––––––––
“I am starving.” Sitting upright, Ava began to gather her discarded clothing while Heath looked on, making no effort to shield his nudity in the aftermath of their tumultuous lovemaking.
“Even after that the only thing you can think of is your stomach?” he asked, one brow arching as he lifted himself up on his elbows. In the muted candlelight his naked body was a thing to behold, and Ava let herself admire his chiseled abdomen before her gaze flicked up to his face.
“Take it as a compliment,” she said with a saucy grin. “Ye have made me work up quite an appetite.”
“You were not a virgin.”
The observation, quietly stated, had Ava pausing with her chemise halfway over her head. Biting the inside of her cheek to contain a sharp retort, she took her time tugging the garment into place before she coolly said, “Neither were you.”
“True,” Heath acknowledged, his eyes darkening as he continued to watch her dress.
Hating that she felt self-conscious beneath the weight of his heavy stare, Ava stalked across the room and threw herself down into a vacant chair with enough force to rattle the silverware. She’d just given herself to the bloody man mind, body, and soul and the only thing he could think to say was you were not a virgin? Picking up a fork she stabbed a chunk of lamb, but the meat was too cold and her temper too hot to swallow more than one bite.
Stupid, she told herself in disgust. What did ye think would happen, that he would take a flyer with ye and declare his undying love? Her grip on the fork tightened. She’d done precisely as she feared: gained a few moments of pleasure at the risk of ending up with a broken heart. She should have kept herself removed. Kept herself invulnerable. Protected her heart when and where it mattered most instead of giving in to her baser instincts.
So concentrated was Ava on her mistakes that she did not notice Heath get up, nor pull on his trousers, nor prowl barefoot around the table. When he placed his hands on her shoulders she jumped like a scalded cat, twisting in her chair to regard him with surprise and no small amount of anger. “What?” she demanded. “What do ye want?”
“You.” He reached for her when she would have pulled back, touching her cheek with the back of his hand, knuckles gently tracing the angular line of her jaw. “You don’t have to be afraid.” The corners of his mouth tightened and a line appeared between his thick brows. He seemed to be struggling with something, the gravity of it weighing heavily on his countenance. Ava held her breath, but when he finally spoke it was only to say, “You never have to be afraid again. I will not hurt you, Ava. I promise.”
Her heart stuttered within her breast, hope flaring to life even as suspicion had her eyes narrowing. Clambering to her feet she put the chair between them, needing some kind of barrier, even one as flimsy as a piece of furniture, to give herself the distance necessary to think with a clear head.
Perhaps if she’d had a good life, an easy life, a life without danger lurking behind every corner, she would have been able to take Heath at his word and be elated at the fact that a man, a handsome, intelligent, wealthy man, wanted her. But her life hadn’t been good, and it hadn’t been easy, and she had more doubt inside of her than trust.
“Ye owe me nothing.” Her fingers bit into the back of the chair, nails digging into the wood in an unconscious effort to anchor herself in a world that had suddenly turned upside down. “I am no one to ye, just a girl ye found in an alley and brought home to care for like a stray pet.”
Heath’s laugh was short and incredulous. “Is that what you believe? That I think of you as a stray pet?”
“I don’t know.” Her shoulders gave a defensive jerk and she dropped her gaze to stare at the embroidered seat of the chair. The pattern blurred before her eyes, a watery mix of dark green and blue.
“Look at me,” Heath said quietly.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she shook her head from side to side, causing a curtain of tangled hair to fall into her eyes.
“Ava, look at me. Please.”
She wanted to be hard. Distant. Untouchable. If she could be all of those things then she wouldn’t feel the sting of hurt when Heath changed his mind. For he would change it. It was only a matter of time. She knew how men were. How they acted. How they thought. Right now she was like a new shiny penny, one he wanted to keep tucked warm and safe inside his pocket. But when she began to lose some of her luster he would lose interest, and soon enough she would be tossed out on the cobblestones.
