Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane #5)(53)

She’d been waiting for this since she’d come to London.

So she nodded jerkily. “Very well, if you insist.”

“I do,” he whispered, and stood as he pulled her up in front of him.

She was too close suddenly, staring at the pulse that beat at the side of his throat. She swallowed, opening her mouth—

And he bent his head and kissed her. It wasn’t like the kiss in St. Giles. That had been wild and angry and passionate. This was a soft kiss, nearly chaste, as if he questioned with his lips: Is this what you want? Am I who you want? For a moment her thoughts stuttered. He wasn’t who she wanted. She wanted Roger—he was the love of her life. The one to whom she’d given her virginity in happy bliss. The one she’d nearly died mourning for.

But Godric’s lips were slow. Persuasive. Moving over hers almost curiously, as if she were a new, unknown creature. Something foreign and precious. His hands rose, drifting over her arms, skimming her shoulders, slipping up her neck to cradle her face as he angled his head, licking along her bottom lip. She gasped, a soft parting of her mouth, and he slid in, not intrusively, but almost playfully, touching her teeth, meeting her tongue in sweet greeting. It was suddenly too much.

She pulled back, staring wide-eyed at him, her chest rising and falling faster than it should’ve.

“What is it?” His voice was low, raspy.

She swallowed. “Nothing. It’s just …” She bit her lip. “Do we have to kiss?”

His eyebrows winged up his forehead. “Not if you don’t like it.”

“It’s not …” She shook her head, unable to find the words. She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t want to think about him while they did this. That she just wanted him to be a male body, not Godric the man.

His face had closed now, though, looking cold and nearly remote. “We don’t have to do this tonight.”

“No,” she said shakily. “I mean …”

She inhaled, desperately trying to find equilibrium. She’d destroyed something just now, she could feel it, but if she let him walk through that door again, they might never do this.

She opened her eyes, looking at him imploringly. “Please. I want this now.”

He watched her a moment more, his eyes unreadable, then inclined his head. “Very well.”

He indicated the bed and she drew off her wrapper self-consciously before climbing in. She shivered as her bare legs slid along cold sheets.

Godric took off his banyan and slippers, standing in his nightshirt as he looked at her consideringly. “Would you like me to snuff the candles?”

She nodded gratefully. “Yes, please.”

He didn’t say anything as he snuffed the candelabra on the dresser and the one by the bed. The fire had already been banked for the night and the dull glow of the embers didn’t give much light. Megs listened as Godric lifted the covers of her bed, felt the dip as his weight settled beside her.

She started to tense, and then she felt his touch, gentle but sure. The time to change her mind was past.

Megs tried to think of Roger, to summon his dear face to the front of her brain, but Godric was running his hand down her side, distracting her, making Roger vanish like a reflection in a pond disturbed. Godric leaned up on one elbow, his bulk a dark shape above her. It occurred to her that if it were any other man, she might fear him now.

But this was Godric.

She felt his breath on her face as he leaned closer, his hand on her hip. He paused to caress her through the fine lawn of her chemise; then he trailed his fingers down her legs, slowly, carefully. This lovemaking was sweet and gentle—and it shouldn’t have aroused her.

Her breath was coming too fast. Perhaps she was a wanton, she thought rather wildly. Perhaps having tasted of fleshly delights, she’d become addicted without even knowing it, so that now even a near-impersonal touch had lit a forgotten fuse within her.

He didn’t seem particularly affected. His breaths were even and calm. He’d reached the hem of her chemise now and pulled it upward, baring her knees, her thighs, her feminine triangle. He laid the skirt of her chemise on her stomach, quite circumspectly, and then his hand moved downward, back to her knee, naked now. He rested his hand there, warm and large, and she bit her lip to keep from making any noise.

His breath wasn’t calm anymore—thank goodness for that. He traced lacy patterns on the inside of her knee with just his fingertips. Slowly, so slowly, working his way toward the juncture of her thighs. She parted her legs, offering him more room, inviting those fingers closer to her center, but he kept away, trailing along the crease that separated her leg from her belly.

He bent toward her then, and she had the idea that he meant to kiss her before he remembered and caught himself. Now she wanted to pull him close. To seal her lips to his and tell him that she’d been mistaken earlier. That she did want him to kiss her.

But that would let in thoughts, emotions, that she didn’t want to consider right now. This act was so she could have a baby. That and only that.

His fingers were stroking over her pubic hair, brushing lightly, drawing closer to the folds below. She tilted her head away, staring at the fireplace, trying to keep her equilibrium. She wanted to touch him, to feel the warmth, the beating heart attached to that seeking hand, but she’d already decided to make this impersonal. It wouldn’t do to change her mind now when she wasn’t thinking clearly.