Chapter 21

Twenty-One

Make me yours.

Never in his life had Grant been given a command he'd so desperately and instantly wanted to fulfil. He closed the gap between them and, with a ruthless tug, crushed Cassie to him. He let out an involuntary groan at the decadent caress of her warm, naked skin against his, and at the softness of her lips as they tried to match his battering kisses. With an easy lift, her feet left the floor, and Grant did the very thing he'd been envisioning since kissing her the other night: he draped her onto his bed and covered her body with his.

Their fused mouths were in a war, each of them in a frenzy to reach deeper, as if to claim or punish or possess. He wanted all three, and as Cassie whimpered into his mouth, he gave in to the reckless turmoil of the conflicting desires.

As soon as he'd seen her standing within his room, a part of him had known that he would not allow her to leave it. He'd tried. Tried to deny her, tried to stay furious with her for pushing him even further than she already had that evening. He'd tried to be firm and send her away. But when she'd walked for the door, attempting to maintain her pride and composure, his mind shut down. The need he'd buried for so long had taken over, obliterating the last shred of his honor. Cassie wanted him. This was her choice. And like hell if he wouldn't give her what she wanted.

No more games. She didn't have to tell him what she wanted him to do; he could read her desires as she writhed beneath him, her hands exploring his back, his hips and chest, and then, more boldly, his arse.

"Grant," she pleaded as he trailed hot kisses down her throat, and lower. His lips closed around the mound of her breast, and she arched her back with a soft yelp.

"Yes, say my name," he murmured as he grazed her nipple with his teeth. He wanted to wring all sorts of nonsensical sounds from her throat, but he wanted his name on her tongue the most. Cassie gave him that, gasping it, and raking her fingers through his hair as he worshipped her other breast.

As if instinctively, her hand reached toward his groin, but he caught her wrist and pinned it to the bedcover. He was rock hard with the ache of desire. It would not take more than a few strokes to finish him off. But this wasn't about him. She'd come to him with one need in mind: pleasure. Her own.

Grant eased back a little, enough to take in the divine sight of her sprawled underneath him, her lips red and puffy, her perfectly shaped breasts on full display.

"You're so beautiful. I can't stop looking at you," he said as he brushed his fingers down the valley between her breasts, to the flat of her stomach, and lower, to the apex of her thighs. She squeezed them together, and Grant stopped. He waited. And then, the muscles of her thighs began to relax.

"Are you still sure?" he asked. He would never forgive himself if she'd changed her mind but had been too reluctant to tell him.

Her eyes glittered like jewels in the firelight, dusky blue and leaden with need. "I'm sure. I want this, Grant. I want you."

Her declaration pummeled into him like one of the snowy gales battering the windows of his room. Rationally, he knew what she meant: she wanted him to make love to her, to pleasure her, here and now, in this bed. For this one night. Nothing beyond that. But for a few missing heartbeats, he interpreted the words differently. For a dangerous moment, he considered it as something potentially more.

Cassie writhed beneath him again, and he realized he was still gazing at her, still pinning her wrist to the bed. The tension in her thighs had melted completely, and reading the invitation, Grant drew a finger along the seam of her core. Her eyes flared, her lips parted, and he took her mouth again. His tongue plunged in deep as her hips bucked up to meet his hand.

Grant reined in his quickly collapsing control and forced himself to breathe. To move slower. She wasn't a virgin, but that didn't mean she was experienced. At the fleeting image of Cassie underneath Renfry, of the rogue spreading her open to him, taking his pleasure and treating her as nothing but a vessel in which to slake his lust, Grant's mind recoiled. She wanted more than that from him tonight, and he would not disappoint her.

As he touched her, his plunging tongue mimicked his fingers, building heat and friction and wringing the sounds from her throat that he'd so desperately wanted to hear her make. Circling her hips, Cassie's moans vibrated through his mouth, into his chest, and when she screamed her release again and again, he swallowed the sound, rather than let it blare into the quiet of the sleeping house.

"I didn't know… I had no idea…" she murmured, panting and mindless as she came down from her delirium.

With a small huff of laughter, he settled onto the bedcover next to her. No longer strung tight as a bow, she relaxed into his arms. The sound of her contented sigh and the rosy pink of her cheeks nearly made him forget the painful state of his arousal.

Cassie pressed her mouth to his shoulder and kissed a trail up his neck, her soft lips buzzing under his skin and adding more pressure to the granite coil of his groin. Naked as they both were, she could not overlook the sight. Her eyes took in his condition, and when she met his hooded gaze again, she bit her lower lip.

"Are you going to ask?" she said.

He ran his finger down the slope of her pert nose and then across her chin. God, she was gorgeous like this, her golden hair loose around her shoulders, her lips swollen, sweat glistening in the hollow of her collarbone.

"Ask what?"

That rogue hand of hers slipped again toward his hips. He caught it, stilling it. "Next," she said.

