she lifted his palm to her breast.

He groaned, believing he’d betrayed her with the wine. “We need to stop.”

“We don’t.” She tugged her chemise up over her waist, over the full globes of her creamy taut breasts, over her head until she had fully bared her torso.

She was beyond beautiful, surpassing every dream he’d ever had. Hunger gnawed at him as he looked at her. She was no virgin. She knew what she was doing, what she was asking for.

“My imagination didn’t do you justice.” He stroked his thumbs across the hardened peaks of her dusty brown nipples, knowing he should stop, that she deserved more than a tumble on his sofa. She’d been hurt by her husband. He didn’t want to add to her heartache.

She threaded her fingers in his hair and kissed his neck, her tongue swirling over his skin.

He needed to get her out of his arms, out of his house.

She raised her head, her eyes glassy from the wine, or passion, or both. Which gave him pause, which lured him on.

“Make love to me,” she whispered.

She rocked her hips against his groin and sent his heartbeat ricocheting through his chest like a bullet in a canyon.

His body melted then hardened.

Her face was flushed and her hair flowed across her shoulders in waves of gold. She was too perfect. She had no idea what she was doing to him, of the inferno raging inside. He gripped her wrists to stop her from unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m burning, Claire. It’s going to consume both of us if we don’t stop.”

“Let it burn,” she said, her eyes fierce, her breath hot against his jaw. “Let our passion scorch the walls.”

“I can’t. I don’t have anything to protect you from getting pregnant.”

“I can’t conceive.” She rolled her hips against him, sending a stream of heat burning through his groin.

He gritted his teeth, shaking from the battle raging between his desire and his conscience. He gripped her arms and forced her to look at him. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” She covered his mouth with her own, pressed her bare breasts into his palms. Like an insistent wind, she curled around him, caressing him, bending him to her will until a groan of surrender tore free and he pulled her down beside him on the sofa.

Desire rolled through Boyd, boiling his blood, melting his will, burning away his resistance.

Claire moaned into his mouth as he moved his fingers over her, slipped them inside her drawers, stroking her until she was as wild and greedy as he felt. She fumbled with the buttons on his trousers, caressing his hardness where it strained against the cotton fabric. She freed him then closed her fingers around his turgid heat.

He groaned low in his throat, knowing he was lost, knowing she’d just sealed their fate. He gripped her hand and stopped her before she pushed him over the edge.

He reared back on his knees and shoved his trousers down over his hips. She untied her drawers, and he pulled them down her long legs and over her bare feet.

“Make love to me,” she whispered.

He slid between her white thighs, entering her with a groan, satisfying the wrenching need pounding through his body. She gasped and lifted her hips, pressing her breasts against his chest.

“Oh, Boyd...” She arched her throat to his seeking mouth.

He kissed her neck, her breasts, her mouth as he rolled his hips between her thighs. She clutched his shoulders and cried out with her release.

He felt contractions shake her body. She tightened her legs around his hips, pulling him deeper, driving him to a shattering climax. But in the hard rush of his release, he regretted taking something so intimate from her. His body shuddered. His conscience shuddered. He’d been unbearably selfish.

The caress of her warm palms sliding beneath his shirt and up his bare back made him sorry he’d been so quick. He raised up on his elbows and saw a soft, satisfied smile on her swollen mouth. She’d enjoyed it, but he could have given her so much more. He’d let himself get carried away, had let his demanding body set the pace.

She tugged the back of his shirt. “Why don’t you take this off?”

Her request surprised him. He’d expected her to grow shy and want to go home.

“It’s not fair that I’m the only one who is completely exposed,” she said, shaming him for yanking his drawers down like an unfeeling cad.

He rolled to her side. “I’ll get your garments for you.”

She hooked her arms around his neck. “Do you want me to leave?”

He wanted to keep her in his arms, beneath him or on top of him, all night. Every night. And that scared him. He couldn’t tell her that, so he said nothing.

Her smile faded. “Are you disappointed?” she asked, insecurity bleeding back into her eyes.

Only in himself.

He stroked her cheek, the feel of her soft skin making him regret his hastiness. He’d needed her so badly, but had missed so much. “I hadn’t planned for this to happen.”

“Does that mean you’re sorry?”

“Not in the way you think. I’ve wanted to make love with you since I met you. But I shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation.”

“I came to you in my undergarments. How can you think you took advantage of something I was freely offering? I wanted this, Boyd.” Her lashes settled lower, seductively lower, over her gorgeous eyes. “I’d like more.”

So would he. More than she could ever know. “Are you certain you can’t get pregnant?”

A deep sadness stole into her eyes, smothering the starlight he’d been admiring. She nodded and withdrew her arms from around his neck. “I had a bad miscarriage almost two years ago. The doctor said I’ll never conceive again.”

The desolation in her voice broke his jealously guarded heart wide open. He had brothers who had children. He had a niece and two nephews he adored. Deep in his soul, he hurt for her, felt her loss, understood her heartache.

Words were useless at times, and this was one of those times. He drew her against him. She came willingly, letting him hold her for a long, long time in his silent apartment, the two of them listening to the mantel clock ticking toward dawn.

He’d lain on his sofa hundreds of times, a few of those times with a woman, but never with this tenderness in his heart. He felt protective of Claire. He wanted to shield her from her own memories, from all the hurts she’d suffered, kiss away her tears, and fill her life with joy.