Chapter 4

HE WAS SUPPOSED TO be taking a bath to clean up after the dusty journey. It was an innocent activity. The kind a proper gentleman would do to ensure he was at his best when the time came to interact with guests.

Clean. Innocent. Proper.

So what the hell was he doing holding a naked Hope to his flaming chest? Why hadn't he let her go? Why couldn't he think straight? Or in any direction at all? He would take a zigzag at this point so long as it got him to where he needed to go. If he were a better man, he would have let her go when she first asked. If he were a decent man, he would have let her go the second or third time she hinted at it. So it made him out to be quite the cad that he was still holding her. And, well, not just holding her anymore.

Because really, and most importantly, he needed a clear answer as to what the hell his teeth were doing on her neck? If he had wanted to kiss her, he should have. He knew it was probably her first real kiss. She reeked of innocence. In the most alluring way. No other innocent had enticed him this way. He was a rake, but even he had principles. Innocents and married women were off limits. So knowing that this was her first kiss, he should have been gentle. Tender. Or at the very least, mauling her lips. Instead, he was attempting to take a bite out of her like she was a damn apple.

In the millisecond it took for his body to collide with hers, he knew he was damned. Because it wasn't a collision at all. It was a cohesion. Her body struck and stuck to him. And it fit perfectly. Every part of his body that needed sensation was stimulated. From her round mound plied against him, fingers stealthily creeping up his chest, and her thighs affixed to his. There was an invisible glue that had splattered between them, bonding them.

If he let her go, he would see her in her fullness. He already knew enough about Hope. He didn't need a vision of her that would forever be embossed in his mind. And he wouldn't have closed his eyes, either. He had principles, but he wasn't a monk.

No, he had the grand scheme of holding her, melding her to him. Yes, it was much wiser to emboss her body on his than to have a mental image of her forever.

But then she moved. The smallest wriggle. And his head exploded. Sparks flew out of his ears, and then he did have to close his eyes. If they hadn't been closed already. He couldn't remember. His senses were overloaded. He had to squeeze his eyes shut and will them to stay on lock down.

He had almost gathered his wits, from wherever they had veered off to, when she moved again. It was his complete undoing. What manner of man could resist the urge to take a bite out of perfection?

It wasn't him. That's all he knew.

So his teeth had sunk into her neck. Her soft, creamy, hitherto unkissed throat.

Thank God and all the angels above that he had had the presence of mind not to leave a mark. Or maybe he had to thank the primal groan that had ripped out of her.

Yes, he thanked that groan with his own animalistic murmur, and then he did what he should have done first. He took her mouth with his.

He didn't think anymore. Not that he could really consider anything in the last few minutes thinking. He felt. He acted. Pulled. Pushed. Prompted.

Pulled her closer. If that was possible. Pushed her legs apart with his thigh. Prompted her to open for him. Open her lips. Open her legs. Open—

What the bloody hell was he thinking? This was Hope, for God's sake.

If the cats were away, the mouse did play. But he wasn't supposed to be one of the mice, or more aptly labeled, rat. He was supposed to be the stand-in cat.

He yanked his mouth from hers. Her eyelids fluttered open. That would not do. Quickly, he covered her eyes with his hands. She was still an innocent. He would do what he could to protect her. What she didn't see, she couldn't remember. He stole a slow look down. It couldn't have been helped. An inward groan roared within him.

Perfection.

Shapely breasts with perky nipples straining toward him. Curved hips waiting for his hand to grip them. Legs extending to trim ankles. And how could he have missed her sweet knees, bent toward him in weakness.

Ack! He was the worst hypocrite. Taking his fill and not permitting her to do the same.

But he knew he could move past this. He had seen plenty of women naked. She, on the other hand, had probably not even seen herself fully naked. Few women he knew had ever taken time to explore their bodies.

His cock throbbed. He had to remove her from himself, not delve into thoughts of her exploring herself.

One hand still on her eyes, he turned her around with his free hand, and then, like a fool, plastered that freedom over his own eyes. The blind leading the blind.

"Put your clothes on, Hope."

She mumbled a few words, but he couldn't make out a thing she said. Apparently his hand over his eyes rendered him deaf. Or maybe it was the crowded thoughts stomping through his brain demanding attention. Or maybe it was the sensory assault lingering loudly all over his body. His chest could still feel her breasts pressed into him. His tongue could taste her. Sweet tea. And his hands…they were the worst culprits. They had grabbed a handful of her luscious bottom, and now they were fidgety. Opening and closing of their own volition. Wanting more. Wishing they had done more.

Thankfully she didn't protest, and she moved away from him. Then, like a bigger fool than even moments ago, he used both of his hands like blinders and stared at the floor as he made his way back into the inner room to pretend that what had happened wasn't somehow still stuck to him.

After he closed the door, he leaned back into it and sighed in relief. He ignored the tremble in the legs that were designated to support him. And that jitter in his hands was all but obsolete as he dove them into his hair and grabbed onto his own locks. With a quick tug, his scalp prickled. Then, he listened to her movements to be sure she had quit the room.

As he dressed, he told himself to pretend as though nothing had happened. It was just a kiss. Men and women kissed all the time. It was part of life. It was perfectly normal. That was the most addle-brained thought he had ever had. And that included the time when he was eight and had tried to convince Felix he could fly if he stuck enough feathers onto his arms.

The whole pretend-it-never-happened thing lasted about twelve minutes, and then he knew he needed to confront her. He was a man. He had to take courage and fix this. Besides, they were friends. They would just laugh it off. No one saw. If he didn't confront her, she would be awkward around him. He just knew it. And then suspicions might be aroused. With the Matchmaking Maven hovering around, he couldn't risk it. He had to see her.

All it would take was an abrupt apology and a chuck under the chin. Of course, he would also give her a peck on the cheek to seal the deal. And she would wrap her arms around him in a friendly embrace. Naked.

Forget the hug. And while he was thinking clearly, forget the peck. No pecking. No sealing. No deal. Just an apology. Maybe no chucked chin either. Perhaps no touching for a few hours was best.

Yes. The plan was perfect. And it was perfectly thrumming through his entire body.

Quickly, he threw on a shirt and trousers. Then he popped his head out into the hallway. Confirming it was empty, he snuck down the corridor and crept into her room.