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Her bottom lip trembled, and he leaned down to lightly run his tongue over it. She gasped softly and pulled his head down for a slow, deep kiss. When he lifted his head, she said in a tentative voice, “The skill with which you touched me…clearly you’ve had…much experience.”
For the space of several heartbeats, he regarded her through serious eyes, then said quietly, “No one, ever, has touched my heart as you have, Cassie.”
Her fingers lightly traced his scar. “Jealousy is not an emotion I’ve had cause to experience for a very long time, but I find I’m jealous of every woman who’s ever touched you. Of every woman who will touch you in the future.” Indeed, the thought of him being with another woman like this, buried inside her, sharing confidences, cramped her insides and dulled her vision with a red haze.
“Cassie…let’s not waste what little time we have thinking of any future beyond the next few hours.”
He was right, of course. “Very well.” She stretched sinuously beneath him and smiled when he skimmed one hand down her torso. “I find the inexhaustible nature of your interest in my body very enjoyable,” she said.
“Excellent, because my interest is far from slaked.”
“I was just thinking something similar with regard to you.”
He brushed a light kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know when I’ve ever heard better news.”
She drew a long, deep, contented breath, and caught the faint whiff of roses, which prompted her to ask, “What else do you have in that satchel?”
“A blanket, a bottle of wine, and some strawberries-to combine with your di
Moisture dampened her eyes at his thoughtfulness. “The picnics we used to share were some of the happiest days of my life.”
“Mine as well. Then, after I feed you, I intend to make love to you-properly now that the edge is off.” He nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Next time will be even better. Less rushed. And the third time better still.”
“Show me,” she said, seeking his lips for another open-mouthed kiss. “Show me everything.”
He did. Until she finally fell asleep in his arms just as the mauve of dawn broke through the window. And when she awoke, he was gone, a single slip of paper resting on the pillow that still bore the indent from where he’d lain. With shaking fingers, she picked up the missive and read the brief message.
I will never forget last night. Forgive me for leaving this way, but I ca
Her vision blurred, and a tear plopped onto the paper. Ethan was gone. And the empty loneliness was back.
Chapter Seven
Ethan reined in Rose, and after giving his winded, sweaty mare an affectionate pat on the neck, he stared across the beach at the glittering blue expanse of St. Ives Bay. He’d been riding hard since the muted shades of dawn lit the sky, trying in vain to exorcise the memories of last night from his mind. Now, several hours later, bright sunshine gleamed, without a cloud in sight to break the endless azure. Yet how could the sun possibly be shining? Cassie was gone. Surely the weather should have been gray and gloomy, topped off with a cold drizzle-to match his mood.
His gaze slowly tracked down the beach, along the route they’d walked yesterday, pausing for a long moment at the outcropping of rocks where they’d kissed. An emptiness and longing such as he’d never known twisted inside him, one that intertwined with fingers of anger. At himself-for allowing her to stay. For sampling that which he would never have again. For inflicting upon himself this gut-wrenching agony. Maybe it was better to never experience paradise than to do so and know in your soul that nothing would ever again be that good.
He’d missed her before yesterday-with a deep ache that never completely subsided-yet it was an ache he’d learned to live with.
But now, now that he’d held her, tasted her, laughed with her, made love with her, held her while she slept, how could he hope to learn to live with this ache? This debilitating pain that made it feel as if his heart had disintegrated into dust and blown away. That left a hollow space in his chest that nothing could ever hope to fill.
He withdrew her handkerchief from his pocket and stared at the embroidered initials, dark blue letters that matched her eyes. His fingers curled, crushing the material in his fist, and he squeezed his eyes closed. How the bloody hell was it possible to feel so numb, yet hurt so badly?
How could he ever hope to erase her from his memory now? She used to live only in his mind. His heart. His soul. But now the scent of her, the taste and feel of her, were all branded under his skin. So deeply that no other woman would ever be able to erase the imprint-not that any other woman ever had, but at least part of him had always held out hope that perhaps someday he’d find someone who could. Who’d be able to offer more than a fleeting encounter that only served to temporarily ease his loneliness.
Yet now that hope had been trampled. Because he’d discovered the difference between having sex to relieve a physical need and making love to the woman who owned his heart. And soul.
Even worse, all the places that he used to consider his sanctuaries were now steeped in recollections of Cassie. His i
After a final look at the white-capped water, he turned Rose-named for Cassie’s favorite scent-back toward the stables. After currying the mare, he returned to the tack room. He’d just finished putting away his supplies when a voice behind him asked, “May I have a word with ye, Ethan?”
He turned and saw Delia regarding him from the doorway with an indecipherable expression. Based on her pale face and the way her fingers pleated her gray work gown, he suspected something was amiss.
“Of course. Is something wrong at the i
She shook her head and stepped into the room. “Not at the i
Ethan’s hands involuntarily clenched at the sound of her name. “What about her?”
Delia’s gaze skittered away for several seconds, then returned to his. “I suspected there was someone who held yer heart. Someone from yer past. Figured that were the reason ye pretended not to notice the broad hints I tossed in yer direction.” She lifted her chin. “It’s her. Lady Westmore. She’s the one who holds yer heart.”
Bloody hell. Was his lovesick yearning scrawled across his face for everyone to see?
When he didn’t reply, Delia jerked her head in a tight nod. “Well, at least yer not denyin’ it. No point in doin’ so. I saw the way ye looked at her.”
“And how did I look at her?”
“The way I’d hoped ye’d look at me someday.”
Ethan expelled a long breath and dragged his hands down his face. “Delia, I’m sorry.”
“Ye’ve nothin’ to apologize for. Ye never gave me false hope that we’d be more than friends.” She dipped her chin and stared at the floor. “Yer a good man, Ethan. Honorable. Not yer fault that I wish ye were my man.”
He crossed to her and gently clasped her upper arms. “You know I care about you, Delia.”
She looked up, and he saw the sheen of moisture in her eyes. “I know, Ethan. But not in the same way I care about you. I knew it, but I convinced myself that the woman who held yer heart was either gone from yer life or dead. And that one day ye’d wake up and be ready to move on. And I’d be waitin’.”
She drew a deep breath and stepped back, and his hands fell to his sides. “But knowin’ she exists and actually meetin’ her are two different things. I’d never be able to look at you and believe ye were thinkin’ of me. Ye’d be thinkin’ of her, and I’d know it. She’s not some phantom ghost in my mind anymore. I met her. Saw you lookin’ at her. Smilin’ at her. Laughin’ with her. Second place is one thing, but with you, there’d never be a first place. There’s only room for her.”