Page 91 of Gone with the Rake

Her smile was venomous. If he had ever thought Rosemary Thornton to be beautiful, that illusion had evaporated the moment she had spoken.

Her soul was full of poison. And it was the only thing he could see when he looked at her.

“Is he alive?” Thorn gritted out.

“Barely.” Her voice lacked any emotion.

Thorn nodded and turned away, ready to return to Lydia.

But Rosemary caught his arm.

He glanced over his shoulder and raised a brow.

“Did you marry her already?” Her voice was slightly hoarse, her nostrils flaring.

Thorn pried her fingers off his arm, his grip firm but unhurried.

“You’ll have to wait for him to die to find out, won’t you?”

Chapter 24

Lydia woke up with a start. She jolted, and her forehead hit something hard. “Ow!”

“Mmm,” someone groaned beside her, strong arms tightening around her waist.

Not someone. Art.

She looked up at his sleepy, slightly annoyed face—and smiled.

He squeezed her waist, pulling her closer. Instinctively, her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, her legs spreading to straddle his thighs. Thorn rolled onto his back, settling Lydia on top of him.

She felt him—his hard, hot length pressing against her belly.

She wiggled. He groaned.

“Love, you’re killing me,” he rasped, his voice thick with sleep, and Lydia couldn’t help but laugh again.

This was what she had dreamed of all those years—waking up in his bed, seeing him groggy and sleepy, teasing him until he was fully awake.

She was in his bed. She could scarcely believe it.

What was more surprising, however, was how comfortable she felt in it. Last night, she had been so overwrought. This place, this blasted place, held so many dark memories. It was the source of her nightmares. But it also held a flicker of her dreams. And right now, her most cherished dream was lying beside her.

Perhaps it wasn’t the bed that made her comfortable, but the person within it.

He had made her feel so safe last night, reading to her until she had fallen asleep in his arms. And waking up, still cradled in the circle of his arms, was another kind of pleasure.

She leaned in, pressing a kiss to the hollow at the base of his neck. He swallowed hard.

“Must you tease me?”

She smiled slyly. “I must.”

He eyed the bedside table. “Bring me some water,” he said, his voice rough.

As Lydia rolled off him, he groaned again and turned toward her as if his eyes refused to look at anything but her.

“This room,” she said thoughtfully as she looked around, “it’s different from what I remember.” She took a few sips before handing him the glass.