He braced his hands on the desk, on either side of her. “Downstairs. You looked so . . . I meant to . . . And then he was there. I’ve spent how many months wishing and waiting for my brother to come home. Hoping to make amends. And when he touched you, I wanted to punch him in the face.”
“It’s understandable if you’re angry with your brother.”
“That’s the most irritating part. I can’t even be angry with him.” He made a fist and tapped on the desk. “Just look at him. It wasn’t enough that he was a diplomat. He risked his life in service of the Crown. He’s probably a goddamned hero. He apologized to me. He’s always perfect. Always better than me, no matter how much I accomplish.” He looked her in the eye. “But he did one thing wrong. He stayed away one day too many, and now it’s too late. He can’t have you.”
“No. He can’t. Because I don’t want him. Rafe, you know I’m in love with you.”
He didn’t, really. He knew she kept saying so, but it was just so damned difficult to believe. Every time he tried to wrap his mind around it, his heart attempted to make a mad break from his chest.
It didn’t make any sense.
She framed his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “Yes, Piers is a good person. Yes, it appears he cared more for me than I believed. Yes, maybe he’s even a hero. I’m relieved beyond anything to see him back in England safe, and I’m so glad he came home when he did. Now there won’t be any doubt.”
“There’s no doubt. You’re marrying me.”
“Of course I am, you ridiculous man.” She released a breath. “You say your brother is perfect? Well, apparently I prefer men with flaws. Maybe Piers is one of England’s heroes. Rafe, you’re mine.” Her grip tightened on his shirt, and she pulled him closer. “Do you hear me? You’re mine. I’m claiming you, and I won’t ever let go.”
God. He hadn’t known until that moment, but this was what he’d been longing for all his life. Not to claim, but to be claimed. Irrevocably. To feel free to love and be loved, without the looming fear that a few impulsive words could end it all.
“If you want to keep prizefighting, I won’t stand in your way. But you’ll need a new name in the ring.” She gave him a fierce, determined look. “You’re Clio’s Own now. The Devil himself could come for you, and he’d have to get through me.”
It was too much. Too much. He wasn’t sure his heart could take it.
“Do you hear me, Rafe? You’re mine.”
“You’re mine.” Clio said it again. Because it felt so good, and because his needing, stricken expression couldn’t help but touch her heart. “My hero. My love. My future husband, hopefully.”
“Your future husband. Definitely.” His hands captured her by the waist. His eyes darkened. “I’m yours, then. And you’re mine, as well.”
She nodded.
“Let me hear it,” he whispered roughly. “Say the words. You’re mine.”
“I’m yours, Rafe. Always.”
It happened so fast. His lips fell on hers, and his arms gathered her in a tight embrace. Their mouths melded in a kiss so fierce, so needing, not even a whisper could have come between them.
Clio ached for his touch. She wanted to feel him everywhere. His hand claimed her breast through her gown. It wasn’t enough. She tugged at the restrictive silk, trying to coax it lower. She didn’t have any patience for buttons today.
“Don’t tear your gown.” He slid his hand under the fabric, cupping one of her breasts. When his thumb grazed her peaked nipple, she sighed with pleasure.
“It’s already ruined.” She ripped away a garden-bedraggled strip of lace just to prove the point. “It doesn’t matter. I only wanted to wear it for you.”
Something changed in him when she said those words. A wildness took over.
He kissed her neck. Mouthed her breasts. His hands were everywhere at once. And still, she wanted more. At last, here was the intensity she’d been craving. Last night’s patience gave way to pure, unfettered wanting, and she reveled in it.
His hands slid downward, hiking the layers and layers of sodden fabric to her waist. He pushed her knees wide and moved between her legs.