One Night With You (The Derrings #3)(60)

"Come in," she called, the pulse at her neck beating a furious staccato as she watched Seth enter the room garbed only in his dressing robe.

"Seth," she breathed, wondering if her thoughts had somehow conjured him, wondering if Providence had not sent him to her, presenting her with a chance to confess everything she knew about Julianne and Mr. Knightly.

His expression was stark, almost angry. His eyes gleamed liquid heat, dispelling the notion of confessing all in a cowardly flash. She shifted nervously on her feet.

"I need to speak to you," he declared, stopping before her. His gaze slid over her in a slow, body-heating appraisal. The faint scent of liquor wafted about him, mingling with the musky smell of him. Not unpleasant. Still, the smell of alcohol reminded her of her father and the subsequent foul mood it always foretold. The old instinct to run for cover reared its head.

"You're drunk," she announced, nostrils quivering as she edged back a few steps.

"Bloody right I am," he rasped, stalking forward another step. "You, my dear, would drive any man to drink."

She stiffened. "I've done nothing—"

"You exist," he declared, the heat in his eyes making her heart jump against her chest.

"I—I don't understand," she stammered.

Something wild and dangerous glittered in his eyes.

She stumbled back until she bumped the bed and could go no farther. Lifting her chin, she propped her hands on her hips and inhaled, trying to appear taller, more confident than she felt in the face of his strange mood.

"You merely walk into the room and I'm undone." His words stroked some place deep inside her, made her hot and cold and quivery all at once.

"My apologies," she snapped, her indignation rising to the fore. "I had no idea my presence caused you such… discomfort.'"

His lips twisted in a semblance of a smile. "You have no idea the discomfort you give me," he rejoined, his voice hard, brutal. A predatory light entered his gaze. "Or perhaps you do," he challenged, snatching one of her fists from her hip and folding it into his large hand. Caught off balance, she staggered. Her other hand landed on his chest to steady herself. Immediately, she felt his heart, strong and fast beneath her palm. She shook her head, resisting the urge to flex her fingers, to slide them over him and better explore the hard contours of muscle and flesh beneath his robe. She tugged her fist, but he held fast.

"You're drunk," she hissed.

"Quite," he agreed with a brisk nod, forcing her hand lower, down his chest, down the firm ridges of his belly. "And in great discomfort," he murmured, flinging her word back at her. Prying her fingers open, he placed her palm over the erection tenting his robe. Air escaped between her teeth in a loud hiss. Warm fingers circled her wrist, guided her hand to move. Up and down. Up and down. His gaze scorched her, blistering her very soul as he worked her. He swelled beneath her touch, growing in size. Desire pooled low in her belly. She squeezed her thighs tightly beneath her nightgown, attempting to relieve the growing ache between her legs.

"See what you do to me?" he asked, dragging her palm over him, faster, harder, the stiff feel of him making her breath come harsh and swift.

She longed to feel him without the silk dressing robe. His texture, his heat pulsing in the palm of her hand. No barriers. Slipping her hand inside his robe, she closed her fingers over the naked length of him. Silk on steel in her hand. She ran her thumb over the satin-smooth tip of him. His groan tore through her, thrilling her, emboldening her.

"Seth," she whispered, scanning his face, the square jaw, the hard lines and shadowed hollows. The throat that worked in speechless wonder at her ministrations.

His eyes blazed down at her, the fire there unmistakable.

An answering flare burned through her blood, her soul, filling the emptiness, the lonely ache that had been there for too long now.

He pulled her to him, lifting her onto her tiptoes and swallowing her cry with his mouth. He drank long and deep from her lips, obliterating her senses. His kiss, his rough hands moving over her arms, flamed her passion.

"Jane," he rasped, the softness of his lips against hers a direct contrast to the rough sound of his voice. "I tried. God, I tried…"

She shook her head, not understanding the agony in his voice, not able to make sense of his words. The taste of him made her head swirl, brandy and desire, warmth and spice in her mouth. Her shaking hands slid farther inside his loosened robe.

He could have been speaking Greek for all she understood him. Words were beyond her. There was only him. And the delicious things he made her feel. She didn't want to wonder what brought him to her. Wanted only to savor.

Her palms skimmed his firm chest, curving over warm flesh, velvet skin stretched tight over muscle and sinew. As a girl, she had often watched his body, young and lean, on the cusp of manhood. The sight of him had excited her even then—when she hadn't a clue what caused the burn in her blood.

Incredibly, it seemed he was hers now. His body, at any rate.

He took her bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently and murmuring against her mouth, "I don't care what I said." His hoarse voice stoked the warmth in her belly into a nest of writhing flames. Pulling back, his hands skated up her arms, burning through the thin cotton of her gown.

"I want you."