Unclaimed (Turner, #2)

“You don’t need my forgiveness.”


“No?” His hand curled about hers. “Tell me, then, why I have been reliving that awful moment when I left you, again and again. Tell me why it hurts me here—” he pulled her hand against the wet wool that covered his chest and spread her fingers “—when I remember that I walked from you. Explain how I am to ever deserve your trust, if I can’t have your forgiveness first.”

“You don’t need my forgiveness. You’ve had it since the day you gave me your coat. I think I was already half in love with you then.”

His hand crept to the small of her back as she spoke, drawing her close. When she was silent, she could feel the steady beat of her pulse in her throat. That pounding could not fill the impossible silence. It sounded like the opening strains of a symphony, quiet and subdued, with the entire orchestra poised to join in. Her hand curled in his coat in prelude. She could feel his entire body shift, leaning in toward her.

And then he kissed her. That first taste of him overwhelmed her senses with a pleasure so sharp it could have cut. His clothing was wet against her; his lips cold at first. They warmed. She tasted the rain on him, and then the heat of his mouth. He jolted her to life with that kiss. There was no hiding from her wants, no pretending that she could simply survive any longer.

No. He’d become necessary to her, and this was more frightening than anything she’d experienced before. At any second, he could break her. He could break her more easily with kindness than a thousand cruel words. She almost cried out at the tenderness in his touch. Every brush of his lips felt like falling.

Maybe she was just waiting to hit the ground.

His hands slid to her hair, finding pins in the dark. He pulled them out one by one, until her hair tumbled down her back, a heavy mass, half wet, half dry. He caught it in his hands as it fell. Then he pulled from her and let out a little breath.

“Oh, Jessica.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “You should have told everyone what a hypocrite I was. I lectured you with a straight face about how profligacy hurt women, and then refused to see how it had hurt you. Don’t tell me I don’t need your forgiveness.”

That almost did break her. He was vulnerable, too. They were both groping about in the dark, afraid to find one another.

Jessica found the clasp of her cloak in the dark and released it. The sodden weight slid from her shoulders. “Mark,” she said, “I would never wish you harm.” Her voice shook. “Whatever you need from me, I’ll give it. Gladly.”

“I need this.” His arms came around her. Water from his coat soaked through her dress. She couldn’t make herself care about it, not now, not with his mouth seeking out hers once more, not with his lips covering hers, his body hard against hers. He was so firm, and yet she had only to set her hand on his chest and he pulled back. No; he wasn’t going to hurt her. Not today. Not now.

But what of tomorrow?

Jessica shook her head, clearing it of those worries, and gave herself up to his kiss. There was nothing but the give and take of lips and tongue and teeth, nothing but the ebb and flow of breath cycling into kiss cycling back into breath again. She pulled back briefly, fumbled in the dark until she guided him to the sofa in the front room. They sank onto it, and he kissed her again, leaning over her. The cold and wet of his clothing gave way to a warm, damp humidity.

His hands cupped her cheeks. He held her as if she were precious. Tonight, maybe, she would be precious to him. This minute and for every minute it lasted.

The buttons of his coat were hard lumps pressing against her; she undid them, at first absently, and then in earnest. He paused only to strip the garment off. And then he found her lips in the dark once more. Not just lips; their bodies met, her hips nestling against his, her chest brushing his. It felt so right to cradle him, so right to feel that pleasure flooding her. He felt so good, she was sure this couldn’t last.

When he pulled away, she wasn’t surprised; she’d been expecting it for minutes. But instead of calling a halt, he knelt before her. His hands tangled in her skirt, lifting it, pushing her petticoats up to gather at her hips. Cool air touched her thighs. Her whole body tingled in anticipation.

And then his hands, hot now, slid up her knees.

“Jessica.” His thumbs slid farther up, finding the wetness of her sex. He made a strangled sound.

But it was nothing to the shock that filled her. His caress, tentative at first, slid against her most intimate parts. His fingers were hesitant in their discovery, then became more sure.

“Is that right?” he asked, his thumb sweeping over the nub of her pleasure. It felt so good.

“Yes.”

“This?”

Her hand joined his. “Right there. Like that. Oh, yes. Like that.”

Again he tempted her, tormented her, his hands uncovering all her secrets.