Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 163328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
My head dropped back on my shoulders as he suckled. His hand cupped my backside, and the other plumped up my breast, holding it against his worshiping mouth.
Any second, he would throw up his walls and say something mean to push me away. But for now, I gloried in the unguarded moment, savoring the rush of breaths, the caress of strong fingers, and the masculine sounds of appreciation.
I touched him everywhere I could reach—his bulging shoulders, the hairless bricks of his chest, and the heavily muscled flesh that flexed along his arms as he commanded them to move.
His jaw felt like marble against my breast, where he licked and kissed with devotion. His lips, so soft and full, delivered pure ecstasy when they wrapped around my throbbing nipple.
Fingers fanning down the curves of my waist, he splayed them across my midsection and slowly sank into the valley of my thighs. My bottom teetered on the edge of the table as he teased the dark juncture between my legs, finding my wet curls through the linen.
I realized, truly comprehended, just how very destructive this man was on my life. He hadn’t just physically captured me. He’d besieged my emotions, my reasoning, and he was on his way to imprisoning my soul.
As he leaned back to stare at my glistening, swollen breast, his broad shoulders blocked out the world. All I saw was him and the gorgeous planes of his face in facets of light and dark, silk and steel, kindness and cruelty. And I trembled.
With fear.
With desire.
I craved the addictive sensations he stirred in my body. And I feared every second he made my knees weak and my heart yearn for more than carnal pleasure.
He braced an elbow on his thigh and lazily trailed a knuckle around the outer curve of my breast, his gaze pensive as he watched the movement. “Why do you hate England?”
“Besides the fact that everyone there wants me dead?”
“Yes.” He cupped me in his palm and ran the pad of his thumb over my nipple.
“England rejected my mother. Banished her.” I brushed my fingers through his shiny black hair. “Whenever she was reminded of her home, it made her horribly sad.”
“Perhaps she was sad because she missed her beautiful country. Have you ever been there?”
“No. I remained here, in the West Indies, for the last seven years. Before that…” I took a bracing breath and met his eyes. “I spent the first fourteen years of my life in the wilds of Carolina. Charleston. No one knows that.”
Except Priest.
Ashley regarded me impassively. “If you were in Charleston, how did you know your father?”
“He visited throughout my childhood. I was closer to him than I was to anyone else. When he…” I placed my hand over his, flattening our fingers against my broken heart. “When he died on the gallows, my mother threw herself off a cliff.” My voice stuttered, hitching with old hurt. “I was there when it happened. I lost both of my parents on the same day.”
He reached for me, pulling me onto his lap and against his bare chest. “I’m sorry.”
His soft, sincere tone swaddled me in warmth. As did his arms and the protective cage of his body. He straightened the nightgown to cover my chest. Then he just held me, watching the sun rise, sipping from a cup of tea, with no sense of urgency to set me away.
So I started talking. I told him about my upbringing, my mother’s struggles in exile, my father’s secret visits, and their tragic love story. And because he listened with such quiet intensity, I walked through every detail of that harrowing day seven years ago, including the start of my relationship with Charles Vane.
By the end of it, my sadness had settled like the sand in an hourglass, resting quietly but always there, ready to tip and flow again.
“Have you visited Carolina after that day you left with Vane?” he murmured against my hair.
“No. Charleston and England are the two places I intended to avoid for the remainder of my life.”
“England is a special corner of the world, Bennett.”
“What do you love about it?”
“The rich history. The raw, unspoiled countryside. It glows with greenery, moss-covered moors, and dramatic cliffs along the coastlines. The view from the hill on my father’s land looks out onto nothing but sprawling fields crisscrossed in stone walls like seams on a patchwork counterpane.” His accent thickened, and his eyes seemed to shine with inner peace. “Since most of our tenants’ families have resided there since the fall of the Roman Empire, they’ve been maintaining the same hedgerows for generations upon generations. I daresay they’ve perfected the art.”
“Does your family own a lot of property?”
“Two estates in London and many along the southern coast. I own several myself. My favorite sits upon a cliff that overlooks the very water that touches your Carolina.”