Olivia had never felt so utterly confused in all of her life. This had been a night to remember, and for so many reasons beyond sharing an absolutely divine kiss with someone she should never have even dreamt of kissing. To desire him as a man, in his own right, was simply wrong, probably in a thousand ways she had yet to consider. He held an undeniable, ruthless, and perfectly delicious spell over her that she couldn’t seem to overcome no matter how hard she tried, though it didn’t help to admit to herself that thus far she’d hardly been trying to avoid his advances, be they physical or not. How in heaven’s name could she have these…feelings for the brother of her husband? Why, oh why, did he keep pursuing her as if there were no consequences to his actions? Being together as they were tonight went far beyond friendly companionship, though she realized with some rationale that he wasn’t completely at fault for the indiscretion. She’d responded to him as no lady should, at least outside the privacy of the marital bedchamber. But above it all, more than every consideration, they both had to realize they had absolutely no future together romantically. Their attraction to each other needed to end, and end now. She just wasn’t so sure how to do it.
She’d tried not to watch as he danced with her aunt, and she’d scolded herself more than once for being utterly unable to control herself to that end, following them with her eyes while she stood talking to two of Nivan’s patrons in front of a buffet table. They looked agreeable in each other’s arms, but she did note a certain hardness in Sam’s posture and expression that he hadn’t exhibited with her. True, Claudette’s interruption on the balcony had startled them both, but he’d more than shocked her when he asked her aunt to dance, particularly after the intimate moment they’d only just shared. She hadn’t expected him to leave her so abruptly after she’d mentioned Claudette’s obvious appreciation of her husband’s charms. But then maybe that was why Sam seemed interested in her. Olivia only wished she hadn’t felt that same tinge of jealousy settle in the pit of her stomach when she saw them together. She shouldn’t feel jealousy of any kind where Sam was concerned, and that irked her most of all, she decided. But apparently, and of course most importantly, the ruse still worked. Claudette didn’t appear to suspect he wasn’t Edmund, as Olivia had feared from the beginning.
Now they rode together in silence back to Nivan, Sam sitting across from her, eyes closed, though she knew he wasn’t sleeping. He hadn’t said as much as two words to her since they’d left the party. She hadn’t wanted to leave, and they hadn’t originally planned to, but he insisted, telling her only that it was imperative that she not see her aunt again this evening. He refused to tell her why, or what he and Claudette had discussed during their few minutes together, and it irritated her that he remained silent even now that they were alone. She wanted answers and she was starting to tire of waiting for him to speak.
“Why were you so anxious for us to leave the ball, Sam?” she asked as their hired coach exited the lane on the Brillon estate and turned toward town.
He only grunted, keeping his eyes closed. “We’ll talk about it back at Nivan.”
Exhaling a fast breath, she prodded, “Did you learn something you’re keeping from me? What did you discuss with my aunt?”
“Olivia, be a little patient.”
His tone had an edge to it that she didn’t think she’d heard from him before. His evasiveness and decision to make her wait made her mad though. They’d planned on staying the night at the estate, and yet no sooner had he finished the waltz with her aunt, he found her, a double whiskey in his hand, and practically forced her out the door, swallowing the remains of his drink in a few large gulps. That surprised her, too, for he seemed more disturbed than the event should have made him. Truth be told, she was positively dying to know what Claudette had said to him to get him so upset—or what she’d done.
“Are you feeling light-headed from the drink?” she asked softly.
He smirked. “I didn’t have enough.”
She wasn’t certain if he meant he didn’t have enough to feel the alcohol, or he didn’t have enough to calm his nerves after the excitement of the evening. She could only see vague lines on his face as the inside of the coach cast them in shadow, the only light being reflections from a fairly bright moon and a few street lamps they passed along the way.
Olivia adjusted her skirts, smoothing them out over her thighs, then opened her fan and brushed the edges with a gloved fingertip.
“Stop fidgeting,” he said brusquely.
That annoyed her even more. “I’m sorry, sir, but with everything that’s happened tonight, you expect me to be calm? You won’t even tell me what Claudette—”
“We’ll discuss it when we get home.” He lifted his eyelids a fraction, just enough for her to tell he was looking at her. “Right now I need to think, so why don’t you relax.”
