At Any Price(98)

Back in the suite, things felt tense, awkward. I looked around the room, with the candles lit and the bed turned back, the white mosquito netting loosed and dancing in the breeze like an errant bridal veil. My heart started to race. How could I avoid the conversation, the declarations that were certain to come, that were hanging in the air like dark clouds threatening to drop a torrent of rain at any moment?

He’d moved to the dresser and, after having doffed his coat, was now undoing his tie. He looked at me, his face unreadable, but he didn’t say anything.

I went to fetch my T-shirt, which was in the dresser beside where he stood. I thought to change for bed because I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I wasn’t terribly tired and I knew I’d have no ability to concentrate on a study guide.

I pulled the shirt from the middle drawer on the dresser while he watched me with unreadable eyes. He had unbuttoned his shirt and I was feeling weird and tense and shy. I kept my eyes averted.

I moved to the bed, stepping out of my heels and letting the gauzy material of my skirts float around my legs. Of the three, this was the dress that most made me feel like a fairy princess. Only thing was, midnight was about to strike and I could feel it in every tense look we shared, the silence hanging over our room.

And my handsome prince—well, he wasn’t who I thought he was, either. I reflected on that. He knew so much about me and yet he’d always kept himself a mystery from me. He was hiding still, behind the persona, behind this entire arrangement. Heated anger stirred in my chest. I was most angry with myself, for not knowing, for not realizing. While I’d mostly found Adam remarkably easy and fun to be with, I’d never once associated him with FallenOne. How could I have been so blind?

I almost went to change in the bathroom, but that seemed silly after we had seen so much of each other. I laid the shirt on the bed and tried not to focus on where he was in the room—or the fact that he’d removed his shirt and undershirt and now wore only his suit pants and socks. I wouldn’t look. Nope, I wouldn’t. Confusion or no, my body still wanted his. Hungrily so. Probably more now than before we’d started sleeping together.

I reached around and unhooked my skirt before loosening the halter at my neck and lowering it, feeling the cool bay breeze hit my breasts, bringing my nipples immediately to hardened points. I unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it.

Suddenly his hands cupped my hips. He’d come up behind me while I was concentrating on trying not to notice him. I froze and he slowly pulled me back against him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he whispered against my hair.

I closed my eyes, shivers cascading down my spine in a waterfall of quick succession. Just a couple whispered words and the lightest touch from this man and I was in pieces, ready to surrender to him.

I didn’t say anything, just let him hold me for a long moment, the feel of his warm, muscular chest pressed against my back stirring my desire to life.

“Emilia, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

I held my breath. His hands cupped my shoulders, traveled down my arms. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted our bodies pressed together, sticky with sweat and passion. I wanted one last memory before I said good-bye.

I turned around in his arms and pressed myself to him. “I want you. Right now.”

He hesitated, looking into my eyes for a long time before bending to kiss me. I wanted the storm. I welcomed it. I wanted him to fly over me and overwhelm me, to suck me in so I wouldn’t think or feel anything else but his hands, his mouth, his body.

I threw myself into that kiss, opening for him, hooking my arms around his neck to pull him to me. This would be our last time together. A tiny sliver of me lightened with relief. At the back of my mind, the greater part of me protested.

His eyes darkened and his hands were on my breasts, softly caressing the peaked nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through me. He nudged me toward the bed and I acquiesced, swept up in him.

“Emilia—” he said.

“Shh.” I put my hand on his mouth. “No talking.”

He pulled my hand away, grabbing both my wrists, leaning against me to push me down on the bed with him. He held my arms above my head, cinching my wrists together in the grip of one hand to secure them there.

He then proceeded to kiss me senseless. His other hand floated across my breasts, my stomach, to rest at the apex of my thighs.

His head came up and he looked me in the eyes, a multitude of questions unasked. I wouldn’t let him give them voice. I couldn’t. I squirmed against his hold, pushing my chest toward him.

“Stop it,” he said. I stilled, looked at him with the question that he didn’t wait for me to ask. “You’re using sex to avoid talking about this.”