She laughed as she took her own bite. “You sound mightily surprised.”
“I am,” he admitted with a laugh as he all but poured the food down his throat. “I don’t know any ladies who can cook.”
She stiffened. “Well, I am not a lady.”
“You were a gentleman’s daughter,” he said softly. “And a gentlewoman yourself. Anyone with eyes can see you are a lady.”
“Hmmm.”
She’d hoped the noncommittal answer would veer him to other subjects, but of course it didn’t. He was focused now, driven, as spies tended to be when something struck them as odd.
“Where did you learn to cook?”
“Our housekeeper didn’t mind showing me when I expressed an interest. I suppose she hoped it would keep me off my father’s path. She was wrong, of course,” she said with a sigh. “In truth, Father liked me cooking, for it is very much like making medicines. There’s a recipe, a precision, a science.”
He chewed thoughtfully. “I can see that would be true.”
“When Mrs. Smith died, I took over in her role as housekeeper and cook for my father,” she explained. “And assistant, when he needed it.”
Lucas stared at her in what was clearly confusion. “He didn’t want…more for you?”
“More?” she asked, feigning a lack of understanding when she knew full well to what he referred.
“A life outside of his world,” he clarified. “A husband. Children.”
She flinched as she set her plate aside and broke her gaze from his. “I doubt my father thought of me in that way. To him I was a tool. To be trained and used as needed.”
“Didn’t you want more, Diana?” he asked. “Don’t you want more now?”
She pressed her lips together. He was dancing perilously close to an edge she could not risk gliding along. So instead she moved to take his empty plate. “May I get you something else?”
He shook his head and caught her wrist, keeping her from backing away. His hands were remarkably strong and she could see there would be no point in fighting. Worse, she didn’t want to fight. She liked the weight of his fingers against her skin. She liked the intensity in his stare as he looked up at her.
She liked the dance between them, even if she knew the outcome could be nothing good.
“I don’t want more. I’m not hungry.”
She swallowed hard. “I cannot imagine that is true, Lucas. You ate so quickly and—”
He tugged her a bit closer. “I’m not hungry for food.”
“Lucas,” she whispered, though she offered no resistance as he drew her down, slow as molasses, into his lap.
She settled there carefully and now they were face-to-face. His breath stirred her lips, and he never broke eye contact.
“You want what I want,” he whispered. “Or do you deny it?”
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice cracking.
He tilted his head, his expression challenging her, telling her he knew full well what she wanted. That she knew what he wanted too.
Which of course she did. There was no denying what he wanted. It was evident from the heavy length of his cock that pressed against her thigh as she sat in his lap. Evident by his dilated pupils and the way his hands clenched against her.
But he didn’t say those things. He didn’t say anything at all. He merely cupped the back of her head and drew her closer. And just like in his bedroom earlier in the day, she did nothing to resist him. In fact, she tilted her head, granting him greater access as his mouth met hers.
For the briefest of moments, the kiss was gentle. But then it shifted and suddenly she found her arms around him, she was lifting against him, his mouth was open, devouring her with passion that had been bubbling beneath the surface for days now. Finally it overflowed and she felt no desire to fight it or him.
She wanted this. After years of loneliness and grief and pain, she wanted something…good. And she wanted it now.
As if he sensed that, he pulled away. He was panting as he said, “Come upstairs with me, Diana.”
She swallowed hard. This was her opportunity to regain purchase over herself. To deny him, to deny herself, and do what any other person in good society would consider the right thing.
And yet, she didn’t do that. She stood, holding out her hand to him, and he took it. Slowly they made their way up the back stairs, down the short hallway. At the door to his chamber, he stopped and faced her.
“I need to be very clear, Diana—I want you. I want to make love to you. And under normal circumstances, I’d take the lead until you were begging beneath me. But such as I am—”
She lifted up on her tiptoes and pressed two fingers to his lips to silence him. “I know what to do,” she whispered as she reached around him to open the door.
His eyes grew wide, but he didn’t question as she backed him into the room, across it to the bed. He stopped there and winced as he reached up to remove his shirt. She stepped up to push his hands away and did it herself, unfastening and sliding the fabric gently from his shoulders until it fell behind him on the floor. She followed with his trousers, thankful that he was barefoot so they wouldn’t be impeded by her removing his boots.
And then he was naked, standing before her, and she stopped breathing.
She stared at him, just as she had every time she’d seen him this way. The first time she’d tried, and perhaps failed, to look at him with the eyes of a physician. Tried to see him as a body she was meant to repair.
Tonight she stared at him as a woman was meant to stare a man she would have as her own. She drank him in slowly, enjoying every inch of toned flesh, even the damaged ones that were hidden behind the bandage she had wrapped earlier. Her gaze flitted to the flat stomach, the narrow hips, and at last she settled on the hard cock that flared up in desire.
“I have not been touched by anyone but those meant to heal me in a very long time, Diana,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion as well as desire. “Please.”