Relax? How could she possibly do that? When he closed his eyes again, she gave him an exaggerated, and not too ladylike, snort, then decided quizzing him further would only make him angry with her, in which case she’d risk his continued silence when they reached her apartments. That in mind, she scooted down into the cushion and leaned back to rest her head on the seat, just as he had, closing her own eyes for the remainder of the long ride home.
She must have dozed because it seemed like only seconds later when she felt the coach slow its progress as it pulled up in front of the boutique. Blinking quickly to clear her head, she sat upright, as Sam did across from her, then clutched her skirts with one hand and took the driver’s with the other as he helped her descend the steps to the street below.
Sam followed without a word as she pulled the key to the building from a pocket in her gown, then led the way through the darkened store, up the stairs, and down the hall to her home. Once inside, she immediately walked to her pine secretary, lit a gas lamp, then turned to him, crossing her arms over her breasts.
“Are you ready for a discussion now?” She supposed that sounded a bit curt if not downright rude, but she was as tired as she was angry at the moment and didn’t care how he gauged her mood.
He took his time closing the door softly and securing the lock. Then he faced her, shoving his fingers harshly through his hair, fatigue obvious in his narrowed eyes, on the hardness of his features.
“I suggest you change first,” he remarked coolly, his voice and movements controlled as he began to remove his evening jacket.
She stood where she was, her spine rigid. “Change? Change into what?”
His expression darkened with annoyance. “Into something more comfortable.”
“I’m perfectly comfortable now.”
“No, you’re not, and neither am I.” He started walking toward the guest room. “Meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”
Olivia hated it when a man ordered her to do something she didn’t want to do. Trouble was, tonight he was right. She’d been wearing a corset, tightly drawn, for several hours, which didn’t help her temperament at all. And changing would also give her time to collect her thoughts, as she obviously hadn’t done so on the ride home.
It took her a good twenty minutes, since she had no one to help her with her gown, jewelry, and hair pins, but when at last she entered the kitchen, her robe tied securely around her waist, her hair brushed to a shine to fall down her back, she found him sitting in the chair he’d occupied the first night they talked, though he’d turned it outward so he could lean his head against the wall.
She walked around his outstretched legs, noting that he’d not so much changed as simply removed his outer-wear and tie so that he now wore only his trousers and ruffled shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and cuffs, which he’d rolled up nearly to his elbows. She supposed, for a man, he was comfortable enough without being indecent in the company of a lady who was not his wife.
She moved to the opposite chair and sat, watching him, folding her hands together on the tabletop to indicate she wanted honesty, and now.
He remained silent for a moment, staring not at her, but straight ahead, at the clock she’d placed beside the stove.
Finally, she broke the tension. “It’s after two.”
He didn’t acknowledge that fact. Instead, he replied, “You must be feeling refreshed since you slept all the way home.”
She sighed. “I wouldn’t say I slept. I was thinking with my eyes closed, just as you were.”
He turned his head a little, eyeing her with a smirk on his mouth. “You snore, Olivia.”
She fairly gaped at him. “I most certainly do not snore!”
“But I will say,” he carried on, ignoring her exclamation, “it’s a very dainty, feminine snore. One that suits a beautiful and enticing woman like you.”
He said it quite casually, as if they’d met in the middle of the blessed night to mundanely discuss the quality of tea and the merits of its trade. He seemed to enjoy catching her off guard, which, under the circumstances of the evening, made her uncomfortable now that they sat alone together in her home. Better to ignore his teasing remark and get to the point at hand.
“Will you please tell me why you were so anxious to leave?” she asked forthrightly. “And don’t say it’s because I looked palled.”
He almost smiled. “That was rather rude of her.”
She lifted her shoulders lightly in shrug. “I’m embarrassed to say that kind of remark is fairly standard for my aunt Claudette, especially where I am concerned.”
He placed a forearm flat on the table as his eyes roved over her face. “She’s just jealous.”
She knit her brows in puzzlement. “Jealous? I sincerely doubt that. She’s quite the beauty, my aunt, and everyone knows it. Including her.”
“Indeed.”
She shifted her body in her chair, a bit irritated that he didn’t argue with her—or tell her outright that she was lovelier, as her husband would have done without thought. But then maybe he didn’t think so, and that, she had to admit, troubled her in the most inappropriate way.
