Page 83 of The Trouble with Tigers
He pushed away from the glass. The heavy atlas on the side table caught his eye.
She’d held onto the thing and had barely made a sound, brave little idiot, as she’d tumbled to the earth. He smiled, thinking how easily he’d caught her. He hadn’t wanted to let her go.
He approached the seating area where he’d taken her. The darkest, most private corner of the large room.
He dropped onto the sofa, his head lolling over the backrest.
Maybe he was looking at this all wrong. He liked Kitty. What was so wrong with that? He wasn’t spouting poetry. Wasn’t promising undying love. Far from it. He’d barely even told her he found her attractive. Clearly he didn’t worship her like his father had done his mother.
So he thought about her when she wasn’t around. Who wouldn’t, given the circumstances? The threat James posed, this phony engagement, not to mention the shared living arrangements.
If he was being honest, he had to admit he liked her, as well. More than once he found himself glued to her every word. Found himself enthralled with the woman who, unlike him, had overcome the handicap of seemingly uncaring parents. A woman who’d risked everything to stand by her grandfather, and who never doubted her own ability to rise above whatever circumstance life threw at her.
But none of this—not the danger, not the pretense, nor even liking her—explained his physical hunger for her. He wanted her. Wanted to grab her and drag her down and pour himself into her. His fingers dug into the velvet sofa cushions as need ate a hole through his insides.
It only made it worse she hungered for him equally. She might not like it, beyond a shadow of doubt didn’t understand it, but the truth was there in her response to him. In the way she clung to him, opened for him, inviting him to touch and taste and…God, he was rock hard again.
Groaning, he tunneled his fingers through his hair. He ought to feel bad about his behavior tonight. He’d behaved without scruple. Again. He'd taken advantage of her innocence, of her desire for him.
But the truth was, he felt good. Better than he had in days, aside from the hunger gnawing at his loins.
What now? What was he to do about Kitty? He flung himself lengthwise onto the cushions, his legs hanging over the front of the sofa. For a long minute he lay there, staring at the plastered ceiling. Then the answer came to him and he couldn’t stop the grin spreading over his face. Because the answer was as obvious as it was simple.
By God, the answer had fallen right into his hands—literally. He stood up, scooped the heavy tome off the table, and marched from the room, whistling.
Chapter Twenty
Kitty awoke to the rumble of thunder. Snuggling deeper into her bedclothes, she recalled the most delicious dream. Zeke, in the library, kissing her into oblivion. Except…
She scanned the room and spotted the crumpled green silk gown draped over the post at the foot of the bed. Groaning, she rolled onto her belly and crushed her face into the down pillow.
As if the heavens seconded the magnitude of her idiocy, an ominous crack of thunder reverberated through the windowpanes, followed by a rising din of rain, pounding the roof tiles and grounds below. She lifted her head and smiled. Good. The nasty weather meant no shooting match. She could mill about the bedchamber all day if she so chose.
She grinned as Zeke’s edict from the night before came to her. We’ll need to spend more time together. Doing…things.
“Doing things, my big toe,” she muttered—and dragged the covers over her head.
***
Zeke had spent about as much time dawdling over his kidney beans, eggs, and toast as he could stomach, and still Kitty hadn’t come down for her morning meal.
Was she ill? According to the housekeeper, Kitty hadn’t missed breakfast once since arriving at Chissington Hall.
Perhaps he’d arrived too early in his zeal not to miss her. No matter. He’d wait her out. He allowed the hovering footman to remove his plate. Drummed his fingers on the white tablecloth. Frowned into his coffee cup.
Boot steps sounded in the corridor seconds before Caden and Randall entered the breakfast room.
Zeke sighed inwardly. If she presented herself now, there’d be no chance for a private conversation. He dropped his cheek in his palm and regarded his brother and Randall.
“Sadly, our shooting exercise will have to wait,” Caden said as he heaped food onto his plate from the sideboard. “The sky’s positively black, not to mention the grounds are soaked.” He started for the table and glanced pointedly at the empty chair beside Zeke. “Where’s your lovely fiancé this morning?”
Zeke ignored the question. He flicked a bored glance over Randall, currently eschewing food in favor of tea. “What’s wrong with your appetite, Randall?”
“Tea first, food later.” He scraped back a chair. His eyes drifted over the empty plate before Zeke. “I see you got an early start.”
Zeke shrugged.
Caden grinned. “Let me guess. You hoped to catch your fiancé alone before the rest of us descended on you.” He waggled his brows. “Better luck next time. Pass me theTimes, will you?”
