“Are you certain you want this?” he asked, his voice gravelly and rough from desire and the restraint he exercised.
She held his eyes. “This is the only thing I’m certain of any longer, Harris,” she whispered, and not wanting any more questions or breaks in this magic, Julia leaned up and kissed him.
It was as though the touch of her lips freed him.
She faintly registered his knee nudging her legs apart, and Julia let them fall wider.
Harris lay between them, bracing himself on his elbows so that he framed her body, and then he moved slowly. He stopped at that barrier she’d so protected through the years. Julia’s chest rose and fell fast and hard.
He touched his lips to her temple; placing a tender kiss there that brought her eyes fluttering shut. She forced her lashes open; wanting to see him; to memorize each angular plain of his face, committing it and him and this moment to her memories, forever.
Dropping his brow to hers, he held her gaze. “Forgive me,” he whispered, and then thrust.
She gasped; her body convulsing at the unexpectedness of that intrusion.
Harris instantly stilled; allowing her body time to adjust to his enormous length inside her. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, taking her lips under his once more, and she melted under that kiss, and then, he withdrew.
She tensed; fearing he’d stop, wanting this moment to go on forever.
But he only slid inside her, again.
Her sodden channel slicked the way for him, and even as the fit was tight, he glided smoothly within her.
Julia let her head fall back, and her eyes fell shut as she took all of him within her. Her heart raced, pounding hard against her rib cage in time to their matched ragged breathing.
Harris buried his head against her neck, his breathing harsh, as though the restraint he showed took a physical effort.
Julia wrapped her arms around him, and gliding her fingers up and down his back, she lifted her hips and urged him to move.
And he did.
Slowly at first, gentle in a way she’d never known sex could be, in a way that she’d never observed in the rough, quick takings she’d seen more times than she could remember over the course of her life. As he thrust and retreated, he teased her with his fingers until Julia was aware only of a pleasure so acute, it hovered on the precipice of pain.
“Please,” she begged him. “Harris.”
His face tense, his jaw clenched, he thrust deeper. Harder. Faster. Giving her exactly what she hungered for.
He gripped her hips sharply, his fingers digging into her flesh in a primitively possessive way, as though he wished to lay claim to her, and that was all she wanted and would ever want, to be possessed by him. Every thrust pulled her higher and higher to that climax she’d experienced in his arms, and she wanted to taste that explosion once more.
The pressure grew between her legs, so very sharp, and Julia bit down on her lower lip, and then she reached that glorious pinnacle. Crying out his name, she lifted into Harris’ thrusting and came. Her toes curled until the soles of her feet arched at the exquisiteness of her climax.
Harris’ hips took on a slightly jerky, erratic rhythm as he rammed himself into her deeper, and then, with a low, pained-sounding groan, he withdrew and spent himself in a shimmery arc onto the floor beside them.
He released a final raspy breath and then collapsed onto his side, drawing her beside him.
And as Julia lay there, curled against his side, folded in his embrace, she realized how wrong she’d been.
Having this one glorious moment in his arms would never, ever be enough.
Chapter 17
He was going to marry her.
He’d bedded her, and that was, of course, the right and honorable thing to do.
Nay, this went beyond mere honor. This was a visceral need to be with her. To see his world anew through her eyes, and to see the greater world through her eyes too. He just needed to collect his mother’s ring.
Whistling a jaunty tune, he headed through the entrance of his foyer and tossed his cloak to the waiting butler.
“My lord, you have a visitor.”
The somber thread in his butler’s voice managed to penetrate his joy and halted Harris in his tracks.
“Mr. Steele,” Manfred murmured. “I took the liberty of showing him to your office.”
“Steele,” he echoed. Of course. He’d hired the man on behalf of his godmother. And yet, somewhere along the way, he’d brushed aside the fact that while Harris had been with Julia, the detective had been investigating her.
Manfred cleared his throat. “Should I not have done that, my lord?” he ventured. “I can tell him you are unavailable.”
Harris started and gave his head a shake. “No. No. Of course. Not at all. I’ll… see him.”
With that, he shifted course and headed for his offices. As he went, he was unable to escape the unease.
Stop it.
There was no reason for it.
The man had been due to report back on anything he discovered—or didn’t discover—about the duchess’ lost niece. Just because Steele had come to see him didn’t mean he’d found out anything concerning about Julia.
Except, the minute Harris opened the door and found the grave-looking gentleman waiting, all those assurances he’d given to himself slipped away as that feeling of dread reared its head. The emotion slithered like a snake and spread its serpent’s poison as it went.
“Steele,” he said. Closing the door, he crossed over to his desk.
Steele immediately came to his feet. “Lord Ruthven,” the other man greeted, availing himself to the seat as Harris motioned to it. “I’ve come with a report on the person
