Chapter 12

" G oddamnit ," Atticus snarled as his bedroom door vibrated with a savage intensity inside its frame from the strength with which he slammed it shut.

Flinging himself down onto his bed, he draped his arms over his eyes, willing his cock to stop insisting he go back to Octavia's room. What terrible sin had he committed that would make the almighty look down from the heavens and toy with him like this?

Even Lucifer might be inclined to take pity on him for this trial by fire, and that's precisely what it was. A moment ago, he'd almost given way to Octavia's invitation. But when she'd explained how she'd wanted him ever since the Lyndham soirée, a bolt of pain had blasted into him with the force of a log crushing his lungs.

For the lack of a simple introduction, he was living in the flames of hell right now. How had he not seen her that night or any other night? More importantly, why, in the name of all that was holy, hadn't someone introduced them before the night of the Ealing affair? Atticus's fist slammed into the mattress.

" Fuck ."

The word was a violent crack in the air. It was a vicious sound that would have sent people scurrying for fear of being harmed. Fingers pressing into the bridge of his nose, he exhaled a harsh breath out of his lungs.

Get a hold of yourself, Ashurst. You knew it would take time to make her see you're not like all those bastards who hunted her.

"Time, yes, but I sure as hell didn't expect it to be so goddamn agonizing," he snarled at the patronizing voice in his head.

The woman was driving him mad. He'd not even been here forty-eight hours, and already he'd been unable to stop himself from tasting her sweet mouth. Hell, he'd barely managed not to explore her hot core downstairs. The woman responded to his touch with an innocent, yet fiery passion that made him hard as iron.

What the hell was he going to do if the snow didn't stop? Last night, he'd been hoping the weather would cooperate until Christmas Eve, when he could take Octavia home. If he'd known how difficult it would be to keep his hands off the woman, he would have thought twice about that wish. Hell, he would have thought twice about volunteering to ride through the snowstorm to ensure she was safe.

Downstairs, when Octavia had protested him cradling her in his arms, he'd wanted to thrash every man who had ever made her feel less than the beautiful woman she was. Worse, he'd misjudged how dangerous it was for him to answer Octavia's plea to kiss her. The moment Atticus had given way to her appeal, every inch of him was in an immediate state of utter agony.

Hot and sweet, her mouth beneath his had pushed him to a point where he was dangling from a cliff. He'd never realized how little control a man possessed trying not to bed a woman his body ached for. The only thing that had saved him was knowing what the morning would bring.

One night of sin with her was too high a price. He wanted thousands of wicked nights of pleasure in her arms. If he'd taken what she'd offered so sweetly a few minutes ago, Atticus knew without a doubt he would have lost her. But her bewilderment and mortification had almost undone him.

Without thinking, he'd forced her to touch him to prove how desperately he wanted to make love to her. It had been an even bigger mistake to show her how rigid and needy his cock had been. Surprise had made her eyes widen in shock the moment Atticus pressed her hand against his painfully hard erection. Her reaction had been immediate and unexpected. Beautiful gray eyes had taken on a slumberous, sultry tilt, and he'd seen the desire flaring to life on her lovely features.

Swallowing hard, Atticus groaned as he remembered why he'd been in her room to begin with. Unbuttoning the back of her dress had been a torturous test of his self-control. One by one, he'd freed the small pearl buttons from their buttonholes, and as each one had slid free, the voice in his head had taunted him with the fact of how easily he could seduce her. When he'd freed the last button at the base of her spine, his fingers had grazed their way over her back of their own volition.

Atticus's eyes drifted shut as he remembered the soft, silky feel of Octavia's skin beneath his fingertips. Never had he experienced such a powerful urge to make love to a woman as he had Octavia the instant the back of her dress splayed open. Every cell in his body had pounded with need, demanding he push the dress off her shoulders and taste her. In his head, he imagined her reaction the moment he wrapped an arm around her.

