Page 96 of A Perfect Gentleman

“Abby . . .” he murmured in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just—”

“No.” His voice was laced with satisfaction. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry. Just let me take you with me now.”

He unbuttoned his trousers and shoved them down. He moved between her legs, resting on his forearms. Gazing down into her face, he entered her with aching slowness, his muscles taut with the effort of holding back his desire. Her soft groan as he filled her was his reward, as was the way she moved with him, urging him on. She felt slightly different against his body as he slid over her, and he realized that her abdomen now curved out a little, his seed growing inside her. And that was another delight, as well.

Burying his face in her neck, he struggled to rein in the hunger that raged inside him, prolonging the supreme pleasure of being in her. Her scent, her heat, her softness surrounded him, her ragged breath filled his ears. Her fingertips dug into his back. This was all he wanted. All he needed.

And now, at last, he let go, felt the rush take him, hurtling him into the deep, dark well of passion, and felt, too, the convulsion inside her. He collapsed against her, utterly spent and mind-numbingly sated, unable to move or speak or even think, aware only that he was, completely and finally, home.

Graeme’s relaxed body pressed her into the mattress. Abby didn’t mind; she loved the feel of his weight on her. She slid her hand lazily over his back, tracing the familiar contours of muscle and bone. It was in these moments that she felt that he belonged to her and she to him. It seemed forever since she had basked in the glow of his satisfaction or felt the blissful languor that flooded her now.

Finally Graeme rolled to the side. Abby hated the loss, but he slid his arm beneath her and pulled her with him, tight against his side. She settled her head into his shoulder and let her hand roam his chest. She could not keep from touching him.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, and she felt his lips press against her hair.

“You have?” Abby rose up on her elbow, staring intently into his face.

“Yes. Of course.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Why else would I come riding in at this time of night?”

“I don’t know.”

He sank his fingers into her hair, studying her face. “I was . . . surprised to find you sleeping in my bed.”

“Oh. I’m sorry; I, um . . .”

“No, no, don’t apologize. I liked it.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I just wondered why.”

“Well . . .” She cast about for a reasonable explanation. She could hardly say it was because his scent clung to the pillows or because it made him seem nearer. “Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I come in here. It’s . . . I . . .”

He stroked his fingers lightly down her arm. “Are you saying you missed me, as well?”

“Yes,” she admitted grudgingly.

“Even though you think I tried to murder you?”

“Graeme! I never did.” She sat up, glaring at him. “I told you I didn’t really think that. I just said the first thing that came into my head.” Abby turned away, pulling up her knees, looping her arms around them and laying her head atop them. “I was talking about London, that house; it was only there that I had been in danger.” She paused, then admitted, “And I wanted to insult you. I wanted to make you angry, as I was angry.” She let out a sigh. “I’m not a lady; I’m not even nice. I realize more all the time that I am becoming like my father.”

“Believe me, you are nothing like Thurston Price.” He reached out and smoothed back her hair. “It wasn’t the insult, Abby. It was knowing you didn’t trust me that hurt.”

“No.” She whipped back around, taking his hand between both hers. “I did trust you. I do. I was just so furious.”

“Is that why you pushed me away from you?”

“I didn’t push you away.” Abby frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You told me my services were no longer required. You’d achieved your goal, and I was no longer necessary.”

“I didn’t say that!” She stared at him, aghast. “Graeme, I know I did not say that. I released you from our agreement; I gave you your freedom.”

“You might have asked me if I wanted my ‘freedom.’ ”

“But—I was trying to make up for forcing you to do something you didn’t want.”

He reached out, curling his hand around her wrist, and said fiercely, “I didn’t do anything I didn’t want. Do you think you could have forced me to drag you into bed every chance I got? That I was coerced into turning hard as stone whenever I looked at you? That you compelled me to spend my days weaving lascivious fantasies about you?”

Abby stared at him, heat stirring low in her abdomen. “Graeme—”