Shit.
He’d known the sensual bliss wouldn’t last. He’d just hoped it could have lasted a bit longer than it did.
Dredging up what strength he could, he lifted himself from her soft, warm body and rolled to his back, bending a knee and propping his foot on the floor. He should probably be shamed by the obvious evidence of how badly his body still craved hers. His cock was harder than it had ever been and throbbed against the material of his breeches. To keep from running a hand along his painful erection, he stacked his hands beneath his head and readied himself for whatever was to come next.
As soon as she was released from his weight, the woman beside him sat up and began tugging her shirt into place. Her back was proud and straight, and the thick braid hanging down her back was tangled and loosened.
His fingers twitched for a piece of charcoal. He’d love to sketch her in exactly that pose, but fully nude.
He wanted to capture the lovely curve of her spine, the slope of her shoulders, the gentle curve of waist and hip. And the messy fall of her dark plaited hair contrasting against her pale skin, the gathered end teasing the curve of her buttocks as she turned her head to the side to cast him a covert glance over her shoulder.
Except she wasn’t glancing at him. She was looking around for her waistcoat and happened to catch him staring at her. Though her gaze darkened and her brows pulled down, Mason didn’t bother concealing his pleased smile. He might not have achieved release but he had brought her to her pleasure.
“You’re looking rather smug,” she noted sharply.
“For good reason, luv.”
She seemed to intentionally avoid looking toward his groin and continued scanning for her waistcoat, which happened to be past Mason’s sprawled form.
His grin grew wider.
As though sensing his silent challenge, a spark flared in her eyes. Rolling to her side and bracing on one elbow, she reached across his body to snatch up the garment. Desire rushed through him at the pleasure of her warm breasts pressing to his ribs.
Her skin smelled of sweat from her earlier exertions mixing with the lovely musky scent of her pleasure.
The sound that vibrated from his throat brought her gaze flying back to his where he had no doubt his lust was fully reflected.
Panic flashed briefly in her eyes.
He hated the sight of it.
Twisting his lips into a careless smirk, he noted dryly, “Now that you’ve taken your pleasure, you’re in a damned hurry to leave.”
Defiance flared again in her gaze as she pushed herself up. Defiance and regret. He hated the regret even more than he hated her moment of panic.
Her brows lowered. “Frederick and I always meet for the midday meal. I don’t wish to leave him waiting.”
“Of course,” he replied curtly. He didn’t understand why he was suddenly feeling so ill at ease.
She calmly met his gaze despite the glimmer of turmoil still evident in her eyes. “I expect you to continue training me.”
Mason lifted a brow. “You do?”
“What just happened”—she paused as she appeared to fight the urge to look away—“changes nothing.”
Something hot burned through his chest at her words. It wasn’t quite anger, but it was something just as dangerous. Giving up his façade of careless amusement, he grasped her hips in his hands and brought her over the top of him until his hard length pressed to her belly. She gasped then quickly shoved against his shoulders to try to leverage away from him. But all that succeeded in doing was getting her into a position that straddled his hips, her waistcoat still clutched in one fist.
In a subtle, purposeful demonstration, he moved her over him so she could feel every bit of him against her core.
Her eyelashes fluttered and her jaw tightened, yet she held his gaze with a haughty scowl of disapproval. Desire mixed in with her stubborn annoyance.
“This changes everything,” he growled. “I will train you because it’s a good idea.” He slid his hands lower to press his fingers into the soft flesh of her buttocks. “But you and I are going to finish what we started on this floor. If nothing else, trust in that, duchess,” he added ominously.
She held still for another moment as she stared intently into his face, seeking and assessing. In that moment, when he most wanted to see her thoughts, she finally managed to shield them from him. He waited for a quick retort or a simple flat denial. But she said nothing at all.
When she shifted her weight and began to stand, he did not prevent her from doing so.
Mason lifted himself up on his elbows to watch her cross the room. The fierce pride in her movements as she slipped on the waistcoat held him enthralled. What the hell was it about this woman that fascinated him so damned much?
Grasping the handle of the unlocked door, she paused before opening it. Tossing her braid over her shoulder, she looked back at him. The way her attention swept over his sprawled form to finally rest on his still-aching erection had his breath stalling in his chest.
But then, without a word, she turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Mason dropped back to lie flat on the floor and stare at the mural of robed saints and frolicking cherubs painted on the ceiling above him. It was a long time before he managed to haul himself to his feet and make his way up to his room.
Chapter Twenty-three
Once back in her bedroom, Katherine called for a bath before quickly removing her clothes and dressing in a robe. She had barely forty minutes before lunch with Frederick, and the scent of Hale’s sweat on her skin still mingled with hers. It was a heady, potent combination that made her belly twist and her knees weaken.
With a firm shake
