Page 20 of The Taming of a Wicked Rogue

“Because of you, Rebecca.” His jaw twitched. “To forget you.” He shoved a hand through his hair, leaving it in disarray. “I needed to get you out from under my skin, but I’ll be damned if I succeeded.”

She inhaled a sharp breath that seemed to sear her lungs. It all could be a lie, she supposed, but she did not think so. His confession had the loop tightening, drawing her closer still until she could fight him no longer.

Perhaps, just for now, she did not want to fight him.

“I never forgot you either,” she confessed.

The words escaped without thought and she should have regretted them, but when his gaze darkened and she knew precisely what his next move would be, she could not bring herself to.

She held herself still and waited.

Chapter Eight

Leo froze, his throat drying. Maybe it was the confession. Or the way the candlelight caught her hair and brought out the red in it. Perhaps it was the flush in her cheeks. Or maybe it was because it had never faded. They had been young, naive and entirely unaware of how the world worked.

But it had always been real.

It still was. Pulsing between them like waves beating the shore—inescapable, powerful, unconquerable.

And for the first time in a long time, he no longer wanted to conquer it. No longer wanted to deny what he’d been trying to for all these years. There were no stranger’s petticoats to bury his love for her in, no amorous words to hide behind.

He shoved back the chair and strode toward her, closing the gap. She rose at the same time or perhaps a beat after. All he knew was they met in a clash. When his hands clasped her face, she gasped, and flung her arms about his neck, her mouth already willing when he pressed his lips to hers.

“I missed you,” he said, voice gravelly.

“I missed you too,” she murmured between kisses.

He pressed his lips to hers, again and again, taking small tastes, reacquainting himself with her while heat surged through him. It was the same but different. Her lips seemed softer. Her body certainly was. Her breasts were pressed hard against him, her thighs molding to his body.

He kissed her more deeply and she moaned, so he moved his mouth down the soft arch of her neck. Her hands worked their way down his arms, digging tight then skimming up and over his shoulders, drawing him as close as humanly possible.

He needed more.

Breaking the kiss long enough to take a breath, he peered down at her flushed features, her eyes wide. Her pulse fluttered in the base of her neck, her breasts rose and fell. He waited a beat, just long enough to let her know he could walk away if she so wished.

It would kill him, but he would do it if she asked it of him.

“Kiss me, Leo,” she begged.

With a groan, he curved his hands around her waist and drew her hard against him. Air rushed from his lungs at the contact, but he didn’t have time to draw a breath. Not when he had so long apart to make up for. Not when he had Rebecca willing and needy in his arms. She wanted his kisses, wanted his touch, and he’d be damned if he could deny her anything.

The kisses were deeper, more fervent, maybe led by his desperation but he suspected they were equally as wanting. She staggered back a few steps until her back met the wood of the door and she sucked down a breath. He used the resistance behind it to his advantage, allowing him to trail kisses down her neck, across her decolletage and up again while he moved into her, rocking against her. She laced her fingers into his hair.

“Rebecca.” He let her name linger in her ear briefly before nibbling her lobe and feeling the little shudder caress through her. Many things had changed, but she had not. A mere touch still made her shiver.

She arched her neck, tilting her head back against the wood. He nipped and kissed down, cupping her full breasts in a hand and working his fingers down, down. He gripped the fabric of her skirt and hauled it high until his fingers met the silk of her stockings then finally the small strip of flesh above them. Rebecca gripped his neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses on his jawline, urging him to take her lips again with heated, urgent kisses.

His breaths felt raw in his throat. The blinding, pounding desire fairly sizzled through his veins. In truth, all of him felt raw, vulnerable, desperate. If he never saw her again, it might well break him, but if he never saw her again and did not give her what she desired, he might regret it for the rest of his days.

Working his fingers up the soft, soft flesh of her thigh, he met her heat with a groan in the back of his throat. She gasped against his mouth and her kisses grew erratic when he touched her, circling her heat and finding her slick for him.

He had always been aware of this desire between them—so strong even when they were younger—but it had never been like this. Perhaps it was time or maybe experience, but their sweetly passionate kisses together were nothing like this moment.

Yes, taking Rebecca might kill him. It might leave him etched with agony for what he could never have again. But he could not deny her any more than he could deny the truth. He loved her. He always had and he always would.

∞∞∞

IT WAS AS though Rebecca had never left.

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