He felt ready to explode just from that one word and the intent behind it.

"This was about your pleasure, not mine," he said, even though he was nearly blind with the single-minded need to be inside her.

Cassie lifted her chin from his shoulder, and a curtain of her hair swung forward to cover one eye. He pushed it aside and tucked it behind her ear.

"I asked you to make love to me, Grant Thornton." She rolled her wrist free from his grip. But she only touched a finger to his upper lip. She drew it down, tugging his bottom lip. "I'm still waiting."

His pulse slammed in his neck. "You have no notion of what you do to me. Do you?"

Grant pushed her onto her back, and his mind silenced. All potential consequences muted beneath the sounds of their rough breathing as he nudged her delectable thigh aside and aligned himself with her. He clamped his mouth to hers and thrust forward, muffling her reflexive cry. With painful restraint, Grant went still, aware he might have hurt her.

"Don't stop," she breathed and clutched him closer.

He exhaled in a rush and seated himself to the hilt, reveling in the tight clasp of her, of her uneven breathing as he began to rock forward and back. She clutched the sides of his face, her nails likely leaving indentations, but he didn't care. Grant watched her, the tips of their noses brushing together and apart, as she began to gasp and drown in the pleasure that she'd come here for. That she'd shoved aside all pride, all fear, all doubt, to reach for. She was bloody magnificent.

Cassie's mewls and moans began to rise as he deepened each thrust, closing in fast on his peak. He'd known he would not last long, and as his body tightened, he stopped breathing. Though it was practically torture, he tore himself free at the last moment and dropped his forehead to Cassie's. They each struggled for air as he held her to him, their bodies slick with sweat.

"My God, Cassie—" He collapsed next to her, their legs still entwined. She wrapped her arms around his torso so tightly her heartbeat thudded against his ribs. There was an unnerving trembling in his arms and wrists as he held her to him.

Grant sealed his mouth shut without finishing the thought that had bolted into his mind. A perilous thought that frightened him with its truth. That one night with Cassandra Sinclair would never be enough.

The carriage turnedonto Grosvenor Square, and Cassie's stomach plummeted. "Oh no," she murmured as she stared through the window.

Grant followed her gaze, his hands still adjusting his cravat. "What is it?"

"My brother." Michael's coach was parked near the front of her residence.

Grant sat back against the burgundy quilted cushion of his carriage. "Damn."

They'd wasted no time at Lindstrom House, departing even before the early breakfast had concluded. When Cassie had stepped outside her guest room that morning, Grant had been waiting for her at the landing of the stairs. As she approached, her legs suddenly quivering like warmed honey, a wicked grin had tucked into the corner of his mouth. It brought her mind directly back to the early morning hours spent in his room, in his bed, before returning to her own room before the servants woke. As they descended the stairs together, Cassie had wondered if she should say anything about the night. Or if they should pretend nothing had happened.

Breakfast had been quick and quiet, with just the two of them, and Lawrence and Alfred at the table. Cassie had been ravenous, filling her plate generously at the sideboard. Grant smothered a grin every time she caught him looking at her from across the table, as if he knew why she had such an appetite. The snowy world outside reflected the sunlight and brightened the morning room, turning it warm and stuffy. The marquess had been joining them when Grant and Cassie stood to leave. She was grateful that he'd refused to be drawn in by his father's complaints that it was far too early to already be leaving.

"If you are worried for the lady's reputation, there is no need. You can be wed as soon as you have secured the special license," the marquess had said as the footman was bringing them their outer trappings.

Cassie considered crying off right then, making up some excuse that they had quarreled, and it was over. But both she and Grant had exchanged a tense look and with unspoken agreement, left with their lips sealed.

"Fournier's not going to be happy," he now said as his driver brought them around the square.

This she already knew; however, she'd successfully put it from her mind during the carriage ride back into Town. She'd half expected Grant to choose to sit up with his driver so that they would not be enclosed into the interior of the carriage together. But he hadn't, and they had barely left the Oval before their wordless staring match culminated with Grant reaching for her. He'd dragged her straight off her bench and onto his lap. Mind numbing bliss muted all the reasons it was a terrible idea as he'd kissed her with the same fervor he'd shown the night before.

When evidence of his arousal pressed against her, she'd once again devolved into a burning mass of need. Grant had been suffering the same affliction, rising from it only long enough to ask her if she was, again, certain. With her ragged yes, he'd bunched her skirts, and she'd unbuttoned his fall. Their uncoordinated motions were only awkward until he'd been inside her once more, and Cassie had marveled at how perfect and right it felt. And though he'd pulled from her, to avoid spilling his seed, he'd continued to cover her lips and neck with kisses for most of the ride home.

Now, with their hair and clothing repaired, they stepped onto the pavement. The snow from last night's storm had been swept but a layer of ice crunched beneath their feet as they approached the door. Walking exacerbated the soreness of her inner thighs where she'd straddled Grant, and though it was ridiculous, she had the irrational fear her brother would know.

