Night's Honour(80)

He was right. She had a hundred thousand dollars in her bank accounts, and a wide-open road.

“I could have done that,” she admitted. “I don’t know.”

He studied her expression. “Promise me something.”

She focused on fiddling with a button on his shirt. “Maybe.”

“Promise you won’t just run away. Promise you’ll at least stay long enough to discuss what you might want to do next.”

It was time to confess.

“I don’t actually want to leave,” she muttered. “I . . . love the estate. I love the peacefulness and the ocean, and I’d been meaning to ask you if I could borrow some books from your library. Raoul and I had just gotten somewhere interesting in my training, and I was invested in seeing where we went next. And I put on that dress you bought for me, because I really did want to see if you and I could waltz for ninety more seconds without me stomping on your feet.” She glanced up, into his intent gaze. “But I can’t go back to being one of your attendants again.”

Removing his hand from between her legs, he simply gathered her up and held her in a whole body hug. The sexiness hadn’t gone away, not in the slightest, but the sheer emotional impact of being held in such a cherishing manner shot straight through her.

Piercing her heart, again.

Nuzzling her hair, he murmured, “We have created a neat box for ourselves, haven’t we?”

She forced the words to come out. “Would it be better if I just left?”

“I would follow you.” He slipped his fingers underneath her chin and urged her to tilt it. When she did, he kissed her again, slow and lingeringly. He said it a second time against her lips. “Tess, I would follow you.”

Gladness shook through her. She sighed, “Oh good,” and kissed him back.

For long moments they lingered. He brushed her lips with his, over and over, and nipped at her gently with the edge of his even, white teeth. She wasn’t the slightest bit nervous that he would forget, or lose control and bite her for real. It was quite clear what he was doing.

This was love play, and he was knowledgeable and very, very good at it. She could feel his erection pressing against her pelvis bone.

He wanted her, and he made no secret of it. The tension in his body and in his gentle hands told her how much. He showed her with every caress of his fingertips and stroke of his tongue against hers. And she believed in her bones that if she said no or asked him to stop, he would do so instantly.

A different level of trust bloomed, like a shy, rare orchid that could only exist if a certain set of conditions were just right.

She had suspected that he would change her, and at the time, survival was what had mattered the most. But change could also be a positive, life-enhancing experience, and she realized she might like herself better, might like life better, than she had ever believed possible.

“Xavier,” she whispered.

He stopped kissing along the edge of her jaw to look at her inquiringly.

It was her turn to stroke his hair. It fell to his shoulders in a thick wave, and while the length could have seemed effeminate, it didn’t. It was ridiculously gorgeous and utterly sensual, and it suited him completely.

“I won’t run, I promise,” she told him. “I’m too . . . intrigued.”

A slow smile broke over his face. “Very good. We will work everything else out, yes? All the definitions—what you need to be, and what I need to be. What we need to be together. You will come back home with me?”

She hesitated. She had promised she wouldn’t run away, but that didn’t mean she felt comfortable with moving forward. “I don’t know about that.”

His pleasure faded, and he scowled. “Why not?”

“I don’t fit, back there. Everyone else will be expecting me to go back to being an attendant, and living in the house.”

“Bah.” He dismissed that with a wave of one hand. “They will deal with whatever we decide to present to them.”

The thought of Diego’s discontentment flashed through her mind. She said, doubtfully, “It may not be as easy as all that.”

“You will stay in the guesthouse,” he told her. “Not the attendants’ house. Raoul will continue your lessons, and I will teach you to waltz, by God, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Hey,” she said, caught by the grim determination with which he had said that. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Humor danced in his eyes. “The point is we do not need to reach an instant definition this very moment. We can work it all out over time. Agreed?”

She might not know where they were going, but it was definitely a step in the right direction.