Instinct would make her submit without hesitation, her head falling backward until it rested on his shoulder. Even now, Atticus could feel the softness of her hair against his cheek as he stared down at her sumptuous breasts rising and falling from the excitement building inside her. His cock responded as lust and desire pummeled every inch of him.

In seconds, he had himself in hand and stroked himself as the soft violet scent of her hair drifted into his nostrils. Caught up in his fantasy, Atticus could even smell the scent of her desire. God, he wanted to touch her—coat his fingers and then his cock in her slick heat. Turning her around to face him, he pushed her onto her back.

Gray eyes stared into his, and her tongue flicked out to wet her lips. Groaning, he lowered his head to kiss her. His tongue found its way into her mouth, and he savored her just as he would a delicious dessert. A low moan whispered its way into his mouth. Desire and need echoed in the soft, feminine sound.

Eager to hear her quiet cry of pleasure again, he took his time kissing his way downward until his lips were tasting the top of her lush, full breasts. Fragrant and sweet, his nostrils drank in her intoxicating smell. Hunger surged through him as his lips found the valley between her breasts. The moment his tongue slid into the sweet spot, he emulated what he wanted to do with her between her thighs. He wanted to stroke her and taste her hot, tangy cream running over his tongue before he drove his body into hers. Another quiet moan broke past her lips as she arched her hips upward.

As much as he wanted to slide his body into hers right now, he wanted her hot and wet as she writhed beneath him. He wanted her to ache and crave him with the same raging need his body was demanding he assuage right now. He wanted to hear her sultry voice begging him to satisfy her. His hand catching hers, he taught her how to wrap her fingers snug and firm around his cock.

Pleasure crashed through him as the grip on his hard arousal tightened and stroked him at a steady pace. Pushing her skirt up over a full, voluptuous hip, his fingers found the edge of her core. Hot and wet, she writhed against him as he slid a finger inside her. Christ Jesus, he'd never wanted a woman as badly as he did now. The hand on his cock tightened and increased its pace as he pressed another finger into her tight channel, while his thumb rubbed the small bud just above her core.

A groan rumbled in his chest as he stroked her and applied pressure to a spot inside her that would enhance her pleasure. The moment she cried out his name, she coated his fingers with hot cream. Hunger and lust assaulted him. It tightened his cock even more until the hard, fast strokes around his erection dragged him toward the release he craved.

Harsh and labored, he drank in deep breaths, knowing how tight Octavia would be when he was buried inside her. Fiery strokes pumped furiously against his flesh as his body demanded satisfaction. Seconds later. Atticus sucked in a sharp hiss of air between his teeth. It was followed by a low, hoarse cry of completion as her name blew past his lips, and his cock throbbed hard against his stomach.

A vicious shudder rocked his body as the images of Octavia faded and reality battered his body. Even though he knew she wasn't beside him, Atticus stretched out his hand, seeking her warm flesh so he could pull her close into his side. Cold air was all he found, and he opened his eyes.

With a harsh oath, he reached for the handkerchief tucked in his trouser pocket and cleaned himself. His fantasy was a temporary physical relief. Rolling off the mattress, he paced the small room. If he'd had any brains, he would have stood up the moment those damn buttons were undone and raced out of her room.

"But you didn't do that, did you Ashurst? No, you had to touch her."

Roughly tugging his shirt out of his trousers, Atticus heard a button bounce off the floor, but ignored it. Suppressed violence hardened his muscles, and he yanked a hanger out of the chifforobe. The garment proved unwieldy, and it took two tries to get the shirt into the wardrobe. A loud crack filled the air as he slammed the furniture door shut.

"You didn't consider the possibility that she might kiss you, did you, you imbecile? And what the fuck were you thinking to show her just how much you wanted her?"

Disgusted by his lack of restraint, he was forced to admit tonight had been a major step backward when it came to his ultimate goal. Atticus's gut knotted up in fear again as he remembered her cry of pain as she'd fallen. He was grateful a twisted ankle was the only injury she'd suffered.

Atticus stripped, blew out the oil lamp on the bedside table, and slid under the cold sheets. It took him a long time to fall asleep, and when he finally drifted off, it was a restless one.

