“A bit of midnight research,” she murmured. “I propose a study of the science of pleasure.”
He hitched a brow and grinned, sly and knowing. “Most intriguing. You are a fascinating woman.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I will never get enough of you, Alexandra. On that, you have my vow.”
…
Reclining against the settee in Alexandra’s study, Benedict drank in her fragrance. Had she always preferred that light scent, the essence of lilies? As a younger man, he’d hungered for her beautiful face and the feel of her soft curves against his hardness. But now, he craved her smile and her laugh and that delicate aroma perfuming her hair and her skin. How had he gotten so damned lucky that he’d been granted a second chance to sample her kiss?
For so very long, during those lonely years far from England—far from Alexandra—Benedict had harbored sultry, carnal fantasies, images of Alexandra’s sensuous beauty that would put a sheik’s exotic harem to shame. But nothing his mind had ever conjured could compare to the very real, very warm, indescribably tempting woman in his arms.
Pressing her to his body, he kissed her. God above, her kiss was a rare delicacy. It was as if he were tasting her mouth for the very first time. Soon, he’d take her to his home. And he’d make love to her all night long. He’d carry her into his bedchamber, over the plush carpet to the cool, smooth sheets of his large and sturdy mahogany bed.
But for now, he’d content himself with a taste of her love. On her terms.
Her back arched, and she canted her hips, intensifying the contact. No shyness there. No hint of reservation. Only passion, tightly restrained. Male hunger coursed through every cell of his body. He’d wanted her before, all those years ago. But it had never been like this. Something had changed between them.
Her desire was as alluring as a potent aphrodisiac.
Despite her passionate response to his touch, Alex was not quite an innocent. Not a virgin—he’d made love to her when they were younger. Those heady nights had been furtive and desperate but passionate, the sounds of her pleasure and heat of her desire indelibly etched in his memory. But she was not a sophisticate. Someday, he’d teach her all the pleasures they might bring one another.
But not yet.
Tonight, she deserved tenderness. Patience. An unhurried exploration of their bodies.
This night was for her.
Lightly, he tugged at the pins holding her hair upswept, casting them aside until her lustrous curls tumbled free. He threaded his fingers through the locks, so very much like spun silk against his skin.
When she looked at him like that, he could not resist her. Even if every shred of good sense he still possessed insisted he walk away before this went too far.
He was not a man of honor. They both knew that. He was in no position to take a wife—with a wife came a family and responsibilities he could ill afford. Perhaps someday he’d contemplate settling down to a domestic existence, but for now, he could not sacrifice his freedom.
Not for any woman, no matter how desperately he wanted her.
Not even for Alexandra.
He dragged in a breath. The inhalation sounded harsh and raw to his ears. She shifted in his arms, her eyes opening, and she studied him, as if trying to discern his thoughts.
Damnation, this was a bloody inconvenient time for his conscience to rear its head. Usually, it lurked well below the surface of his life, posing no interference to his existence.
But this was different.
Alexandra deserved his honesty. He might not be able to give her anything else. But damned if she didn’t deserve the truth.
“You know I care for you,” he began.
“I suspected as much,” she said with a shy smile.
“I care very deeply for you, Alexandra. If I were a man in want of a wife, I would be down on one knee, begging you to choose me.”
She pursed her lips into a coral-tinged bow, considering his words. A tiny ridge formed between her brows. When she responded, her voice was soft and pensive, free of any hint of guile.
“But we know better than to believe you have any need for a wife, don’t we?”
“I cannot take any woman as my wife… The arrangement would prove horribly unfair to her.”
“I see,” she said, her voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “Tell me, Benedict, why do you feel compelled to say this? Do you believe I want promises from you? Vows of fidelity and devotion?”
“If circumstances were different…if I were looking to establish a country home with a family by the hearth—”