“Did Edmund think she was beautiful?” he asked seconds later.
She tilted her head a little to the side. “I would guess so. He never said what he thought of her, actually. Now that I think about it, that does seem strange.”
“How so?”
He seemed genuinely curious, and so, through a soft exhaled breath, she admitted, “Claudette was physically attracted to Edmund, which I think you must know by now, though I daresay she never did anything completely improper in the company of others. She is my aunt, after all, and is well-bred and generally respectful.” That might be giving her too much credit, but when he said nothing in reply, she continued. “It was obvious to everyone that Edmund seemed to enjoy a certain…rapport with her, but he never, that I recall, mentioned his thoughts or feelings about her one way or the other. At least not to me.”
After a long moment of silence he murmured, “I see.”
She didn’t think he did, but Claudette was irrelevant to their conversation. If Sam had suspicions about Edmund romancing her aunt, Edmund would be in Paris to do just that, and Olivia believed almost certainly that he wasn’t. Again, she wanted to get back to what happened tonight.
“Are you going to tell me why you practically dragged me from the ball?”
He studied her by lamplight, his expression one of grim contemplation. Then at last, his tone deep and laced with gentleness, he replied, “Because your aunt expected me to meet her in her bedchamber later. I wasn’t interested, and didn’t want to be there when she discovered that.”
She stilled, her mind and body going numb as a strange feeling of dread mixed with absolute incredulity washed over her.
“My aunt—” She couldn’t even repeat it. Such a thought, such an idea, went beyond the incredible to the despicable. “That’s impossible,” she managed to choke out in a whisper, gradually lowering her gaze.
He inhaled deeply, turning in the chair so he fully faced her, clasping his hands together in front of him, arms outstretched on the tabletop. “I’m sorry.”
“Maybe you misunderstood her,” she broached, mouth dry, suddenly freezing in the stuffy kitchen. She pulled her robe tighter around her, hugging herself.
“I didn’t misunderstand, Olivia.”
No, she supposed he wouldn’t, being a man. And it wasn’t as if she doubted Claudette could have posed such a suggestion. Still…Her eyes shot back to his face. “Did she really believe you were Edmund?”
Without hesitation he asserted, “Yes. She did.”
Olivia shivered, drawing her shoulders up as she squeezed her arms into her body, blinking hard in an attempt to keep herself from breaking down into a crying fit in front of him. The idea that Edmund might have been…involved with her aunt made her nauseated, physically ill.
“But that doesn’t make sense,” she murmured, her voice shaky. “Edmund never showed any interest in her at all, at least not when I was around the two of them.”
Sam said nothing, just continued to watch her, and it took her nearly a minute to realize he didn’t need to respond. She grasped the implication of her own words at last—her husband showed no interest in her aunt when they were all together.
“It’s quite possible,” she mumbled after licking her lips, “that he rebuffed her. She’s been known to be a bit…aggressive when it comes to what she wants.”
He waited, then said, “When you think about everything my brother has done to you, do you believe that?”
His voice had a certain edge of irritation to it, as if he desperately wanted her to understand but couldn’t simply explain it all. She needed to grasp the details, focus on what Edmund did, what he said, what her aunt’s personality was like. When she considered it like that—the quick marriage at his insistence, the wedding night that was not a wedding night, his nefarious scheme of stealing her inheritance—she could come up with no other conclusion than the one Sam implied.
She couldn’t control it any longer; her eyes filled with tears. “How could he betray me like that?” A bolt of sheer anger sliced through her. “You clearly know him better than I, Sam,” she charged, her gaze burning into his. “Are you suggesting he planned to marry me and steal my fortune, all with the help of my aunt?”
He stayed silent for a few moments, regarding her with narrowed eyes. Then he ran one palm harshly down his face. “Olivia, I think there’s a lot more to this entire situation than you’re aware of.”
She sneered. “That’s painfully obvious. I don’t even pretend to know anything anymore.” With that, she stood abruptly, her arms wrapped snugly around her as she began to pace the kitchen floor. She didn’t look at him, though she felt his eyes on her, watching her actions, probably trying to determine what was going through her mind. At last she stopped in front of the sink, staring into the basin, seeing nothing.
“So, unlike your brother, you weren’t the least bit interested in her invitation?” she asked, her voice just a shade above a whisper.
