He nodded tightly.
“Let’s not waste this,” she whispered, reaching for him. “I don’t know what it is between us, but I know I’ve hungered for it all my life. Maybe other women could walk away, but not me. Never me.” She touched his cheek. “I think you’re hungry for it, too.”
She could have no notion. None. His heart was starved to a wasted shadow, with nothing left to offer now.
A smile spread across her face, broad with mischief. “Just think of all we could have. Two unwanted orphans, taking on London society. We’d wring more pleasure from every moment than people like the Gramercys can find in a year. Can you tell me honestly that you want no part of that life?”
Staying here in England and living on Lord Drewe’s charity? Enduring endless balls and dinners and hunting parties? Always feeling like the outsider; forever knowing he was so much less than she deserved? He wouldn’t even be able to support her like a real man.
He looked her in the eye. “I want no part of that life. It’s time for you to release me.”
Her lovely hazel eyes softened and her gaze fell to his lips.
“I just can’t,” she said. “I’m not letting you go.”
Chapter Thirteen
Kiss me, Kate willed silently.
Please. I’ve just laid my heart at your feet. Kiss me now, or I’ll die of disappointment.
She knew he was tempted. He stared at her mouth so intently, she could taste the softness and strength and heat of his lips. Her own jaw softened in response. She could see it so clearly, in her mind’s eye. Just how that kiss would go. She would be yielding and open, inviting him in. The boldness of his possession would shock and excite her. She would cling to him, and his big hands would roam every bit of her body. Their kiss would be frenzied at first, and then slow, sweet.
“Thorne.”
She caught his gaze. His pupils were so dilated, his eyes were almost entirely black. Even so, that thin orbit of blue was so intense, so piercing—she felt it inside her.
A sudden realization gave her a thrill. In her imagination, they were kissing. In his mind, they were doing something much more intimate. More animal, with far fewer clothes.
The thought enflamed her. Inexperienced as she was, she knew enough to sense her feminine power in the situation. He might say no to family and comfort and connection. But could he truly refuse this?
She leaned forward until her cheek met his. Just a simple press of skin to skin, and it was like nothing she’d ever felt.
“Is it . . .” She forced herself to ask, “Is it always like this? With your other women?”
He shook his head slowly. The scrape of his whiskers against her jaw—oh, it made her wild. But it wasn’t enough.
“No?” she prompted. She had to hear him say it. She had to hear him say something. His voice could stroke her, so very deep.
At last he gave her what she craved. “No.”
That dark, thrilling syllable whispered hot against her ear and sank into her very bones.
“Well?” she asked, breathily. “Shouldn’t we do something about it?
He groaned and shuddered, and she suspected he was mentally thumbing through a whole catalog of things he would like to do about it. Some sort of lovemaking drill book with all possible positions and maneuvers clearly defined. The precise contents would be a mystery to her—but she was ready and willing to learn.
Shameless, she tugged on his neck and pulled him forward until she could kiss his ear.
He sighed. “I can’t give you what you need.”
“Oh, I think you can.” She caught his earlobe in her teeth and worried it.
With a husky groan, he gave in. He dipped his head, and his strong lips brushed her pulse.
“You don’t see yourself,” he said. “When you’re around the Gramercys, it’s like a flame comes to life inside you.” He marched a column of kisses down her neck. “You don’t light up for me.”
She pressed her body to his. “I burn for you, Thorne. I’ve never felt this way. I never knew I wanted to feel this way.”
She pulled at his neckcloth, unknotting the fabric and tugging it free. She pressed a kiss to the dark notch at the base of his throat, then nuzzled there, inhaling the arousing musk of his skin. His raspy breathing gave her hope.
She was getting to him. Delving through the layers, uncovering the man beneath.
All those buttons of his coat must come next. She worked the top one loose with trembling fingers.
“You called me scared,” she said, “and I am frightened. But not the way you think. I’m terrified that I’ll part ways with you, and I’ll live my whole life without feeling this again.”
She chanced a look at him then, pleading with her eyes. Begging him to give in to her, to take control of this . . . just do something, before she was forced to rip open her bodice and say something truly embarrassing like, Make me a woman.