Hedley needed to know if Calliope was right. She needed to know if Rafe truly loved her, or if Greyson Park was still between them.
Later that night, Hedley opened the bedchamber door. Preoccupied, she didn’t expect to find Boris in the hall. Sitting up, he tilted his head and wagged his tail, as if he’d been patiently waiting for her. She reached out and scratched him behind the ears. “You are a matchmaker, aren’t you?”
He answered with a low woof.
“If that is true, then you are waiting outside the wrong door.” She already knew her own heart. Now it was a matter of discovering what was in Rafe’s.
As if he understood her perfectly, Boris stood and traipsed down the hall without even bothering to look back to see if she followed.
A moment later, she was standing at Rafe’s door. She gave Boris one last pat before sending him on his way. Then, drawing in a deep breath, she turned the knob.
Rafe was sitting against the dark headboard of a massive bed, his knee elevated beneath a dark green coverlet. His shoulders, arms, and chest were bare, and he held a glass of amber liquid halfway to his mouth. But it remained there, arrested, as his gaze met hers.
“Hedley.” Her name came out on a breath. His chest rose and fell like a bellows igniting a fire.
“I don’t want you to speak. I want to be able to hear what you’re not saying.” With a shake of her head, she pressed her index finger to her lips and backed up against the door until she heard the soft click of the latch. “Unless you want me to go . . . ”
She waited for what seemed like an eternity. Trepidation rose, causing her to tremble. Then, Rafe slid his free hand down to pull back a corner of the bedclothes for her.
It was all the invitation she needed. Now, something other than trepidation made her tremble. Yet somehow she managed to walk across the chamber. His gaze never left her. It roamed over her unbound hair. It followed her hands as she slid the wrapper from her shoulders. Then it turned dark as she bent to pull the hem of her night rail over her head.
She let the gauzy cotton drop to the floor and stood before him, naked. His breathing was audible, his lips parted. The night air caused her nipples to draw tight. When he swallowed, his Adam’s apple rose and dipped in his throat. It was the same way her stomach felt, only hers settled much lower. She pressed a hand below her navel and took the remaining steps to the bed.
She was taking all of this as a good sign. He hadn’t told her to leave. Not only that, but that glass was still paused halfway to his mouth. Reaching out, she covered his fingers with hers and drew the glass to her own lips.
The sip was cool, but burned all the way down her throat, warming her stomach. She wondered if that was the reason he drank it—because he’d felt cold all the way to his marrow too. If so, then she sought to remedy that.
When she released his hand, Rafe drank the last swallow before setting it down on the bedside table. The folded corner of the coverlet exposed the lean, sinewy length of his body, from his shoulder all the way to his knee. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.
She’d already seen him in nothing but his breeches. Now, she would see him without even those. A wanton thrill shot through her. “I’m going to make love to you,” she said as her fingers curled around the edge of the green velvet. “But first, I want to see you.”
Rafe groaned in the same moment that she stripped away the bedclothes. Likely, she should lift her gaze to his face and inquire about the source of his groan. But at the moment, she couldn’t. He was put together in such a way that . . . well, she never would have expected a man to look so . . . so hard everywhere. The dark hair covering his chest and tapering down into a line along his abdomen did nothing to make him appear softer—even though she knew from experience that those hairs were soft. Yet they were deceptive, because his chest and abdomen were as hard as fieldstone.
She imagined the same could be true of the thick shaft of flesh jutting up from the thatch of dark hair between his thighs and laying in column toward his navel. While she had seen his flesh exposed and in his grip—had even felt it prod against her—her attention had been more on the euphoria she’d experienced in the moments before, when his mouth had been on her.
She let out a shuddered breath. Just the thought of it made her feel warm and damp. Raking her teeth over her lip, she slid her fingertips over the mattress, following the indentation of his body. Would he feel the same type of euphoria if she put her mouth on him? As if his thick flesh had heard her thought, it leapt up in a quick nod.
Listening to what Rafe’s actions were saying, Hedley climbed onto the bed. On her knees, she faced him. His eyes were dark and intense, but she saw more than desire. She knew there was more between them.
“I love you, no matter what you choose to believe,” she whispered. When he opened his mouth to respond, she silenced him with a kiss. A low sound rumbled in his throat. The warm caress of his lips beneath hers, the rapid pounding of his heart beneath her palms gave her the only answer she needed.
His hands threaded through the waves of her unbound hair, holding her close. He breathed her in and welcomed her tongue past his lips. Falling against him, her breasts pressed against his chest as her hands splayed over the breadth of his shoulders. This was where she belonged, here with him. His kiss warmed her far more than any sip of whiskey could.