“If this is about me,” he replied slowly, “then no. I wasn’t the least bit interested.”
“Why?” she breathed.
The silence in the room boomed thick and intense. Finally, he murmured, “I think you’ve been hurt enough, Olivia.”
It wasn’t much of a response, but then what did she expect? Undying devotion? In truth, she shouldn’t have asked him that. Nothing of this situation was about him, and who he chose to romance was entirely none of her business, even if it was a relation of hers. And yet she couldn’t deny the way her spirits lifted a little from his candor, and his caring.
“Are you going to tell me what you think about your brother’s whereabouts? What you think is going on?” she asked, her tone riddled with a quiet, steady anger.
She heard him inhale deeply again, and she drummed up the courage to lift her head and turn, facing him once more. The light from the lamp cast shadows on each handsome feature, reflecting in his dark eyes as they remained fixed on her, on his thick, shiny hair that fell loosely across his brow, his hardened jaw and grimly set lips. His sheer attractiveness made her insides flutter even as she waited for him to answer the most grave of questions, her posture determined, her stare haunted, pleading for the truth.
After a long moment he said, “I will tell you what I think, if you’ll be honest with me in return.”
She hadn’t expected that. “Honest about what?”
He tipped his head to the side a fraction. “We’ll get to that. First, what exactly is Govance?”
She frowned, shaking her head negligibly in confusion. “Where did you hear of Govance?”
“Claudette mentioned it.”
That seemed rather odd to her, as neither her aunt nor Edmund had anything to do with other houses. She leaned back against the sink edge, her arms folded in front of her. “Govance is a large and well-respected house of fragrance, though they cater to the wider industry, primarily Asian trade. They only have one small shop in Paris, but—why?”
He remained quiet for a moment or two, regarding her. Then, “Who is its heiress?”
Her mind began to race, her thoughts quickening. “The heiress of Govance? That’s probably Brigitte Marcotte. She’s the granddaughter of the owner.”
He looked down at his fingers, tapping them together in front of him. “How old is she?”
Olivia began to see where his questions were leading, only to feel a greater bewilderment coupled with fearful anticipation. “I don’t know her exact age,” she said, “but she’s probably nineteen or twenty by now. I haven’t seen her in about five years.”
He sat up a little. “She doesn’t live here?”
“No, she lives in Grasse, where the world fragrance market—” Her eyes widened; she slowly lowered her arms to her sides as the pieces began falling into place. “You think Edmund…”
“Is in Grasse, wooing the unsuspecting Brigitte of her fortune,” he finished for her. “Just as he did you.”
She tried very hard to concentrate, to digest the implication, to grasp what such an incredible assumption could mean. “But if you learned that from Claudette, then—then she knows where he is, where he’s been all this time. She’s part of the deception.”
“Edmund is deceitful and clever in his own right, but he couldn’t possibly know interested parties in the perfume business. I think,” he admitted austerely, “that not only does your aunt intend to reap the benefits, she probably planned the whole thing, including his marriage to you.”
Olivia no longer wanted to cry, she wanted to hit something. She suddenly couldn’t breathe, couldn’t comprehend such utter disregard for decency, couldn’t believe the people she loved, who she thought loved her, would betray her entire future for money. She gulped for air, spinning around to stare out the window, then turning back again, arms flailing at her sides as she began to move about the kitchen in semicircles, unseeing, feeling everything in utter shock.
He must have realized the depth of her stupefaction, for he stood at once, his chair sliding back with a loud skid across the wooden floor, and walked quickly toward her.
“Claudette—” She swallowed, then ran all ten fingers through her hair until it pulled behind her. “Claudette introduced me to him, wanted me to marry him. Urged me to marry him,” she spat in a whispered jumble.
“Olivia,” Sam said soothingly, placing his palms gently on her shoulders to hold her still.
She couldn’t stand the touch, needed air. Immediately, she brushed his arms aside and walked swiftly to the opposite wall, staring down to all the lovely little porcelain teapots she’d collected over the years, now sitting daintily on her pantry shelf. She fought the strong desire to smash them to little bits of shard.
It was all becoming clear—the lies, the shrewdness, the artful deceit. And the whys.
