Those pyjamas are going to kill me. Cherry-patterned pyjama shorts that reveal her long smooth legs.
It’s been almost a month since we met, and Felicity has been in every one of my senses all that time. I can’t forget her vanilla and berries scent, the vivid feel of her warm skin, the sound of her lyrical voice that has a thousand chords inside it, all harmonious.
Something in me awoke when I saw her, a possessive creature stirred and focused, and growled, mine. And finally that creature is content.
I love seeing her in my home. My girl, safe in my house, protected. And maybe so does she, because her answer to what will make her comfortable isn’t going back to where she’s lived her whole life, or being with her family.
She’s suspicious, unused to being the centre of attention and seemingly not sure she likes it. But despite her fear and the fact it’s the middle of the night, she gulps and whispers, “That tea, a cupcake, a book, and then to go to bed?”
I grab the tea tray from Maria, giving her a nod of approval. They’re all going to get chastised for making such a big scene and Paulo might be laughing now, but he nearly made it sound like I’d plotted this whole incident to catch my girl. Which is only partially true. I was still working out the details of my seduction when the situation with Westminster happened. I’m not one to turn away opportunities.
“Come,” I say to Felicity. “All of you lot are dismissed,” I toss over my shoulder. They’ve worked hard to ensure everything is perfect for Felicity, and I’m grateful. But right now I need my girl to myself. It’s only a minute to make our way across the house, and Felicity’s mouth drops as I swing the library door open. She makes a gurgling noise.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes,” she squeaks. “I just… Wow.”
I suppose it is quite impressive.
Two floors high, the pale wood gleams. There are multiple ladders on wheels, and discreet labels separate sections on virtually every topic and genre. All the knowledge you might need, and the entertainment. My collection of murder mystery novels takes up floor to ceiling for twenty feet. But I don’t think that’s what she was thinking of when she said a book.
“I think this nook will particularly interest you.”
I lead her to an area by the window with a big plush squashy chair, a plate of cupcakes on the small table, and bookshelves surrounding at almost arm’s length.
She regards the shelves suspiciously.
“Do you think there’s something you’ll want to read?” I ask innocently. I’m not going to confess I picked up on her book downloads while I was investigating her father’s financial situation. Or building this corner of my library especially for her. To make her happy.
“Yeah. I like these authors.” She gestures at the rows of books.
It doesn’t even occur to her to ask why something is as she likes it. I know without asking it’s not because she expects it—her eyes are like saucers. No, it’s because she thinks it’s a coincidence. The concept that someone has gone to effort for her is as alien as the smutty sci-fi romances she reads. She doesn’t ask because she assumes this is for someone else.
In time she’ll understand that nothing is too much trouble. That she can ask for anything she wants and I’ll just tell her that the outrageously expensive requests will be delivered immediately but the impossible will take a little longer.
“You can read whatever you want from here. Just take it.”
She screws up her face in scepticism. “Whatever I like?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll check up on what I’m reading,” she scoffs. “Limit the number of books.”
I shrug. “How many books were you thinking of taking?”
“Book collecting and reading are separate hobbies,” she says defensively.
“You think I am not aware of that?” I raise one eyebrow and glance at my library. “I have read many of these books, but of course there are more I haven’t even opened.”
She bites her lip as she regards the thousands of volumes that surround us.
Picking a few books from the shelf, she starts reading the backs.
I’m reminded of how she chose the books at the supermarket. So serious and analytical, as though this one decision would determine her future, rather than merely a few hours of enjoyment. A moment later she sinks into the padded seat to assess the books she short-listed.
I purr inwardly at the sight. Almost exactly as I imagined her when I arranged this part of the library myself. Except that ideally I’d be behind her and she’d lean back and snuggle into me.
She catches me looking and bolts upright. “I wasn’t—”
“It’s okay.” I approach slow and cautious, as though I were touching a wild animal, I place my hand on her sternum and push her backwards. The cotton of the hoody touches my fingertips, but it’s the heat under my palm that sends blood rushing to my cock. She lets out a soft whimper and squirms, her lips parting as I press her into the seat. “Relax. Take all the time you need.”
At my command, she does, eyes still darting around, unable to settle fully. But suppressing that urge to run, so reluctantly I lift my hand.
She blinks, nods, and sorts through the books again, re-reading the cover of one with a woman in a long blue dress.
I sink into the window seat and watch her. So pretty. Her coffee-with-a-drop-of-milk-coloured hair that will be wrapped around my fist as I tug her head back one day soon. Her pink lips, perfect for sliding over the head of my cock. I’ve never wanted anyone like I do Felicity. But it’s been a lot for her tonight, without being lusted after by a man almost twice her age. I can play a longer game.
“Can I borrow this one,” she asks eventually, holding up the one with a woman in a red dress.
I nod and she almost smiles in response.
“I’ll show you to your bedroom.”
I see the moment she notices the open window behind me. A crack to vent in the air. It’s a split second of her focus, so swift that if I wasn’t as attuned to her as I am, I’d have missed it. Smart, my girl. Used to concealment, she doesn’t show that she saw the potential escape route.
“Just one thing, cara,” I say as we’re climbing the stairs. “Don’t try my patience by attempting to escape.” My voice goes hard without my volition. I won’t allow her to put herself in danger.
This isn’t the way I hoped we’d meet again. I wanted to get her out from her father’s clutches and woo her gently, as she deserves.
But I saved her, I kidnapped her, and while if she really wishes to leave, I’ll provide everything to make her life comfortable, I’d rather she stayed. It’s not unreasonable to want the chance to win her over and bring her happily to my bed and have her as my bride.
Her mouth flattens. “I’m a prisoner here. Nothing has changed.”
“You’re my guest.” Until she’s my wife, that is.
“But I can’t leave.” Fingering the cuffs of her hoody, she glares at me, eyes and voice like steel.
“It’s the middle of the night. We’ll talk about tomorrow in the morning.” That would be my preference, anyway, but I suspect my stubborn girl has other ideas. I’ll be ready. “You’re not leaving.”
