Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(84)

Kathleen staggered the last few yards before she reached his still form, already knowing it was too late. Falling to her knees, she stared into the face of her dying husband.

But it wasn’t Theo.

A scream scalded her throat.

Kathleen awakened from the dream and fought to sit up amid the tangle of sheets. Her breath came in hard, corroded bursts. Unsteadily she wiped her wet face with a clutch of the counterpane, and rested her head on her bent knees.

“It wasn’t real,” she whispered to herself, waiting for the terror to die down. She eased back to the mattress, but the knotted muscles in her back and legs wouldn’t allow her to lie flat.

Sniffling, she rolled to her side and sat up again. She let one leg slip over the edge of the mattress, and then the other. Stay in bed, she told herself, but her feet were already lowering. The moment they touched the floor, there was no turning back.

Swiftly she left her room and rushed through the darkness, with ghosts and memories at her heels.

She didn’t stop until she had reached the master bedroom.

Even as her knuckles rapped against the door, she regretted the impulse that had driven her there, and yet she couldn’t seem to make herself stop knocking until the door opened abruptly.

She couldn’t see Devon’s face, only his huge, dark shape, but she could hear the familiar baritone of his voice.

“What’s wrong?” He pulled her inside the room and closed the door. “What happened?”

His arms closed around her trembling body. As she pressed against him, she realized that he was naked except for the binding around his midriff. But he was so hard and warm and comforting that she couldn’t make herself pull away.

“I had a nightmare,” she whispered, resting her cheek against the silky-coarse hair on his chest.

She heard a soothing, indistinguishable murmur over her head.

“I shouldn’t have bothered you,” she faltered. “I’m sorry. But it was so real.”

“What did you dream about?” he asked gently, smoothing her hair.

“The morning Theo died. I’ve had the same nightmare so many times. But tonight was different. I ran to him – he was on the ground – and when I looked down at his face, it wasn’t him, it was – it was —” She stopped with a sound of grief, closing her eyes more tightly.

“Me?” Devon asked calmly, his hand shaping around the back of her head.

Kathleen nodded with a hiccupping breath. “H-how did you know?”

“Dreams have a way of tangling memories and worries together.” His lips brushed her forehead. “After all that’s happened recently, it’s not surprising that your mind would make connections to your late husband’s accident. But it wasn’t real.” Tilting her head back, he kissed her wet lashes. “I’m here. And nothing’s going to happen to me.”

She let out a wobbly sigh.

Devon continued to hold her until he felt her shaking ease. “Do you want me to take you back to your room?” he eventually asked.

A long moment passed before Kathleen could respond. The right answer was yes, but the truthful one was no. Damning herself, she settled for a tiny shake of her head.

Devon went still. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. Keeping one arm around her, he guided her to his bed.

Riddled with guilt and pleasure, Kathleen climbed onto the mattress and slid beneath the warm weight of the covers.

Devon lingered at the bedside. A match flared, the brief blue sizzle followed by the glow of candle flame.

She tensed as Devon joined her beneath the covers. There was no doubt where this would lead: One did not share a bed with a naked adult in his robust masculine prime and expect to leave it a virgin. But she also knew where it would not lead. She had seen Devon’s face on Christmas Eve as she had held the tenant’s infant daughter. His expression had frozen for a brief, brutal instant of dread.

If she chose to let this go any farther, she would have to accept that whatever his plans were for the estate, they did not include marrying and siring children.

“This isn’t an affair,” she said, more to herself than to him. “It’s only one night.”

Devon lay on his side, a lock of hair falling over his forehead as he looked down at her. “What if you want more than that?” he asked huskily.

“It still won’t be an affair.”

His hand caressed her over the covers, charting the shape of her hips and stomach. “Why does the word matter?”

“Because affairs always end. So calling it that would make it more difficult when one of us wants to leave.”

Devon’s hand stilled. He looked down at her, his blue eyes as dark as pitch. Candlelight flickered over the hard, high planes of his cheeks. “I’m not going anywhere.” He took her jaw in his hand, his mouth covering hers in a strong, urgent kiss – a kiss of ownership. She opened to him, letting him do as he wished, while he searched her with aggressive ardor.

Pulling the covers away from her body, he bent over her chest. His breath was like steam as it penetrated the thin cambric of her nightgown, causing her nipple to rise. He touched the aching point with his fingers, shaping the tightening flesh before he covered it with his mouth and licked through the fabric. The cambric turned wet beneath his tongue, cooling against the tight bud as he drew back and blew gently.