When morning came, he was feeling just as bedeviled as he had been when he'd crawled into bed last night. Atticus grunted with annoyance. Was this the way it was going to be until he could take Octavia home? He ran a hand over his face in frustration. Bristles brushed over the pads of his fingers as another sound of aggravation escaped him. He needed a shave, and one glance at the wash stand said he needed water.

Goosebumps layering his skin, Atticus dressed, then threw a couple of logs into the fireplace. Satisfied that the fire was burning steadily, Atticus made his way downstairs. When he reached the kitchen, he realized he'd not even bothered to check the weather from his bedroom window. No, that wasn't true. He'd not looked out for fear of what he'd see. Now, as he stared out the window, his fears were answered. White snowflakes danced in the air to create a shroud over everything.

The day after tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and it was beginning to look more and more like he and Octavia would be spending the holiday together—alone. Muscles taut with apprehension, Atticus knew what he was facing. Worse, a gleeful voice in the back of his head gloated as a surge of lust powered its way down to his cock. Atticus refused to acknowledge the sensation. Instead, he forced himself to focus on the basics. He was hungry, but he'd shave first. Afterward, he'd fix breakfast for him and Octavia.

Less than ten minutes later, he was staring at his reflection while scraping black stubble off his face with his razor. Why was he feeling so disgruntled? Ever since he'd seen the snow still falling, he'd been feeling out of sorts. If the snowstorm continued, Atticus was going to fail at keeping his word to Lord Montford. Instead of spending Christmas Eve with her family, she'd be with him. The razor nicked his skin.

" Fuck ," he snarled as blood appeared on his chin.

Using the end of the towel he'd thrown over his shoulder, he applied pressure to the minor cut. Atticus glared at his image in the mirror. Last night had been sheer hell. He'd been pushed to the brink, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could resist temptation.

Not long, if Octavia forced the issue as she had last night. Atticus shoved the thought into the dark recesses of his mind. All he needed to do was keep his lust buried deep. Mocking laughter whispered through his head. He ignored the sound and finished shaving.

A short time later, he was in the kitchen folding eggs and milk into a mixture of flour and other dry ingredients. He'd told Octavia he could cook, but coffee, bacon, flapjacks, and scrambled eggs were the extent of his capabilities. He was fortunate Gus had taught him how to prepare those simple dishes before the old ranch hand had refused to give Atticus any further instruction.

The minute one of the cowhands had told Gus that Atticus was a duke and the new owner of Peaceful Sky Ranch, the cook had ordered him never to come near the chuck wagon again. As hard as he'd tried to change Gus's mind, the wizened man had refused to teach him another thing.

Gus had said it was unseemly for a duke to work on a ranch, even if he did own the place. As for cooking, the older man had said it wasn't dignified for Atticus to work in the chuck wagon, let alone learn how to cook. Atticus's mouth twisted in a small, wry smile as he remembered Gus's sun-weathered features and taciturn manner. At least the wizened old ranch hand had taught him enough to ensure he and Octavia would have a hearty breakfast.

Atticus was in the middle of flipping a hot cake when he heard a soft gasp. Turning his head, he saw Octavia standing in the kitchen doorway staring at him in stunned amazement. Atticus chuckled at her expression before his amusement vanished, and a wave of lust crashed through him. Forcing himself to crush his reaction to her, he focused his attention on her ankle. She appeared unaffected by her fall last night, but it was important she not put too much stress on the ankle.

"You shouldn't be on your feet," he chastised her in a voice harsher than he meant it to sound.

"I'm perfectly fine. My doctor last night did an excellent job with my bandage, and my ankle doesn't hurt at all.

A sweet smile curving her lips, her expression said she wasn't intimidated by his irritation one iota. Atticus strode to the doorway, and with his hands on her shoulder, he turned her around and guided her toward the dining room table. Yanking a chair away from the furniture, he forced her to sit down.

"Just because it doesn't hurt, doesn't mean it's ready for you to abuse it, either."

