Releasing her hand, he sat back in the chair. “But it eliminates a primary source of pain, doesn’t it?”
“You’ll deprive yourself of one of life’s greatest joys out of a determination not to experience the pain love can also bring? That’s like refusing to ride because you fear falling off.”
He cast her a stony stare. “You can’t understand. You’ve never lost someone who was the center of your world.”
She couldn’t argue with that. It was true. She took another tack. “And when we have children? Or are we having children?”
“I would like to, yes,” he said warily.
She leaned forward to fix him with an earnest look. “Will you try not to love your children, too, so you don’t suffer pain if one of them dies? Parents do outlive their children sometimes, you know.”
He rose from the table, his lips set in a thin line. “Of course I will love our children.”
“Just not their mother.”
He whirled on her, his eyes blazing. “And what of you and how you feel about me? You’re in love with Juncker. That probably precludes your ever being in love withme, doesn’t it?”
Oh, but he knew how to turn the knife, didn’t he? She stood to face him. “I never said I was in love with Mr. Juncker.”
“You didn’t have to. It was painfully obvious when I caught him kissing you and you not stopping it.”
She should tell him that she didn’t give a fig for Mr. Juncker. That she never had. But then Sheridan might figure out that the only object of her affections had always beenhim.And not only would he be convinced she’d somehow manipulated the situation so he would have to marry her, but she would look like a pathetic fool for wanting a man who could never love her. She had too much pride for that.
“To use your own words,” Sheridan said in a hollow voice, “‘Tell me the truth no matter how much you think it might pain me.’Areyou in love with Juncker?”
He would find any answer she gave to that unsatisfying. It was time she turn their discussion to something both of them would find more satisfying.
She walked up to clasp his head and kiss him soundly on the mouth. When she drew back, she said in a low voice, “I don’t want to talk about Mr. Juncker or Helene or even the murders.” She untied his cravat and tossed it aside. “I don’t want to talk at all.” She tugged on his coat, and he obligingly shucked it off. “This might be the closest thing we’ll have to a honeymoon, and we’re alone.” She began to unbutton his waistcoat. “I’d much rather do something more . . . enjoyable.”
Seizing his hand, she placed it on her breast. He just stared at her, as if he couldn’t believe she was being so brazen. She couldn’t believe it herself. But how else was she to take his mind off of Mr. Juncker except by seducing him? She wasn’t quite sure how to go about it, but she would work it out as she went along.
She kissed him again, this time lingering over his mouth. And he stayed frozen for about half a second. Then he shrugged off his waistcoat and slung his arm about her waist to pull her hard against him for a kiss as darkly needy as it was delicious.
“Damn it, Vanessa,” he whispered against her lips. “You are . . . making this bloody hard.”
She certainly hoped so. Because she had no intention of being wed to the saint everyone took him for. What she wanted was the sinner, the part he only showed her. Sinful Sheridan was at least capable of love. “I think”—she whispered back—“youare the one makingthishard.” And she put her hand on his trousers, right where a bulge was forming most pleasingly.
With a groan, he grabbed her hand and held it more firmly against that evidence of his arousal. Then as he moved it up and down, he turned to kissing his way down her neck to the low scoop of her bodice. “Turn around, my temptress,” he said in a rough voice that sent shivers along her senses.
She did as he bade, her pulse quickening in anticipation.
Swiftly, he undid the fastenings of her gown, then untied her corset and shoved it all off, leaving her in her shift and stockings. As he circled back around in front of her, she untied her shift. Before she could remove it, he pulled the opening apart and loosened the tie so he could bring the front down far enough to bare her breasts. “I never tire of these,” he growled.
Taking her by surprise, he lifted her onto the table, then pulled his chair around so he could sit down and feast upon her breasts. There was something so . . . carnal about having him sucking and licking and teasing her nipples while sitting casually at the table. “I like having you . . . feed on me,” she said with a little laugh as she buried her fingers in his silky curls.
“I like having you for dinner,” he murmured against one breast. “You smell good. You taste good. You make me so . . . very . . . hungry. . . .”
The husky way he said it shot a thrill through her. “You are . . . a flatterer.”
Perhaps the way to a man’s heart trulywasthrough his stomach. The thought made her giggle, and he paused to stare up at her with a raised eyebrow. Not wanting to explain, she said, “When will you take these off?” and tugged at his trousers’ waistband.
At once he sat back and pulled off his boots. “Touch yourself,” he said.
“Wh-What? Where?”
“Your breasts. Touch them. Don’t you ever touch yourself?”
“Only to bathe. Why?”