“Claudette wanted to take charge of Nivan when Jean-Francois died,” she disclosed bitterly, “because she knew my mother was inept at management and everyone else lived in Grasse. And she was right.” She shivered. “But Claudette would have surely embezzled every penny if she had control, running Nivan to insolvency, and everybody—everybody—knew it. That’s why even her brother, Robert Nivan, denied her the opportunity, and gave the boutique to me to manage.” She tossed Sam a biting look over her shoulder. “So it appears that when she couldn’t have what she wanted, she set her own niece up for ruin with the help of a charming, spectacular-looking, cunning man.”
“We’ll get your money back,” he said tightly.
A caustic laugh bubbled up in her throat. “My money? Do you think this is all about my inheritance?” She pivoted quickly to confront him. “What about my dignity, my feelings? What about being used? Even you said that, Sam. He used me. They used me.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he simply looked at her, his body tense, his expression taut. “I know. And I’m sorry,” he admitted with quiet intensity. “But you’re going to have to trust me.”
“Trust you?” Standing tall, glaring at him, she asked, “Tell me, your grace, why did you kiss me tonight?”
That question clearly stunned him. His mouth dropped open minutely as he looked her up and down. Then gritting his teeth, he narrowed his eyes and began to walk slowly toward her.
“I believe we kissed each other, madam, though I can’t fathom what that marvelous moment of passion has to do with this conversation.”
She shook her head defiantly, ignoring the tingle of exhilaration that surged through her from his choice of words. “It has everything to do with it,” she maintained, her voice shaky even as she attempted to stick to the point. “You kissed me, and purposely kissing a married woman like that hardly engenders trust. Do you kiss all the married ladies you know?”
“Married,” he repeated in a dark whisper.
She stood her ground, her back to the wall, her palm gripping the edge of the pantry of teapots, noting with only the slightest hesitation that his tone had grown as cold as his countenance.
“What if I said to you that I don’t believe you’re legally married to my brother?”
She sneered. “I’d say you’ve lost your mind. Or you’re a magnificent liar, trying to confuse me into falling for your charms, just as Edmund did.”
His cheek twitched; he stepped closer. “Is that why you think I kissed you tonight? To make you fall for me?” He gave her a sarcastic smile. “Believe me, sweet, I don’t need to present lies to a woman to attract her interest.”
She couldn’t think of a response, as such a statement was very likely true. “Then why did you?”
“Tell me, darling, beautiful Lady Olivia,” he asked in deep murmur, ignoring her question, “did Edmund ever make love to you?”
She gasped, appalled into silence as he moved nearer to her—so close he now towered over her, his eyes like shiny, hard marbles, reflecting lamp light and oozing anger.
“Did he?” he whispered again. “And I don’t mean make love with words of flattery, but make love as a husband makes love to a wife, physically, in the marriage bed.”
She blinked quickly, as terrified of his bearing at the moment as she was of the heat suddenly radiating between them. “The intimacy I shared with Edmund has nothing to do with this conversation,” she managed to choke out.
That didn’t deter him in the least. “You opened the door with your question about our kiss,” he whispered huskily, “and your concerns about trust. Perhaps I worry about trusting you. Answer me, and answer me honestly.”
He still hadn’t touched her, but he couldn’t get any closer without doing so. Olivia felt her knees go weak. “I’m going to bed.”
“Answer me first.”
“No.”
His dark brows rose minutely. “No, Edmund didn’t make love to you as a husband should?”
Tears filled her eyes again, though this time they emerged from pure frustration. “You’re despicable.”
“I’ve been called worse,” he acknowledged flatly. “Did Edmund make love to you?”
Why did he keep asking her that? “He’s my husband,” she seethed, clenching her hands into fists. “What do you think?”
He pulled back a little, just enough to give him room to lower his gaze and blatantly ogle her, making her feel naked and exposed for his view.
“I think that any woman who smells like you do, and looks like you do, and kisses like you do, is missing what she needs most from a husband.”
Fury inflamed her and she drew her hand up to slap him hard. But instead of making contact with his cheek, he reacted just as quickly, grabbing her wrist in midair and holding it tightly.
“Did—he—make—love to you, Livi?” he breathed, daring her to defy him.
A tear rolled down her cheek but she refused to cower, to give in to a weaker emotion. Through clenched teeth she whispered, “No.”
