Page 10 of Mine This Winter
What did he want with Mr Payne? Did he mean to throttle the man as he’d threatened to do earlier? If Oliver got wind of these late-night antics, he would throw Mr Garrick out despite the plummeting temperatures.
Simon Garrick is not your problem, she thought.
Him leaving would be the best solution all round.
And yet she couldn’t bear to see him go.
The muscles in her throat tightened. She desperately wanted to hate him but knew she’d be heartsick the minute he left Westmore. The thought of feigning happiness for another five years urged her to stop this nonsense. It was time to put the past behind her. Time to discover what had gone wrong all those years ago.
Mr Garrick was not expecting anyone to enter the room. Gwen found him rifling through Mr Payne’s luggage like a common thief.
He swung around when he heard her shocked gasp. “Shut the damn door,” he whispered through gritted teeth. “I cannot let Payne find me here.”
Not wanting Mrs Astley to see her lingering in the doorway, Gwen did as instructed. She closed the door and crossed the room. “Why are you searching Mr Payne’s luggage?”
Mr Garrick muttered a curse. “Don’t ask questions. I’ll be done in a moment, and then you’ll not mention this incident to anyone. Do you understand, Gwendolyn?”
She blinked at his impertinence. If he thought she would live with more unanswered questions, he was grossly mistaken. “As mistress of this house, you will tell me what you’re looking for, sir. Is it money?”
“Money?” He shot her an irate glare. “Is that what you think of me? That I’m a wastrel like my father? Good God, Gwendolyn, I thought you knew me better than that.” Then he continued flicking through Mr Payne’s personal diary like the worst sort of snoop.
Gwen closed the gap between them and gripped his arm. “I don’t know what to think. You act like a stranger. I fear the man I once knew no longer exists.”
“No, you killed him long ago.”
The comment hit like the crack of a whip, causing a sudden pain in her chest. Something akin to grief and confusion. Something eradicated by a violent wave of anger.
“How dare you!” In a bout of sheer madness, she gripped his coat lapels and forced him to look at her. “How dare you come into my home and lay the blame at my door.”
He had the strength to shirk out of her grasp but didn’t.
The air about them thrummed wildly. Desire unfurled in her belly. Years of frustration had taken its toll. She stared at his lips, wanting to shake him and devour him in equal measure.
“I know what you want, Gwendolyn,” came his growled whisper. “By God, I mean to give it to you. Perhaps then you’ll see I’m no longer the fool you remember.”
He kissed her roughly.
Just once.
Their mouths meeting for a few agonising seconds.
They both stumbled backwards in shock, their gazes locked, their breathless pants mating in the air between them. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she could feel his hunger clawing at the walls—an inner desperation she shared.
She wasn’t sure who made the next move, but she was suddenly wrapped in his powerful arms, the heat of his breath on her neck, his hands squeezing her buttocks as he pulled her against his hard body.
Drawn by a magnetic force, their lips collided. This time, he coaxed them apart with his tongue and entered her mouth, eager to feed the craving.
Such was the sudden rush of passion, the wave of lust and love, she might have wept.
Regardless of his harsh words and muscular physique, this was the man she knew. The potent scent of cedarwood filled her nostrils. His earthy essence filled her mouth. His masculine aura surrounded her, a potent thing that left her feeling rampant.
Simon!
She deepened the kiss, pressing her aching breasts to his chest, keen to keep the emptiness at bay.
Don’t let this be a dream.
Perhaps it was. Somehow, she ended up with her back pressed to the door, Simon Garrick raining hot kisses over her neck, cupping her breast.