She settled over him, half draping her body over his and half straddling him. The scorching length of that column pulsed against her stomach. This position reminded her of falling on him at Greyson Park that first day. Yet she far preferred having no ice beneath them and no clothes between them.
Feeling his thigh shift between hers made her want to move even closer. Lifting her knee, she shifted and straddled him in earnest. He groaned anew.
His hands found her hips and guided her to slide against him as he arched upward. The kiss altered, heated. Her stomach dipped low, throbbing insistently. He was as hot as a glassmaker’s furnace. When his hands cupped her breasts, and he rolled her taut nipples beneath his thumb and forefinger, she nearly convulsed as she had in the carriage. And she wanted to. But first, she wanted to taste him the way he’d tasted her.
She broke from his lips and trailed kisses down his throat, dipping her tongue into the hollow. He let out a ragged breath. His chest hair was soft against her lips. She breathed in his scent as her fingertips floated down those hard ridges . . . until she held that hot, unyielding column in her grasp. His hips arched off the bed.
Eager, she moved lower and wrapped her lips around the broad, fleshy tip. A low guttural groan tore from his throat. She took that as a good sign. He tasted slightly of salt and radiated heat. Against her tongue, smooth veins and ridges intrigued her, bidding her continued study down the length as far as she could go. Mouth watering, she swallowed, suckling him in the process. That earned her another groan. Tingling with pleasure, she hummed in response and repeated her actions.
Rafe’s hands brushed the fall of hair away from her face. When she looked up at him and sucked harder, his hips rocked. Then, without warning, he lifted her away. Hauling her up his chest, he kissed her, breathing hard and heavy. “Hedley, I—”
She put her finger against his lips. “No words.”
A devilish gleam lit his eyes as he grinned at her.
Slowly, deliberately, as if she’d issued some sort of challenge, he drew her finger into his mouth. A gasp escaped her when his tongue glided over her finger. She felt the sensation at the apex of her thighs.
Taking her hand, he sucked on each one of her fingers until she was panting and restless. She wanted to move her hips over him, but he held her still. Then, he lowered his mouth to her breast and did something with his tongue that made her body clench and quiver. She clutched his head. “Oh, Rafe—”
“No words,” he said against her nipple and blew on it before he moved on to the other. At the same time, his hands shifted. Fingers on her hips, his thumbs slid between her thighs and stroked between her folds. The quivering that pulsed deep within her now centered on the mesmeric sweeping motions. She felt as if she were filled with molten glass. The heat inside her expanded and contracted, threatening to fracture. The pleasure overwhelmed her. Her head fell back. Her hips bucked, sliding against the length of him—
She shattered. Completely. Disobeying her own rule, she cried out his name over and over again as the euphoria washed through her.
And when at last she caught her breath, she was beneath him. Rafe gazed down at her with that dark fierceness she’d grown to love. Tenderly, he brushed the hair away from her face and kissed her. She felt every word he wasn’t saying, and she believe them more than ever before.
He loved her.
This time when she felt the heat of him nudge the entrance of her body, she knew it wouldn’t end abruptly. He wasn’t going anywhere. Instead, he guided her knees up, one and then the other, and slowly wedged inside her.
The unexpected pain shocked her. Her breath caught. Her body tensed. All she knew of intimacies were the bawdy words she’d overheard from the servant girls in the kitchen at Sinclair House. She didn’t recall any of them mentioning pain.
Rafe let out a staggered breath and went still, her pain mirrored in his gaze.
“It won’t hurt anymore,” he promised with another kiss, coaxing her to return to the fervor of a moment ago. But even if it remained painful, she would do it all over again, simply to feel him deep inside of her, filling and stretching her. They were one person now. Making love. Creating love. Breathing love with each breath they shared.
Gradually, he moved within her, withdrawing and then edging inside. The pain disappeared, leaving only the craving to have him fill her body again each time he withdrew. As if he knew, he began to thrust faster, plunging deeper until neither of them could catch their breath. Their mouths broke apart. Above her, Rafe held her gaze. She tried to hold his, but as the sensations grew stronger, she arched her neck, pressing her breasts against him and tilting her hips.
This time she was eager for the euphoria to wash through her. She craved it. Seeking it, she pressed her heels into the mattress and met his thrusts until she shattered once again. Rafe moved faster, drawing out her shudders, until his hips jerked hard. He went still, releasing a low guttural groan as a flood of heat filled her body.
He held her tightly, his cheek damp against hers. “No words,” he breathed.
She smiled and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Words weren’t needed between them. He’d already told her everything.