She braced herself as they entered the foyer and saw Michael storming down the stairs toward them.

"Where the devil have you been?" His eyes landed on Grant. "Thornton, explain yourself. Immediately."

"Michael, please, calm down," Cassie said, removing her pelisse with Ruth's help. Her maid's eyes were wide with alarm and no doubt some fear for her mistress. Grant shook his head at the footman, signaling that he would keep his greatcoat on. He would not be staying long, then.

"Last night's snowfall caught us by surprise, Your Grace," Grant said. "It prevented the entire dinner party at Lindstrom House from returning to their homes. Lady Cassandra was given a room. She is perfectly safe."

Michael's nostrils flared, and the black look he shot at Grant spoke volumes. He was suspicious enough to make Cassie's pulse skip.

"I suppose that is understandable, however I have also learned this was not your first night away from the residence." He turned his incisive glare onto her. "This is my household, my staff. They are merely at your disposal. Did you really think that I would not find out you went to Neatham's for the night? And that there was some concern about a man following you from a boxing club in Limehouse? What in God's name were you doing there, Cassandra?"

The footman and Ruth had disappeared to give them privacy, but Cassie still did not want to have this conversation in the foyer. She gestured toward the front sitting room, beckoning her brother inside. It would also give her a moment to think. Poor Patrick. Michael had to have cornered him with questions.

"It was my doing, Your Grace." Cassie turned to stare at Grant as they entered the room. With a furtive glance, he silently told her to go along with it. "I invited Lady Cassandra to Duke's for the match."

He even appeared properly chagrinned as Michael's contemptuous glare increased. "You thought a place like that was decent for my sister?"

"Michael, please stop." Cassie stepped between her brother and the man she still could not quite believe she'd made love to. Twice. If they remained in the same room for any longer, she feared Michael would pick apart the truth of it. "Lord Thornton, thank you for delivering me safely home."

It was a polite dismissal, and with a deep bow, and a glance toward the duke, Grant moved for the door.

"Thornton," Michael said, dragging Grant's heels to a stop. "The duchess is hosting a dinner at Violet House Saturday night. I expect you to be there. It appears we have important matters to discuss."

Grant bowed again and, likely with great relief, took his leave. The moment the front door shut behind him, Cassie whirled to face her brother. "I will ask you not to involve yourself in my relationship with Lord Thornton."

That word—relationship. She had even less of an idea what it meant now than she did before.

Michael's shoulders slackened some, his show of hostility abating now that Grant was gone. "He is not suitable for you, Cassie."

Tobias had warned her that their brother would not approve. She crossed her arms as she went to the front window overlooking the square. Grant's carriage was pulling away from the curb. Whether her brother approved or not hadn't mattered before, especially since it was a fictitious courtship. The barbs of irritation she now felt from his pronouncement were unwarranted.

"He is Lord Neatham's closest friend," she said. "And Audrey approves of him."

"While I respect the viscount and viscountess's opinions, there is no question that his reputation is tainted. Not to mention his methods are crude. Offering to put your order at that modiste's on his account! What was he playing at, treating you like one of his mistresses?"

Jane and her enormous mouth had likely divulged the incident to Genie, who in turn had told Michael.

"He is doing no such thing," Cassie replied, even as a vivid image of his naked form, gilded by firelight and moving over her, made her blush.

Michael shook his head, unconvinced. "You've been taken in by one rogue already, and I was ignorant to it. I will not turn a blind eye again."

Cassie bristled while trying to maintain her calm. Her brother had confessed before that he blamed himself for not keeping a better eye on her after she'd met Lord Renfry. What he couldn't quite understand however was that it had nothing to do with him. She'd made her own choices, poor though they'd been. And now, he was likening Grant to one of the worst blackguards in London.

"Grant is nothing like Renfry. Nothing," she said, her ire growing. "You shouldn't judge his character based on the rumors you hear at White's."

"Not just at White's," he argued. But she would hear no more of it.

"It's been a long night, and if you don't mind, I'd like to change my gown."

Michael exhaled, and though he appeared to want to say more, he relented. "Very well. You will come to dinner Saturday night too, of course?"

She nodded, thinking there was nothing she would like less. Except perhaps another dinner with Lord Lindstrom.

Her brother left, and small shivers set in. She wasn't cold. Exhaustion weighed her down as she summoned Ruth and had her prepare a bath.

Michael infuriated her at times. He'd been pestering her to marry for years, and yet the man she'd finally chosen to court was not good enough? She squeezed her eyes shut. No, she had not chosen him. She wasn't courting him at all! Even now, after their night together and their frenzied coupling in the carriage, Grant did not plan to ask for her hand. She'd laid out their agreement firmly. Cassie had wanted to know pleasure; now, he'd given it to her. She pushed aside a strange, hollowing sensation. She'd told him she wouldn't demand anything more, and she would not go back on her word.