“Ava.” He spoke her name in earnest, and even though she dared not lift her head to see his expression she could feel his emotion through the deep timbre of his voice. “Ava, you can trust me. I said I will not hurt you, and I mean it. I do not know when it happened, and God above knows I tried to fight it, but you have become precious to me. Bloody hell.” He expelled his breath in a frustrated hiss. “Will you just look at me? Surely I am owed that much, if nothing else.”
Stunned and ashamed at the sudden burning in the corners of her eyes, Ava turned her head to the side and stumbled back, suddenly desperate to be anywhere but here. Her hip bumped into the table, rattling a bowl of apple pudding. Catching the bowl before it could tip over she shoved it blindly into place and, choking on tears and insecurities, fled up the stairs to her room.
That, Heath thought grimly as he began to tidy up the remnants of their uneaten dinner, could have gone better.
It was his own damn fault. He never should have deviated from his plan. A plan that involved them getting to know each other over a pleasant meal. They would have then retired to his study, him with a glass of port, her with a glass of sherry. They might have even shared a kiss, something innocent and sweet before they went to their separate rooms for the evening. That was how a courtship was supposed to go. That was how the night should have ended. That was how he had decided he was going to handle things. How he was going to handle her.
Instead he’d taken her on the floor like a rutting beast and he had no one to blame for his incomprehensible behavior but himself.
Heath was not a man accustomed to losing control. Yet from the very moment he saw Ava crouched in the alley he’d been teetering on the brink of doing just that, and tonight all of his carefully constructed layers of restraint had come crashing down around him.
Piling the dishes high he stomped into the kitchen and slammed them with unnecessary force onto the wooden counter. Cleaning the table was a job usually left to the servants, but since he needed something to prevent himself from running up the stairs and demanding entry into Ava’s bedroom he welcomed the task, as menial as it was.
He never should have touched her in courtyard. That is where it had all gone wrong, for once he learned the taste of her mouth he’d known instantly that he would never be satisfied with just one kiss. Like a man possessed he’d thought of her for the entire day, his inability to focus drawing speculative glances and whispers from his colleagues for Heath Mason was not a man easily distracted.
He had bumbled through his work, unable to concentrate on anything except for the memory of how soft Ava’s skin had been and how it had felt to run his fingers through her short silky crop of hair.
Slicing off a piece of lamb he slapped the cold meat onto an empty plate and ate while he paced circles around the dining room table, his bare feet silent on the floorboards.
Of all the women in the world, why did his heart finally have to stutter for a pixie with big green eyes and a sassy tongue?
Heath was no monk. He’d slept with women before. Enjoyed them. Even taken a mistress or too. But he’d always kept a part of himself detached. He had thought he would be able to do the same with Ava, but she’d wormed her way inside of the deepest, darkest, most secretive part of him and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t pull her back out again.
Polishing off the slab of lamb, he exchanged the plate for a thick piece of bread, needing to fill the ache inside of him. But the ache was born of passion, not hunger, and with a growl he set the bread aside and threw his long, lanky body into the nearest chair.
Ava was in his heart, his mind, his very soul. How one person could be consumed by another so quickly he didn’t know. He would have thought it a fleeting fancy, except even after their coupling - the most intense and satisfying of his life - he craved her more now than ever before. And it wasn’t only her body he desired.
He wanted to hear her laugh, the sound of it so bright and musical it made it easy to imagine she was a fairy, displaced from her kingdom to live amidst mortals. He wanted to see her nose wrinkle when she smiled, and know it was because of him. He even wanted her anger, for she was the only one - male or female - who dared stand toe to toe with him and give as good as she got.
Heath dragged a hand through his hair with a grimace, pulling the tousled ends tight. Perhaps if he’d told her all that instead of rolling about with her on the floor the night would have ended differently, but he had never been a man who was good with his words.
How could he tell her how he felt when he didn’t completely understand it himself? She would turn away or, far worse to his mind, laugh. Laugh at him. Laugh at his feelings. Laugh at the heart he was offering to her with both hands. He hissed out a frustrated breath.
Perhaps they were not meant for anything more. Perhaps it was best to simply let it be. To let her be. Except he couldn’t, for tomorrow morning he finally needed to do the one thing he’d been dreading since Ava’s arrival.
He needed to report to Lord Collinsworth.