He seemed to stagger from that admission, as if he never expected it, sucking in a sharp, quick breath as he eased his grip on her wrist and took a half step back. She watched his expression falter in a matter of seconds, changing from stony determination to a sort of odd disbelief. And then he exhaled a long, warm sigh that touched her skin and made her shiver from the inside out.
“He left me on my wedding night,” she continued, her voice breaking from the memory. “He kissed me as you kissed me, and then humiliated me, just as you’re doing now.” With a negligible lift of her chin, she recklessly asserted, “You’re just like him.”
That instantly transformed his aggravation with her to a rage of the purest kind, as she knew it would. But instead of releasing her in disgust as she expected him to do, he placed his free hand flat on her bare chest, just beneath the base of her throat, shoving her back against the wall before she could blink.
“I am nothing like Edmund, Olivia, and you know it,” he charged, his low timbre thick with warning. “I would never, and will never, leave you devastated and wanting for anything. I have more honor than that.”
Something inside of her melted—from the veracity laced through his words, from the depth of urgency in his eyes—and with that awareness, she started to shake, her tears flowing without regard.
Through a soft sob, barely heard, she said, “I know…”
Her gentle submission gave him a second of pause. And then the look he gave her promptly changed from absolute fury to a raw, fiery hunger. His mouth clamped down on hers, hard and fast and consuming, covering the scream that welled up inside her from a contact so unexpected—but so desperately needed.
He kissed her with a pent-up longing that went beyond all reason, his tongue invading, searching, searing, begging for response. She whimpered, trying to draw breath as he pushed his entire body up against her, pinning her to the wall. She felt every rigid muscle of his powerful form, every ounce of his incredible strength drawing her in, enveloping her, shielding her from escape should she try.
He groaned low in his chest, and the sound of it, the sound of desire in its purest form, inflamed her in a manner she’d never felt before.
Tears stained her cheeks as she began to kiss him back, greedily, without clear thought, her body, her mind and modest intentions invaded and conquered by a yearning as great as his. She placed a palm on his shoulder, but with a savagery she didn’t at all understand or expect, he grabbed both of her wrists in his large left hand and raised them above her head, securing them against the wall while he continued his delicious assault on her mouth, overwhelming her with a perfectly rapturous torment.
He lowered his free hand and she vaguely became aware of him fumbling with the tie on her robe. She squirmed a little in protest, but he ignored it, persistent in his longing to arouse the depths of her passion, his kissing relentless as he suddenly grasped her tongue and sucked it.
Olivia felt her nerves ignite, her body tingle through every tremor that whipped through her, her whimpering a din from a world of instantaneous pleasure. And then he covered her breast over her sheer cotton nightgown and she could no longer stand.
He sensed her weakness, held firm to her wrists as he shoved his knee between her legs to help support her. She moaned low and long when he began flicking his thumb across her nipple, encouraging him with a lust she could no longer control.
At last he pulled away from her mouth and she leaned her head back, gasping for breath, her eyes tightly shut. He kissed her cheek, her chin, and neck as his palm and nails caressed her breasts, one after the other, with arduous determination.
She panted; he responded in kind, his breath hot and heavy and rapid against her neck, her cheeks and ear. He gently bit her lobe, and with a low, throaty moan she instinctively rubbed herself against his thigh, encouraging him with the uncontrollable response. He inhaled sharply, squeezing her nipples, rubbing them with his thumb, expertly caressing her with one strong hand.
“God, Livi,” he said in a pained, muffled voice against her ear. “Let me give you what you need. Let me…”
She jerked against him, her short, little mewls echoing through the bare, dark kitchen in a wordless plea for fulfilment. He took her mouth again, hungrily, forcefully, granting her desire. And then he dropped his hand from her breast and reached down, pulling at the hem of her nightgown, lifting it handful by handful, tugging until it gave way from between their legs. Then, as no man had ever done before, he traced a line of exquisite fire up one bare thigh until he reached the point of his desire, her hidden pleasure.
Olivia squirmed against him, suddenly afraid, and yet wanting his touch beyond all sanity. When at last she felt his fingers graze her intimate mound of hair, a flicker of shame shot through her, only to pass quickly into oblivion as he slipped between her delicate folds and began stroking her slowly, gently, her wetness coating his fingers.
