How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(48)

He released her hand and started up from the stool.

Clary flattened a palm against his shoulder. “I’m not done yet.”

Settling back, he trained his gaze on her, watching her every move. With a clean damp rag, she removed the last bits of blood near his ear, then above his temple. She lifted the fall of hair over his brow to ensure there were no injuries on his forehead and found herself stroking the strands back, running her fingers through the thick waves.

Dropping her hand lower, she pressed two fingers under his jaw and tipped his head up. Bending close to swipe at a spot below his chin, she felt his breath coming in quick, hot gusts against her face. Her own breath quickened. When she finally looked into his eyes, the heat in his gaze warmed her from her chest to her toes.

“Won’t you tell me what happened?” she whispered, their mouths inches apart.

“No,” he whispered back.

“Because you refuse to confess anything about yourself.” When she began to pull away, he took her waist between his hands to hold her near.

“I won’t let my past touch you.” He lifted his hands from her body. “I shouldn’t touch you.”

Clary pressed one hand to his shoulder, the other to his cheek. “What if I want you to?”

He shuttered his gaze. “What would your brother say, Miss Ruthven?”

“Don’t call me that.” She gripped the fabric of his coat in her fist and pressed between his spread thighs until her chest was flush with his. “Here, tonight, I’m Clary to you. Just a woman. Like any other.”

He let out a ragged chuckle. “You’re not like any other.”

No, Clary knew she never would be. Not beautiful like Sophia, or an organized mathematics goddess like Helen, or domestically inclined, as her mother had been. But she did know what mattered to her, and when she cared about a cause or a person, she did so fiercely. With her whole heart.

She cared about Gabriel Adamson.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and rose from the stool, nearly lifting her off her boots. “I need to go.” Rather than keep her close, he released her, setting her away from him and starting for the door. “Thank you for tending to my wounds.” Glancing up, he pinned her with a look that singed her straight through. A gaze filled with yearning. “Good night, Clary.”

Frustration bubbled up, a trapped shout to call him back. All that yearning she’d seen in his gaze? She felt the same. Yet he possessed what she lacked. Skill at hiding himself away, pretending to feel nothing.

“Good night,” she told him, looking into his eyes. Trying desperately for the cool facade he’d mastered. “Sleep well, Mr. Adamson.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek, and fire sparked in his winter-blue eyes. He wrenched the door open, and Clary turned so she wouldn’t have to watch him walk away. The door slammed shut behind her.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

His boot heels sounded at her back, and she whirled to face him. Gabe pulled her into his arms, bent his head, and took her lips. A hard, hungry kiss that had her clutching at his shoulders, curling her fingers around his nape to draw up onto her toes. Then he gentled, drawing his mouth over hers slowly, nipping gently at her lower lip before dipping his head to kiss her neck. “I want to hear you say my name,” he whispered against her skin.

“Gabriel,” she moaned when he swept his tongue across her skin.

With a flick of his thumb, he undid the first button of her shirtwaist, kissing every swath of skin he exposed. Clary immediately reached up to help him, unfastening the next two buttons.

If she had her way, she’d remove every stitch of clothing between them. All the secrets too. Anything that kept her from getting close to him.

When he kissed the swell of breast, just above her corset, her body caught fire. Heat rushed down her chest, her belly, pooling at the apex of her thighs. He pushed her chemise aside and ran his teeth along the edge of her corset, and her knees buckled. She gripped the warm, muscled swell of his shoulder to stay on her feet.

He traced the line of her corset seam with his finger, right above the spot where she was hard and taut and aching.

“Please,” Clary whispered against his hair. She pulled her chemise lower, tugging at the edge of her corset. “I want you to touch me.”

She lowered her hands to push the front of her corset together and free a few of the hooks, but he stopped her.

“If we don’t stop now,” he rasped, “we won’t stop at all.”

“Then let’s carry on.” Clary pressed her lips to his, drew a finger lightly along his stubbled jaw as she kissed him.

He broke their kiss and cradled her face in his hands. “Say it one more time.”

“Gabriel.”

He rewarded her with another kiss, and when he lifted his head, Clary was breathless. But she still wanted more.

“All this just to hear me say your name?”

He smiled, a genuine, face-creasing, devastating smile. “Because I couldn’t resist you anymore.”

Clary gave a muffled laugh. “No one’s ever found me irresistible.”

“Then they’re idiots.” He stroked a finger down her cheek, and she bent toward his touch. “As difficult as walking away from you will be, I must go. Sara will be worried.”

“Sara? Your sister.”