She swallowed, for his words struck far too close to the core of her. She, too, had missed the touch of another person. A touch of love or desire or pleasure. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it until the night he held her while she wept and reawakened all the desires she’d tried to pack away.
There was more than one way to heal, wasn’t there?
She moved forward, holding his gaze as she placed her hands flat against his chest. He hissed out a sound of pleasure, tracking her movements as she glided her fingers down his flesh, letting her thumbs flick at his flat nipples before she stroked them over his stomach.
“God’s teeth,” he grunted, dipping his head back as he used his good hand to balance himself on the bed.
She swelled with feminine power at the reaction. She liked making this powerful man tremble as he trembled now when she stroked just one fingertip along the length of his hard cock.
His eyes came open, spearing her with his gaze once more. As she teased him, he lifted his hands and unbuttoned her gown in a few deft motions that gave her a glimpse, once more, of what this man had been like before injury. She shuddered as he pushed the gown open and tugged it over her arms until it collapsed on the floor beneath her feet.
Her undergarments were simple, a short chemise over a pair of drawers. For once in her life, she wished she collected pretty underthings, but the plain cotton that separated her from him seemed not to bother him. He just stared at her, his pupils dilating until there was almost no brown left, his hands shaking as he slipped them under the straps of her chemise and pushed it down, lower and lower until her breasts were bared.
“Diana was a goddess,” he whispered as he bent his head and blew warm air against her nipples. They hardened, and sensation rushed through her as she thrust her fingers into his hair and tangled them into the unruly curls.
“Y-yes,” she said, her voice breaking.
“You are aptly named,” he murmured befor
e he darted his tongue out and traced the hard peak of her nipple. He swirled his tongue around and around, and her knees nearly buckled at the pleasure. She found herself tugging him closer, holding him against her in a silent demand for more. For everything.
He chuckled against her flesh and looked up at her. “Shall we continue this on the bed?”
She nodded and watched as he took his place against the pillows. He lay on his good arm, propping himself up as he left a spot for her to join him.
She drew a long breath. Here was another of those chances to run away from this. From him. But she didn’t. Instead, she shimmied her drooping chemise away. He sat up a little more, stalking her with his gaze as she untied the bow at the waist of her drawers and slowly slid them down around her ankles, as well.
She was naked. They were naked. Once she got onto that bed with him, there would be no going back. He would touch her and she would touch him and everything would become moonlight and foggy pleasure. It would change everything about what she had agreed to do to help him.
And she wanted to do it despite all that.
She wanted to do it because of it. And because she had been alone and hurting for so long. Didn’t she deserve the pleasure this man promised with every turn of his head and blink of his eyes?
“Changing your mind?” he drawled.
She blinked and realized she’d been standing naked before him, musing on what would happen next. He didn’t look perturbed, though.
“Not that I don’t enjoy the view,” he continued. “But I do not take what isn’t fully and happily given, Diana. Once we do this, it cannot be taken back. And I can make no promises along with it. Not with my profession.”
She drew in a long breath. “I appreciate that honesty, Lucas. But I do not hesitate because I want promises. I would not ask for them, nor would I accept them if they were made.”
He examined her for a moment, then held out his hand. “Then we are of a mind.”
She nodded, and her own hand shook as she took his and joined him at last on the bed. She settled onto the pillows on her back beside him. For a moment he did nothing but look at her.
“I was not entirely honest,” he said at last.
She tensed. Dishonesty was to be expected but it terrified her nonetheless. “About what?” she forced herself to ask in a calm tone that belied her inner turmoil.
“I do make one promise.”
“And what is that?” she whispered.
“Pleasure,” he murmured, and then he placed his warm hand on her stomach, spreading his thick fingers across her flesh as she arched slightly against him out of pure instinct and desire.
“That’s all I ask from you, all I want,” she choked out.
She cupped the back of his head and drew him down, drowning once more in his kiss as he stroked those fingers lower, lower, to her hip, to her thighs, and finally he pushed her legs open a fraction and rested his palm against her sex.
She broke the kiss with a gasp. She had forgotten what it was like to be touched so intimately. To feel the rush of desire flow through her and to want so much more than just the brush of fingers. In that wild moment she wanted those fingers inside of her, she wanted his tongue, she wanted his cock. She wanted everything, and she shuddered with the power of that unfettered desire.
And also unbridled terror.
“Doesn’t this hurt, using your bad arm to—” she began, struggling to sit up and bring reality back to this wild fantasy.
He laughed softly. “Stop being a healer for the next…half an hour,” he said. His smile widened. “Or hour. If there’s pain, it’s worth it.”
As he spoke, he parted her folds and stroked his finger across her entrance. He was gentle as he did so, almost teasing. She collapsed back at the touch and arched, almost against her will at the sensation. When she glanced up, she found him watching her face. Watching her surrender.
“More,” she groaned, because she couldn’t resist anymore.
His eyes widened. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She caught her breath. He assumed she was untouched. That she was offering her virginity and he was trying his hardest to maintain control when he took it.
