Slow down.
Her face was suffused with pure gratification, and the beauty of it beguiled him. His hunger increased to a painful craving.
Touch me…please.
The visceral need to feel her hands on him increased, jerking him out of the haze of lust trying to cloud his mind. Too soon. “Step away,” he urged. It was not in his willpower to do it himself.
She stepped back, her eyes wide with apprehension. “You must think me wanton,” she said, color dusking her face.
“Honesty is rare, even in passion.”
His words were a jarring punch to his system. His intention today had been to learn more about her, and though he barely scratched her surfaced, he saw much to be admired. He could not keep pretending he was a man without connections when he wanted to explore knowing her, but a vise of caution gripped his heart at the thought of revealing his titles. The peace he so desperately needed would vanish into thin air, and the hounds of society would start nipping at his heels.
Unless he asked her to keep his confidence. Would she?
He shook his head in disbelief. He’d made her acquaintance only two days past and here he was thinking to go against every experience he’d endured and take her into his confidence.
Hell.
How was it possible for her to drive him to such distraction in this short span of time? He tried to draw upon the emotionless state that had saved him countless times and was infuriatingly unable to. He wanted to confide in her. Utter madness. How would he even explain his secrecy without opening himself to deep questions of his past? Any revelation in that direction was not something he would allow, not now, mayhap never, and he did not want to hurt her with evasiveness.
This is why I’ve avoided such intimacies. Blasted hell.
One more day, he swore inwardly. One day. He would give himself today to see if what was burgeoning between them was worth fighting for. Then, when he was certain of something, he would reveal his secrets and inform her of his relation to Calydon and the realm…and his scandals.
With a sigh he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she flowed into his embrace. It was then Mikhail realized how much he was touching her. Never had he allowed himself to be so free with a lady. He’d had an understanding with Lady Olga, and the most he’d bestowed on her were chaste kisses. She’d not tempted him to do more. Everything about Payton was smashing all of his walls to cinders.
Touch me, he urged silently, desperate to see if a prolonged touch would cause nausea to churn in his gut, or would he want to feel her fingertips gliding over his skin, rousing sensations he had not felt in ten long, cold years? Ice formed beneath his skin. Memories of dozens of unwanted hands, both man and woman, coasting over his flesh, kissing and biting, punishing and pleasuring in equal measure, had him gritting his teeth against the lurid images.
“Do you have a large family?”
Payton’s question helped center him, and he latched on to the direction of her conversation gratefully. “Two brothers and my parents are alive.”
“Are they in England as well?”
“No.”
She looked at him, awaiting a response, but he did not want to outright lie to her. The less information he provided the better. He gritted his teeth as sourness coated his gut. He hated only confiding parts of his life to her. He should not be surprised. He hated deception in all forms and, not surprisingly, he despised it in himself, even if he hungered for solitude. The urge to reveal his wealth and status welled inside, and he had to ruthlessly push it down. “I have cousins in England, but the core of my family resides in Russia.”
“Would they be pleased with you wanting to court me?”
“Why would they not be?”
Her chin went up a notch. “I am untitled and an American. Though you are similarly untitled, they may wish a greater elevation for you with an English lady.”
Whenever she referred to him as ordinary it set his teeth on edge. “They will respect my choice. Above all my family wishes for my happiness, not for me to form connections.”
Concern creased her brow, and she stepped away from him and walked to the stone bench and sat. “My family will not be very understanding, and I must be forthright with you…my mother and aunt will be very rude.”
He sat beside her, and she leaned in to him so their shoulders brushed. Sweet pleasure twisted in Mikhail. There was no need in him to jerk away from her. In fact, he would have liked if she rested her head against his shoulder. “I have the skin of a walrus,” he said softly, in awe of the needs surfacing in his soul.
She laughed, the sound husky yet musical, and some of the tension released from her. “I only wanted to prepare you. My father may be more amiable. But my mother and aunt are very determined that I marry a lord, and they will see a simple turn in the gardens with a man like you threatening to their ambitions. But I confess nothing would ever move me to such a union .”