Surprised, he paused. So she was telling the truth. Brett hadn’t told her everything after all. He considered her plea. He was a good negotiator; it was time he employed those skills in order to practice other more pleasurable skills. “I will tell you everything and let you assist me—at a safe distance and with my supervision—if you give me something in return.” He kept his voice to a low murmur.
“Isn’t my assistance in keeping you alive enough?” she whispered back.
He smiled. “Well, Robbie’s bigger than you. As I said, he growls and people scatter. But you have something else that I want, that only you can provide.”
“What is it?” she breathed, her own lips curving.
“One kiss, freely given.”
She paused as if to consider the matter. “And then you will tell me everything? No more secrets?”
He looked offended. “I never kept secrets. I just did not tell . . . Never mind. Yes, I will tell you everything.” Why not? There was not much to tell because he did not know a damn thing—yet.
Her eyes met his, and she lifted her hand to gently finger the swelling surrounding his left eye, nearly closing it, and then featherlight, she swept it over his bruised cheek. The gentle touch combined with her look of tenderness nearly undid him. He did not dare to move, not even to breathe, for she was like a bird, poised for flight. The clicking of a distant clock filled in the hushed, expectant silence.
Her eyes dipped to his lips. “One kiss.” And then she lowered her head.
Her lips were full, and so incredibly soft. She kissed him tentatively, a light pressure against his lips. She teased and tempted, in small nibbles, filling him with a longing so strong, he nearly begged.
His fist tightened in her hair, his other hand cradling the nape of her neck, his thumb resting on the beating pulse in her throat. With gentle pressure, he lured her closer. And then he opened his mouth and drank her in. She tasted of innocence and sweet promises. His tongue delved deeply and desire pounded through him.
He wanted her. More of her. All of her.
She groaned against his lips, igniting his passion to a fevered pitch.
He released her hair to thread his fingers down the split V of her silk robe, his fingers touching warm, silken skin.
She drew away and stared at him through passion-glazed eyes.
“Good lord, I want you,” he breathed.
Her eyes widened, her pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips. “Yes, well, the bargain was for one kiss.” Her voice was hoarse, as if she hadn’t used it in a while because her mouth was busy with other matters. She started to pull away, but his hand around her nape held her in place.
“I want more than one kiss. I want to touch you and have you touch me. I want to make love to you.” He lifted his head and captured her lips again, which had parted in surprise. His fingers slid lower, curving over a full breast, his thumb slid over an aroused peak. “Give in to me, Julia. Be mine, and let me be yours.”
Her eyes flew open and she drew back with a gasp. “We must stop. This is not right. You are wounded . . . and . . . need to regain your strength.” She struggled to her feet, cinching her robe tightly together, her hands not quite steady.
“All the parts that need to work are perfectly healthy,” he muttered.
“You are trying to seduce me to make me forget our bargain. You need—”
“Of course I am,” he growled, lifting his hands to drag them down his face, grimacing at the swelling on his eye. Perhaps she was right. He was a bit of a mess. But he wouldn’t be for long. He spoke more calmly. “Fine. I will slow down, give us both more time. Just not too much of it.”
She frowned at the echo of his earlier warning. “I will return after I dress. I will have something brought to you to break your fast. Are you hungry?”
“I was, but not necessarily for food.” He couldn’t resist the trite quip.
She grinned. “Yes, well, knowing you, I am confident that you will not pass up hot scones, or anything else edible as long as I have the cook douse it in sugar or syrup.”
“Too true. It is my favorite dream of you.” Delighted, he admired the pink flush suffusing her cheeks, like rose wine filling a delicate glass.
“I have to go.” She whirled and practically ran to the door. She stopped, her hand on the knob, the other pressed flat on the doorframe, and spoke with her back to him. “I am glad you are all right.”
And then she was gone.
His smile was smug as he settled himself more comfortably into the pillows. Brett was right. Wooing a woman was much easier when you were safely ensconced in their house, and they were worried for you. He was not keen on Julia assisting him with his agenda, but recalling her clever mind and keen eye for detail, the idea held merit. He would let her help—as long as he could keep her safe. If not, all bargains were off.