But what did she have to do if she wasn’t searching for Thomas? He was the only reason she’d come to New York.
Edward waited, and it cut his heart to watch her face begin to crumple as she realized that all the things she’d been doing, all the errands and tasks—they’d all been for the purpose of finding her brother.
And now that purpose was gone.
But, Edward reminded himself, she had also spent a great deal of time caring for him. Whatever her misdeeds, she had nursed him faithfully, both in hospital and out.
He probably owed her his life.
He couldn’t hate her. He wanted to, though.
Cecilia’s brow puckered. “Are you all right?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. You had a funny expression.”
He didn’t doubt it.
Once it became obvious that he wasn’t going to comment, Cecilia let out a little sigh. It seemed to deflate her. “I should still get up. Even though I have nothing to do.”
Not nothing, he thought.
They were in bed. There were lots of things to do in bed.
“I can keep you busy,” he murmured.
“What?”
But before she could get out more than a single word, he leaned over and kissed her.
He hadn’t thought about it. In fact, if he had stopped to think, he would have certainly told himself not to do it. That way lay madness, surely, and right then it felt like the only thing he still possessed was his sanity.
He kissed her because in that moment every instinct he possessed was crying for it. Some primitive part of him still thought she was his wife, that he had every right to touch her this way.
She’d told him they were married. She’d told him he’d said his vows.
Edward had attended enough wedding ceremonies to know the solemnization of marriage by heart. He knew what he would have said.
With my body I thee worship.
He wanted to worship her.
He wanted to worship her so damned much.
His hand wrapped around the back of her head, pulling her against him, holding her in place.
But she didn’t struggle. She didn’t try to escape. Instead, her arms came around him, and she kissed him back. She knew they weren’t married, he thought angrily, but she returned his passion with equal fervor. Her lips were eager, and she moaned with desire as her back arched, pressing her body even more tightly against his.
The spark that had been lit within him raged out of control. He rolled her beneath him, and his lips moved roughly along her neck, down to the neckline of that awful nightgown.
He wanted to bite the damned thing off.
“Edward!” she gasped, and all he could think was that she was his. She had said so, and who was he to deny it?
He wanted her under his dominion, in his thrall.
He shoved the hem of her nightgown up, growling with satisfaction as she parted her legs for him. He might be a brute, but as his mouth found her breast through the thin cotton of her nightgown, her fingers were digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. And the noises she was making . . .
They were the noises of a woman who wanted more.
“Please,” she begged.
“What do you want?” He looked up. Smiled like the devil.
She looked at him in confusion. “You know.”
His head moved in a slow shake. “You have to say it.” He was wearing his smalls, but when he ground himself against her, he knew she could feel the hard length of his desire. “Say it,” he demanded.
Her face colored, and he knew it wasn’t just from the passion. “I want you,” she cried. “You know it. You know it.”
“Well, then,” he drawled. “You shall have me.”
He yanked the nightgown over her head, leaving her bare in the morning light. For a moment he forgot all that had happened. His rage . . . his urgency . . . it seemed to melt in the face of her beauty. He could only gaze upon her, drinking in her perfection.
“You are so lovely,” he whispered. His kisses turned soft—still desperate, but without the anger that had been fueling him before. He tasted her skin, the salty-sweet essence of her as he traveled down her shoulder, along the planes of her chest.
He wanted all of her. He wanted to lose himself.
No, he wanted her to do so. He wanted to bring her to the excruciating brink of pleasure, and then he wanted to send her over the edge.
He wanted her to forget her very name.
He skimmed his palm along the tip of her breast, delighting as it pebbled with desire, but he did not stop there. His lips traveled to her ribs, to her belly, to the gentle jut of her hipbone.
“Edward?”
He ignored her. He knew what he was doing. He knew she’d like it.
And he knew he’d die if he didn’t taste her.
She gasped his name again, this time with urgency. “What are you doing?”
“Shhh . . .” he crooned, using his big hands to spread her legs wider. She squirmed, settling herself closer to his face. Her body seemed to know what it wanted, even if her mind was in a quandary.
“You can’t look at me there,” she gasped.
He kissed her just below her navel, just because he knew it would shock her. “You’re beautiful.”
“Not there!”
“I disagree.” He ran his fingers through her soft thatch of hair, skimming closer to her womanhood, parting her to his intimate gaze. Then he blew softly on her tender skin.
She let out a soft shriek of pleasure.
He let one of his fingers draw a lazy circle on her skin. “Do you like it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let me try one more thing,” he murmured, “then you can decide.”
“I don’t—oh . . .”
He smiled. Right up against her. Right where he’d licked her. “Do you like it?” he asked again.
And she whispered, “Yes.”
He licked her again, this time with a broad, hungry stroke, his body humming with satisfaction as her hips bucked off the mattress. “You need to hold still,” he purred, knowing he was tormenting her. “If you want to do this properly.”
“I can’t,” she gasped.
“I think you can.” But just to be helpful, he moved his hands to the creases between her torso and her legs, where he could increase the pressure and hold her firm.
Then he kissed her. He kissed her like he kissed her mouth, hard and deep. He drank her in, and he gloried in the shivers and shakes of her body beneath him. She was drunk on desire.
She was drunk on him. And he loved it.
“Do you want this?” he murmured, lifting his head so that he could see her face.
And also so that he could torture her. Just a little.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes! Don’t stop.”
He let his fingers take the place of his mouth, tickling her while he spoke maddening words. “How much do you want it?”
She didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to. He could see the confusion on her face.
“How much, Cecilia?” he asked. He kissed her again, but only briefly, only enough to flick her nub with his tongue.
“So much!” she practically screamed.
That was more like it.
He went back to work, worshipping her with his mouth.