Scowling down at her, Atticus watched Octavia's head tilt to the side as she met his gaze. The moment her eyebrows rose upward, a small smile touched her enticing lips. He stiffened. Christ almighty, she was up to something.

"I don't know why you're being so ill-tempered. My ankle isn't troubling me one bit."

"I am not cross," he grumbled. "I'm emphasizing the fact that you need to stay off that ankle."

"What an interesting word that is," she said in a soft voice that invited him to surrender to temptation. The impish smile on her lips made his body tighten as desire knotted his muscles.

" What word is so interesting?"

"Need. It can mean so many things." Octavia ran her gaze over him in a leisurely fashion, and Atticus clenched his jaw as he struggled to keep his cock under control. As if understanding he was struggling, she smiled. "In fact, I've come to the conclusion that I have a number of different needs."

"Which are ?" he asked, ensuring his question held a silent warning not to test him. The smell of food burning made him dart a glance toward the kitchen before looking back at Octavia. Gray eyes sparkling with mischief, she laughed.

"Breakfast for one thing, preferably not burnt." The amusement in her voice made him mumble an oath beneath his breath, and another laugh parted her lips. "We can discuss my other needs over breakfast."

The sultry note in her voice was like a sledgehammer slamming into his chest. The woman was trying to flip the tables on him. Atticus's lips curled with what he knew was a menacing smile. One hand gripping the back of her chair and the other pressed into the table, he bent over her to press his mouth against her ear.

"Careful, Aphrodite, angels who play with the devil often have their wings clipped," he whispered.

As he turned his head to smile grimly at her, he grew rigid as she kissed him. Dumbfounded, his heart slammed into his chest as he breathed in the fresh spring scent of her. The instant her tongue glided across the seam of his mouth, he almost gave way to her blatant attempt to deepen their kiss. When he didn't, Octavia retreated from him, then pressed her hand over his heart.

"I find playing with the devil quite exhilarating," she whispered, her beautiful, gray eyes taking on a drowsy look that highlighted the desire burning in her gaze. "Especially when the angel knows there's only one way for the devil to clip her wings."

Shock rippled through him as Octavia's hand slid downward to his thigh and then across his growing erection until her touch made him so hard he had to grit his teeth. A come-hither smile curving her mouth, her tongue darted out to wet her lips. The action shot a bolt of carnal lust hurtling through his limbs as her gaze met his. With a jerk, he jumped back from her.

Christ almighty . If he didn't find a way to stop this madness. He was going to be the one who had his wings clipped. The smell of burnt food was now a pungent odor flowing into the dining room, and with a low snarl of suppressed emotion, Atticus spun away from her and stalked back into the kitchen.

" Damn her ," he muttered as he disposed of the blackened flapjacks.

Last night, he'd come so close to making love to Octavia. Now, it appeared she'd come up with a strategy to get her way. She'd decided to seduce him, and it wouldn't take her long to be successful, because the weak barriers he'd erected between them were already on the verge of collapse. That had been confirmed the instant Octavia had made his cock grow hard with one simple touch.

With a confidence Atticus knew had been dormant inside her, Octavia had declared her determination to wage an all-out assault on his self-control. Her change in behavior had knocked him off-balance and left him struggling to keep his head straight.

Atticus picked up the bowl with the flapjack batter and used a ladle to spread out four circles of the mixture on the griddle. The woman didn't realize it, but she'd forced his hand. He was out of time. Atticus would have to ask her to marry him right away.

Last night at dinner, he'd tried to persuade Octavia it was possible for two people to have a happy marriage based on friendship. Every argument he'd put forward, she'd countered with stubborn skepticism. If she refused his proposal on that count, it meant he had no choice but to use the certainty of a scandal to force her hand.

He had hoped to avoid pointing out the inevitable outcome of their spending the night together without a chaperone. Octavia would fight tooth and nail against the idea that marrying him to avoid a scandal was necessary. She might believe herself impervious to scandal here in the country, but Atticus knew better. The minute she realized her actions could affect her sisters, Octavia would yield. In the end, she'd be his wife, but at what cost?