Her hands were shaking as she reached down and covered his hand with her own. She pressed him hard against her, feeling his finger breach her a fraction.
“There is nothing to hurt or to steal, Lucas,” she promised, her cheeks flaming as she whispered that confession. “Just touch me.”
He stared at her a moment, his eyes wide and filled with questions. She prayed that spy part of him, that part that investigated and prodded and examined, would be silent. That he would let her have her secrets and just give her what she wanted in return.
And her answer was given when he drove two fingers deep inside of her. She bore down against him with a gasp of pleasure. He grunted his own and began to stroke deeply within her. He curled them as he pressed his thumb against her clitoris. She was writhing now, taken instantly to the edge of madness. To the edge of pleasure.
He took it with his skillful fingers, drawing her to the brink and then dragging her over the cliff. She arched her back, digging her heels hard into the bed as wave after wave of pleasure tore through her. Changed her. Reminded her of all she wanted and all she’d lost. She cried out his name as she shook and clawed and pled for more and for less.
At last the spiraling sensation eased and she flopped back against the pillows with a sigh of relief. He removed his fingers, held her gaze and lifted them to his lips, where he sucked her essence from the tips.
She shuddered as desire flowed through her again. She wanted more. It was obvious he did too.
She sat up and cupped his cheeks, kissing him deeply, tasting herself on his tongue for a brief moment. Then she pushed him back, taking the pressure off his battered body and rolling him to his back.
“The goddess takes control?” he teased, though his voice was thick with wanting, not anything playful.
“If you want to be in control, consider it incentive for you to do as you’re told and heal,” she said as she straddled him, shivering as his cock slid against the apex of her body, but not yet positioning herself to take him inside.
“Incentive, indeed,” he growled as he sat up a fraction and tugged her down for another kiss. His fingers tugged tight on her head, leading her despite his precarious position.
She shifted, sliding a hand between them. She stroked his cock from base to tip once, then twice, feeling him twitch with pleasure against her. Then she maneuvered him to her slick entrance and glided down over him in one slow stroke.
He broke the kiss with a wild cry as she fully took him. His hips bucked, forcing her to thrust, and she gripped the pillows on either side of his head as she began to ride him hard and heavy and fast. He dragged her back into the kiss and she lost herself to passion she’d never thought she’d ever experience again. She pushed harder, grinding down against him, seeking the release she’d already had again. Wanting it with greedy, miserly desire.
He reared up beneath her, and that crash of their pelvises gave her what she desired. She cried out, driving her tongue into his mouth as she came for what felt like a blissful eternity. He caught her hips and kept her moving, drawing out her pleasure.
When she could refocus at last, she saw how his neck strained, how his breath was ragged. With a yelp, she moved away from him, caught the length of his cock and stroked him, keeping up the rhythm that had been created until he jolted out a cry and his essence spurted from him in heavy bursts.
She collapsed beside him, tucking herself into his good shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. He did not speak or ask her questions, she did not offer explanations or discussion. It was peace and quiet and gentle pleasure. And that was how she fell asleep, in his arms and in his bed.
Chapter Six
Lucas jolted awake with the same jarring suddenness that he had in the past six months. Today, t
hough, something was different. And he realized with a start that it was the pain. It was there, yes, still burning and clawing, but it had lessened. He did not want to wrench his shoulder from his body, at least.
And that was a positive thing.
There was something else that was different too. He could smell Diana’s perfume on his pillow, that sweet vanilla scent of her hair that made a man mad. That proved their night of passion had not been an addled dream brought on by laudanum and pain.
It had been real.
And yet he woke alone. That scent was the only indication she had been in his bed.
Slowly, he sat up, bracing for increased pain. It came, but it was still less than usual. “She truly is a witch,” he mused aloud, then threw off the covers and gingerly stepped from the bed. He wanted to find her. To talk to her. To make certain she was not troubled or pained by what they’d done.
And that required putting on his clothes. Always a challenge.
He moved to the wardrobe in the corner of the room and opened it. At some point Diana had placed his few shirts and trousers in the closet, folded neatly. When did she have time to do the laundering with all the other things she did?
He lifted the shirt and stared at it. His old nemesis. It required moving in ways that did not make his shoulder happy. But he gritted his teeth and slowly put his arm through the hole. Reaching back made the pain double, and he let out his breath through his nose with a low moan of discomfort.
“Would you like some help?”
He pivoted and found Diana at his door, tray of food in her arms. She was wearing a simple gown and her hair was half down around her shoulders, framing her face and making her even more beautiful than normal. He found himself wondering what she’d look like in a ball gown, done up like the queen that she was.
Of course, that would never happen. They would never go to a ball together, that wasn’t possible. He shook away the errant thought.
She was looking at him. She’d looked at him before, but now her gaze swept over his nearly naked body and her eyes lit up with knowing pleasure. Suddenly dressing didn’t seem all that important.
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