Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(60)

“You're lying to yourself. You'll use every excuse you can think of, rather than risk being hurt. You're afraid to love someone.”

“What if the reason has nothing to do with me?” she snapped. “What if it's you? Maybe you're such an arrogant, self-centered, deceitful man that I don't want your love!”

Luke colored with fury. “Is that the reason?”

Tasia gave him a half-pleading, half-enraged glance. He was making her say things that would hurt them both. If only he would accept her decision. If only he wouldn't be so stubborn. “Please don't make it so difficult.”

“Damn you…I'm going to make it impossible.” He dragged her beneath him, smothering her startled cry with a demanding kiss. He lifted his head and looked down at her. “I need you,” he said, breathing hard. His hand was unsteady as it moved tenderly over her small breast. “I need you in so many ways. I can't lose you, Tasia.”

Before she could answer, he kissed her again, until her thoughts vanished and her blood raced with exhilarating desire. She moved beneath him in eager invitation, brushing her soft curls against his swollen length, making him tremble with passion.

He thrust easily into her slick passage, finding her wet and ready for his intrusion. She gasped and clenched all her muscles around him, her small hands gripping his shoulders with desperate strength. She breathed hotly against his skin, and pressed her face to his chest so hard that he felt the edge of her teeth. Luke held her tightly and groaned as he felt the spasms of her cl**ax all around him, drawing him deeper, until he reached the same exquisite release.

As soon as Tasia regained her breath, she rolled away and left the bed. Her knees trembled beneath her. She scooped up a silk robe from the floor, a man's robe that was far too big for her. Wrapping it around herself, she glanced back at Luke. His expression was inscrutable.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head in confusion. “No, but…I want to be alone for a while. I need to think.”

“Tasia—”

“Please, don't follow me.”

She heard him curse softly as she left the room. Making her way outside, she picked up the hem of the robe to keep it from trailing in the dirt.

It was the middle of the night, the sky velvety black and scattered with stars. The pond was calm and glassy, reflecting the sky overhead until it seemed that the water too was filled with stars. Tasia wandered closer to the edge. A clump of rushes stirred as a pair of frogs hopped away, prudently deciding to change their location. Tasia stomped her bare feet to frighten away any other creatures. She hiked up the robe and sat on the damp ground, dangling her toes into the cool water. Only then did she let herself think.

A passionate man, the marquess of Stokehurst…and more at the mercy of his own emotions than he would have wanted anyone to know. He had been rough in his urgency, but he hadn't hurt her. Lifting her legs, Tasia hugged them to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. Desperately she wished there was someone to tell her what to do.

She went over the details of their conversation, word by word. Was it true, what he had said? Was she so afraid of being hurt that she would never be able to give her heart to anyone? She thought of the people she had loved in her life: her mother and father, Uncle Kirill, and her nanny Varka. She had lost them all. Yes, she was afraid. There was precious little left of her heart to lose.

She remembered her childhood, how anxious and alone she had been after her father had died. Her mother had been affectionate, but Marie's most important concern was and always would be herself. Some essentially childish element in Marie's nature would always prevent her from being able to fully love anyone else. As a little girl, Tasia hadn't understood that. She had believed herself unworthy of love. All her resentment and rebellion had been turned inward, against herself. And the way the church had of encouraging people to accept suffering and turn it to martyrdom…well, that hadn't influenced her for the better. Not a pleasant feeling, being a martyr. And so far it hadn't proved to be very profitable.

Did she deserve a chance at happiness? Did she owe it to herself? She wasn't certain of the answer. But what, if anything, did she owe to Luke? He was a worldly, intelligent man, fully aware of the choices he made and their consequences. He wanted to marry her because he believed it would be good between them. If he had that much faith, then surely she could come up with some of her own.

He said he loved her. Tasia was overwhelmed by the thought. She couldn't think of any reason why he would love her, when she came to him needing so much, with so little to give. But if he felt even a fraction of the pleasure that she felt in his company, perhaps it was enough.

She clasped her hands and closed her eyes fiercely tight, and prayed. Dear Lord, I don't deserve this…I'm afraid to hope…but I can't help it. I want to stay.

“I want to stay,” she said aloud, and realized she had her answer.

Luke slept on his back, his face turned to the side. He was pulled from a fathomless slumber by a stroke on his bare shoulder and a whisper in his ear. “Wake up, my lord.” Thinking it was a dream, he turned away with a grumble. “Come with me,” Tasia insisted, tugging at the sheet that covered him.

He yawned and muttered irritably. “Where?”

“Outside.”

“Whatever it is, can't we do it inside?”