Would she accuse him of planning this by his volunteering to come ensure she was safe? Atticus winced as he flipped one of the cakes that had pitted quickly. God forbid if Octavia thought her dowry had been his true intent. While signing her dowry over to her would refute her belief, there was no guarantee his actions would make her change her opinion of him.

Atticus had known from the outset how hard it would be to convince Octavia to marry him. Her outlook on marriage and men made it inevitable she'd be wary of him and his motives. If she refused him now, God knows how long it would take to make her believe he'd married her for no other reason than he loved her.

Atticus froze in the middle of flipping a flapjack over. Christ Jesus, when in the hell had he fallen in love with Octavia? Slowly laying down the food turner, he used a potholder to push the griddle off the burner. How was it he'd not realized his feelings for Octavia ran so deep the idea of losing her would cripple him until the day he died?

Closing his eyes, Atticus didn't move as the reality of his situation twisted his muscles into hard knots. He loved her. It was the most jubilant and excruciating state of existence he'd ever known. Even worse was knowing what Octavia's reaction would be if he told her how much he adored her.

She wouldn't believe him. Atticus had seen the disbelief and distrust in her eyes and face when he'd berated her for daring to think herself anything but beautiful. Not even the adamant conviction in his voice and words had been enough to destroy her doubts. They were still there, just below the surface.

That had been evident last night when he'd willed himself not to respond the moment Octavia kissed him. Her vulnerability had flared to life in her beautiful gray eyes the instant she pulled back from him and asked what she'd done wrong . Never in his entire life had he come so close to losing all sense of self-control or rational thought, just to prove how much he wanted to take what she was offering.

What the hell was he going to do now? If he'd thought saying no to her last night had been difficult, the next time he'd find it impossible to refuse her. And he knew Octavia was determined to ensure there was a next time.

"Atticus?"

The sweet sound of her voice coming from the dining room made him open his eyes. Just by saying his name, she'd managed to make every part of him ache for her. All he wanted to do was make her happy. Giving in to her would be so easy, and yet the repercussions had the potential to devastate him. The sudden seed of an idea took root in his mind. Was it possible he could convince her to agree to his condition? Would she accept, or would she refuse?

His heart pounding in his chest, Atticus's hand shook as he pushed everything off the stove. Turning around, he returned to the dining room and cleared his throat. Swiveling around in her seat, Octavia stared at him with a puzzled frown.

"Do you need any help with breakfast?"

"No." At his quiet reply, her frown deepened.

"Is something wrong?"

"Why do you want me to make love to you, Octavia?" The question made her narrow her eyes as she studied him for a moment.

"I'm not sure I understand the question."

"I'm asking you to explain to me why you want to share my bed," he said in a soft voice. "Is it simple curiosity or something else?"

Head tilted at a slight angle, Octavia's brow furrowed with concentration as she studied him for a long moment. As if reaching a decision, she rose from her chair and closed the distance between them. Atticus stiffened. Christ Jesus, if she touched him—he shuddered as her hands pressed into his chest, then slid upward until her arms encircled his neck.

"I want to share your bed because my body cries out with need whenever you're near," she whispered before she pulled his head down and kissed him.

In a split-second, his cock was hard. Stark need and hunger pulled a dark groan from him as he slid his hands down to her buttocks, then tugged her tight against him. The moment his cock pressed into the apex of her thighs, his body shouted with jubilation. She gasped, and his tongue slipped into the warmth of her mouth.

White-hot need barreled through him as his body took over what little presence of mind he still possessed. A soft moan escaped her, and the sound pushed its way past the haze threatening to drag him under. The painful sensation of an invisible vise wrapping around his chest hammered its way into his head.

It became a steely band that pushed the air out of his lungs and threatened to crush his heart until it was incapable of beating any longer. But it gave him the strength to follow through with the only thing he could think of that would save them both. With a firm, but gentle hand, he pushed Octavia away from him.