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Skin prickling with embarrassment, she rose, intending to return to her room with as much dignity as she could muster. She’d barely taken a step, however, when he turned around and shot her a dark glare that halted her. With his gaze locked on hers, he moved slowly toward her, and she instinctively backed up several paces, until her shoulders hit the wall, ending her retreat. His advance continued until a mere arm’s length separated them.
“You’ve had a wonderful life,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Why would you want to hear the sordid details of mine?”
She froze, staring into eyes that smoldered with an unmistakable animosity she didn’t understand. Yet it was one that sparked her own anger and resentment. One that had her lifting her chin to glare right back at him.
“Wonderful life?” A bitter sound escaped her. “You know nothing of my life since I saw you last.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. He leaned forward and planted his hands on the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. She sucked in a breath, and her head filled with his scent. Clean soap and something warm and masculine she couldn’t name other than to know it made her heart beat faster. Or perhaps the frantic pounding was the result of his nearness.
“I’m not the same man I used to be, Cassie,” he said softly, his warm breath touching her lips. “If we spend the day together, I can’t guarantee I won’t do something we’d both regret.”
“Like what?”
Fire seemed to kindle in his eyes, and his gaze wandered down to her lips. Her mouth tingled under his scrutiny, but before she could so much as form a thought, his lips covered hers, in a hot, hard kiss that tasted of passion and suppressed need and dark hunger.
Heat whooshed through her, melting her knees, but then as quickly as he’d started the kiss he ended it, lifting his head and staring down at her with glittering eyes that seemed to breathe smoke.
Dear God. Shock rendered her immobile. Except for her heart, which thundered hard enough to echo in her ears. Never, in her entire life, had any man looked at her like this. Like he was starving and she was a banquet feast. Like he wanted to devour her. Certainly she’d never inspired her husband to look at her in such a way.
“Like that,” he said, his voice a husky growl.
Oh. Like that. Except he thought it was something they’d regret. Perhaps he did, but she didn’t, although she knew she should. Yet how could she possibly regret experiencing something so bold and fiery and darkly arousing? Especially when it had been so long since she’d felt anything except emptiness?
“Different than last time,” he said softly.
She knew what he meant, and fire heated her cheeks. Shortly before her marriage, she’d asked Ethan to kiss her. Westmore had finally kissed her, a momentous occasion she’d dreamed would thrill her, but one she’d found oddly disappointing. When she asked Ethan to offer up a comparison, he’d looked angry and initially refused. But after she persisted, he relented and brushed his lips gently over hers. The contact lasted only seconds, but she’d felt as if lightning had struck her-a reaction Westmore’s kiss had most emphatically not induced. She’d desperately wanted him to kiss her again, but couldn’t summon the courage to ask. Indeed, her strong reaction had deeply unsettled her. Ethan had stepped away, then made light of the situation with a joke, and they’d never mentioned it again. Two days later he was gone, leaving only a brief note behind.
Now she sensed the tension gripping him, and knew without a doubt that he wanted to kiss her again. And God help her, she wanted him to. Just as she’d wanted him to years ago. Was it possible that he’d wanted to then as well, but unlike now had held back?
She swallowed, then agreed in a shaky voice, “Different than last time.”
“Still want to go for that walk with me, Cassie?”
His voice was edged with challenge, his eyes daring her to say yes. And she realized that he hadn’t lied-he wasn’t the same man.
But neither was she the same woman.
“Yes, Ethan. I still want to go for that walk with you.”
Chapter Four
With T.C. leading the way, Ethan walked next to Cassie along the trail that led through a thick copse of trees toward the beach, and tried his damnedest to shove aside the memory of the kiss they’d just shared. But he might as well have attempted to push back the tide with a broom.
Part of him was deeply irritated that after only a few minutes in her company he’d allowed himself to lose control like that. Allowed his anger and resentment to get the better of him. But another part of him was darkly pleased that he’d finally acted on his long-suppressed desires. Still, another part of him cursed him for doing so. Because instead of satisfying his desire, that brief taste had unfortunately only whetted his appetite for more. Just as it had ten years ago.
The memory of the chaste kiss they’d shared that summer day in the stables flashed through his mind, burning as brightly as if it had taken place a moment, rather than a decade, ago. In that brief instant he’d discovered what she tasted like. Heaven. And no longer had to wonder if her lips were as lush and soft as he’d suspected. They were.
Her request for a kiss had stu
And ten years later he felt the exact same way after kissing her in his stable.
Damn it, she should have slapped his face. Stormed from the stables in a fit of outrage. He’d hoped she would. Instead she’d looked at him with those damn big shocked eyes, making him feel like a bastard. While he grudgingly admired the fact that she’d held her ground and accepted his challenge, he still wished, for both their sakes, she’d scurried off. But he should have known she wouldn’t. His Cassie had never been a coward.
His Cassie. Foolish words that he needed to thrust from his mind. She wasn’t his-never had been, never would be. Yet still, she was here, and they’d been friends, and he was acting churlish. It wasn’t her fault he’d fallen in love with her and never gotten over his feelings. But bloody hell, how could he stand an entire afternoon of being regaled with stories of London society and fancy soirees and her perfect husband?
You know nothing of my life since I saw you last.
Her words had sounded angry, although he couldn’t imagine why. Surely Westmore had worshipped the ground she walked on. Most likely his recent death was the source of her embitterment.
They continued along the path, and in spite of the tension he sensed between them, it felt as if the years had slipped away. They’d explored the grounds of Gateshead Manor countless times, sometimes on foot, sometimes on horseback. Sometimes they talked, barely pausing for breath, as if there weren’t enough hours in the day to say all that needed to be said. Other times, as now, they remained silent.
Of course back then it was a comfortable silence, one steeped in being with someone who knew you well. Someone with whom you’d shared your deepest thoughts and hopes. Discussed your fears and disappointments. Someone with whom you’d laughed and cried.
He’d loved her for as long as he could remember, but after the realization when he was fifteen that he was in love with her, he’d often spent those silences wondering what she was thinking, fantasizing that her thoughts ran along similar lines to his-that he was a titled gentleman who’d come to court her. Who would lavish her with jewels and gowns and ask her to marry him. That he could spend every day with her. Draw her into his arms and kiss her. Touch her. Make love to her. Sleep beside her. That she belonged to him. And now, years later, he found himself again wondering what she was thinking.