“Well, screaming seems so typical, and I do hate to waste a good scream.”
“Don’t we all?” Ash licked his lips, focusing his attention on the dimple by her right cheek. “Good screams are hard to come by.”
“Very,” Sofia agreed. “And I’d much rather scream from excitement than fear. Wouldn’t you?”
“Excitement.” Ash nodded. “Pleasure.” Damn and hell, he’d said that out loud, hadn’t he?
Sofia blushed.
Yes. Yes, he had.
“I wouldn’t know.” Sofia boldly met his gaze. “But I’d be interested to find out.”
“No. No, you wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“No.”
“So argumentative.”
“Not happening.” Ash scooted his chair back, causing the entire focus of the dinner conversation to turn toward him. Heads tilted, forks dropped, eyes focused in on him and Sofia. He wasn’t sure whether he should storm out or simply lift his glass in cheers.
“We’ve agreed on a few terms…” Sofia said, rescuing him. “I believe tomorrow night will go quite splendidly.”
“Perfect.” Dominique’s shoulders relaxed. “I mean, no offense, Sofia. I need to keep you safe at all costs. You must stay safe, and you must marry soon. I fear your stepmother will either send someone after you or come herself. It is necessary that you have the protection of a husband and a family behind you.”
“I know.” Sofia’s voice was soft, beaten.
“Only a titled gentleman will do,” Dominique said, almost to himself. He reached for his wife’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sure we’ll find a wonderful match for you.”
Sofia nodded, her back straight, her posture rigid.
And in that moment Ash missed the conversation, the banter, no matter how forbidden. He knew it was important she marry and marry well. He knew better than most what greed could do to a person, how it could blind even the most solid of characters. And her stepmother seemed to be on the opposite end of the spectrum, meaning she would stop at nothing to gain control of Sofia or kill her in order to obtain it.
Marriage was her only way out.
Which was a pity.
Considering an arranged marriage would not end up with her screams of pleasure in bed or wicked evenings with a lover.
But cold… lonely nights.
And if she just so happened to find a man willing to give her the first? Well, he’d simply kill him.
And find an elderly duke with a lazy eye and be done with the whole thing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lusting is one thing. Following through with that lust? Quite another. So perhaps I was staring too long… perhaps I was imagining too many things, but as long as I did not act, I was safe. As long as I did not give in, I would honor my vow to stay celibate for as long as I remained on this earth. —The Grimm Reaper
IT WAS DARK, MOST likely nearing midnight, and Sofia still couldn’t fall asleep. It seemed the world was working against her, for the very evening she needed sleep the most — the evening before she was to be launched onto the London ton — and she was sleepless.
Whose idea had it been to put both beds against the same wall?
At first, she hadn’t given it a second thought.
But the wall was thinner, much thinner than she had originally imagined. In the silence of the night, she heard Ash stomping around his room, since the man clearly didn’t know how to walk softly. It served as a reminder that he was an angry sort, bitter, scarred.
After the stomping came the snores.
And after the snores… the groaning, whimpering, as if someone were torturing him in his sleep.
Sofia pressed the pillow against her ears, but it was useless. She would never find sleep if the man continued to have nightmares all evening.
With a huff, she crawled out of bed, lit a candle, and opened the adjoining door. It gave a soft creak as it swung open. She lifted the candle toward the bed to shine light upon Ash.
Shirtless.
With a sheen of sweat running from his face all the way down his neck, the drops meting his shoulders and sliding further beneath the covers.
His olive skin was beautiful, almost on fire in the moonlight.
He moaned again. His head tossed back and forth as he reached his fingers up high, grasping at nothing but air. “Come back.”
“Ash,” Sofia whispered.
“She thought I was you…” he whimpered.
“Ash,” Sofia sat on the bed, careful to stay away from his grasping hands as they continued to furiously tug at the air as if it would wake him from the nightmare or possibly save his soul. “Ash, wake up.”
With a sob he jolted awake. His hands fell to his sides, and then he grabbed Sofia by her cotton night rail.
The candle fell from her hand and clamored to the floor, blanketing them both in darkness. Not a sound was made — nothing but Ash’s heavy breathing. The acrid fragrance of pine mingled with the musky scent of sweat.
“I could have shot you.” His voice was hoarse.
“You’re welcome.” She breathed. His hands were warm, still pressed against her body, tugging at the cloth nearest her breasts.
“For damn-near scaring me to death?” He seethed, tugging her closer.
So close she could feel the heat of his mouth tickling her neck.
“No,” she whispered. “For interrupting the nightmare.”
“I wasn’t—” He swore. “Thank you. Now leave.”
“No.”
“Damn, but you’d try the patience of a saint.”
“Probably shouldn’t use your name and saint in the same reference, all things considered.”
“Someone’s mouthy at night. Then again, that mouth seems to have a problem closing when it’s needed most.”
“Are we discussing my mouth… again?” In bed, but she left that part out. Already her entire body was sizzling with awareness.
“I believe we were discussing your inability to close it.”
“I’m sure my inability to close my mouth goes right along with your determination to touch me at every turn.”
He released her.
Chilling disappointment quickly replaced the sizzle of heat.
“You should sleep.” It was impossible to see his face, but the mattress had dipped, most likely from Ash trying to move away.
“I was worried.” Sofia sighed. “You were talking in your sleep, groaning. That, mixed with my anxiety over the ball tomorrow, well… not the best remedy for sleeplessness, I’m afraid.”