“I like you,” she admitted slowly. Softly. “I assume you knew that after yesterday. I don’t normally go around surrendering myself to just anyone.”
He nodded, though his mouth got even tighter. “It’s complicated,” he said. “And I know that I need to tell you about it. Tell you everything. But I dread what will happen afterward.”
She swallowed. “I’m not sure what that means, Roarke, but I want to help if I can. Even if that is just being an ear to tell your story to. Sometimes that means the most.” She took his hand in both of hers, loving the weight of it between her palms, that his fingers were rough against her softer skin. “Come back to my house,” she suggested. “We’ll have our tea a little early and you can tell me anything you’d like. Everything you need to say. And I promise that I’ll listen and offer whatever support I can."
“You would," he whispered. “That’s just who you are, isn’t it? Down to your very core, down to that beating heart.” He drew in a long breath. “Yes, let’s go back to your home. And I’ll tell you everything.”
She took his arm and they started back across the park. She should have felt happy that he had agreed to open up to her in this way. She should have been excited about where that could lead for them down the road.
Only there was something in his expression that made her worried. And she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that everything was about to change.
Roarke sat in Flora’s parlor, on the same settee where he had pleasured her the day before, watching her prepare tea for them both. He tried to memorize her face, hold every detail in his mind before she only looked at him with disappointment, anger, hatred. How could she not?
“What happened that troubled you so?” she asked as she handed a cup to him, sweetened as he liked it.
He sipped the brew. He felt an incredible drive to tell her more about himself. To give her something so that once the truth was out at least she’d understand a little about why.
He cleared his throat. “My father was an interesting man,” he began.
She tilted her head. “Interesting can be a loaded term.”
“He was brilliant and creative and caring when he remembered any of us existed. But he was not prudent,” he explained, and smiled as he thought of the old man and his certainty that whatever he invested in next would be the biggest return. “And he wasted almost all we had before he died of an apoplexy several years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, and he could see how much she wanted to touch him. He wished she would. Wished the warmth and light of her would brighten his life one more time. One last time.
“Around the time of his passing, my mother’s health began to decline. She had always been flighty, but this was something more. In the last few years she’s gotten to the point where she doesn’t know where she is most of the time, often doesn’t know who I am.” He swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. “I try to take care of her, but I fear I fail. I watch her slipping away and I can’t give her everything she might need to make this final time comfortable. Happy, or as happy as I can.”
She moved to sit next to him and lifted her hand, wiping a tear from his cheek that he hadn’t realized had fallen. He turned into her palm, letting her cup his face, reveling in everything this woman was. Everything she could bring to a life, everything he wished he could ask for in that moment.
Only he couldn’t. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.
“I understand now why you seemed so upset when you arrived in the park today. Why your expression is often so troubled when we’re together,” Flora said. “I’m so sorry you are enduring that—it must be so difficult.”
He nodded and then drew a long breath. “But my reactions to that haven’t always been right or fair or good, Flora. I’ve taken advantage of your sweetness, of your acceptance, and I hate myself for that.”
She blinked and lowered her hand. “Are you referring to yesterday? To what happened here in the parlor on the settee?”
“I shouldn’t have taken advantage, taken some tiny part of what you offered,” he said with a shake of his head. “Not when you didn’t know everything. Not when you believed me to be something I wasn’t. Am not.”
She leaned closer, shifting on the settee so their legs touched. “I like what you are, Roarke. More powerfully than I thought was possible. You didn’t take anything, not anything I didn’t offer.”
He opened his mouth to speak, to tell her that wasn’t true, but she didn’t allow it. She leaned forward and her mouth took his. Yesterday she had been hesitant, explorative when they kissed. He’d taken the lead. But today she seemed more certain. She cupped both his cheeks gently and traced his lips with her tongue.
He couldn’t resist her even when he knew he should. When she touched him, it was magic, shutting off everything but her, soothing his deepest pains and making him feel…good. She made him feel good. And he selfishly allowed it for a moment, tilting his head so the kiss deepened.
She wound her arms around his neck with a little groan of pleasure, her breasts flattening against his chest. He had no idea how long they sat there, kissing each other, drowning in each other, but he felt the heat of their connection rising. He felt this powerful desire moving toward its natural end.
Taking her. Having her. Claiming her.
He wanted it so much. He wanted to make love to her on the settee, on the floor, to carry her up to her bed, he didn’t care where. He just wanted to strip her bare, touch her everywhere, feel her body flex around his as she gasped and cried out his name in pleasure. He wanted to pretend that he wasn’t who he was. That he could do all those things and then walk with her in the park and take her to museums and build something that felt like a life when images of it fluttered around the edges of his heated mind.
Only he couldn’t. He fought the tide of pleasure her touch created, tried to recall that he wasn’t an absolute bastard and he had to pull away. After another moment in her arms, he would pull away.
“Stop touching her!”
The sharp, angry voice at the door startled them apart. Flora pivoted, her face bright with embarrassment, and they both faced the intruder. It was Callum, standing with Theo just behind him. And they both looked very angry.
“Oh no,” Flora said, getting up and moving toward them, her hands raised. “I realize what this looks like, but you needn’t defend my honor. I wanted this, I—”
“Don’t,” Theo said softly, taking her hand and drawing her between them as he glared at Roarke. And in that moment he knew that they had uncovered his secret. And they were going to reveal him in this worst possible moment in the worst possible way.
And everything would burn around him.
CHAPTER 13
Flora shook her head, still trying to find a way to explain to her two friends, her gallant protectors, that what they had interrupted wasn’t something negative. It certainly hadn’t felt like that, not at all. Roarke had offered her vulnerability, a glimpse at something devastating in his life. And when she had offered comfort in response it had all made sense.