He pulled his mouth away from hers. “Feel me here,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, ragged, against her cheek. “This is what you need.”
His movements summoned exquisite sensations within her, pushing her beyond hearing anything but the pounding of her heart. Eyes squeezed shut, she moaned quietly, pressing herself against his fingers, her head shoved back, letting him take the full weight of her arms above her.
With deliberate slowness he caressed her, slipping one finger inside of her and then out again, and then picking up the pace to meet her demand, resting his cheek against hers, his forehead on the wall, kissing her ear, brushing his nose in her hair. She met his rhythm, panting, her mind screaming for him to stop, beseeching him to probe deeper and give her everything.
Suddenly her body tensed against him. He moved his mouth to hers, sensing her fulfillment, driving one finger inside of her as she thrust against the others.
“Oh no,” she breathed against his lips, “Oh, no…”
“Yes,” he answered with urgency. “Let me feel you come.”
Her eyes shot open. “No…”
He pulled back to watch her, his teeth clenched, his gaze melding with hers. “Oh, yes…”
It hit her then, a shockwave of forbidden ecstasy that exploded deep within, making her cry out, causing her body to shudder through each crest of intense pleasure, through each measured pulse that squeezed his finger and left her breathless.
She gasped. “Sam—”
“I’m right here,” he whispered gruffly, soothingly, “watching, feeling everything.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at him, unable to comprehend what she’d just done with him, what he’d done to her. He continued to touch her, keeping the sensation alive and tingling, his fingers moving faintly, almost lovingly, as he seemed to relish in the hot, slick moisture that now poured out of her with each easing ripple of gratification.
Finally she stilled, forcing herself to calm as he slowly released her wrists so she could lower her arms to her sides. He continued to hold her pinned against the wall with his body, and for the first time Olivia became acutely aware of his rigid need pressed against her stomach. She tried to ignore it as she kept her eyes tightly closed, as she attempted to slow her breathing, her racing heart, tried to come to terms with what had just happened.
Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, though she could feel the tenseness and heat emanating from his body, knew he was attempting to remain in control as he once again leaned in to rest his forehead on the wall, his flushed cheek grazing hers. She moved one knee toward his thigh, uncomfortable with his hand still between her legs, and at last he withdrew, allowing her nightgown to fall in a bunch to the floor.
Mortification overwhelmed her as her mind gradually cleared and she realized what he’d just done to her—and how wantonly she’d reacted to his touch.
“Don’t,” he said weakly, sensing her sudden desire to flee. “Don’t go yet.”
Olivia couldn’t speak, didn’t want to, but she remained perfectly still as he asked, unsure what to do, what he expected from her at this moment.
His breathing continued to come in rasps, but he’d edged his body sideways enough to allow her to inhale deeply and steadily, which in turn kept her from shaking.
Emotions she couldn’t at all understand raced through her mind—a thousand and one of them that trapped her, made her feel at the same time vulnerable and alone, cherished and admired, afraid and devastated, and more than anything, charged with an almost paralyzing wonder.
He shouldn’t have done this, and in a way she hated him for taking advantage of her. She hated him almost as much as she trusted him, needed him, and everything he did for her.
She couldn’t help the tears this time. They welled up in her eyes even as she kept them tightly shut—tears of frustration, anger, hurt, even longing for unfulfilled dreams. He could have taken her, had wanted to be with her intimately, and yet he hadn’t forced her to do anything but betray her own body. And at this moment, still embraced by him, still recovering from a blissful turmoil, she despised him as much as she wanted him again, in every way.
At last, in a husky murmur, he broke the silence. “You asked me why I kissed you tonight.”
She shook her head minutely, incapable of responding.
“Livi,” he whispered, rubbing the tip of his nose along her ear, “I kissed you because everything about you begs me to.”
“No,” she breathed.
He inhaled fully, and gradually pulled away from her, though even with her eyes closed she could feel the heat of his gaze on her face. And then she felt his fingertips gently glide along her brow, down one cheek, wiping away her tears.
“You’re so soft, so beautiful,” he whispered in a gruff, faraway voice. “Please—”
But she’d already moved to the side, quickly, knocking the pantry with her hip and rattling her beautiful porcelain teapots as she skirted past him toward the door, away from the shame and confusion, leaving him alone in the silent, dimly lit kitchen.