The Lost - J. D. Robb [132]
Without a thought to the consequences, she slipped out of her nightclothes and into the aqua silk dress. For warmth she picked up one of the cashmere throws from a footstool and tossed it about her shoulders before descending the stairs.
Once in the garden she made her way along the moon-lit path and breathed in a jolt of cold, fresh air, hoping to clear her head. Instead, it only reinforced her need to hurry. Hurry.
Her footsteps were quick, her heart racing. She refused to think about what she was about to do. It may be too bold, but there was so little time. And she wanted, needed desperately, to get to Ross.
As she drew near his cottage, the two dogs rose up out of the darkness and gave a welcoming bark. Just as quickly, they dropped down and fell silent.
Aidan looked around. Though she hadn’t heard Ross’s voice, she knew that he’d been the one to give the command to Meath and Mayo.
And then she saw him. Standing in the shadows, still dressed as he’d been in the library, his hair wind-tossed, his eyes fierce.
Her voice sounded breathless. “I was afraid you’d be asleep.”
“I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been waiting for you.” He stepped closer and took her hand, drawing her to him.
“You knew I’d come?”
“I sensed it. I prayed you would.”
“And if I hadn’t?”
“I’d’ve come to you.” He smoothed a hand over her hair, all the while staring into her eyes. “I’ve been struggling to deny this since I first saw you. Fighting the need for you.”
“We don’t even know each other.”
“True. But there’s no denying what we feel.”
“We don’t have to act on it.”
He merely smiled, that dangerous smile that had her heart pounding in her temples.
“Ross, I . . .”
“Shh.” He touched a finger to her lips and drew her inside the cottage.
In one smooth gesture he turned her in his arms, pressing her firmly against the closed door.
And then his hands were in her hair, his mouth fused to hers, his kiss so hot, so hungry, he was nearly devouring her. His body was pressed so tightly to hers, she could feel him in every part of her being. His chest rising and falling with each labored breath. His frantic heart keeping time with her own. His mouth, that clever, incredible mouth, moving over hers, taking her higher than she’d ever been with a single kiss.
Her shawl fell to the floor at their feet, forgotten in their haste. When his hands moved to the zipper at the back of her dress, she gasped and stepped away.
“I can’t stay. This is madness.”
“Don’t leave me, Aidan.” His mouth burned a trail of hot, wet kisses down her throat to her collarbone.
She was staggered by the flood of sensations that shot through her.
Heat. She was so hot, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
Light. Behind her closed lids a kaleidoscope of lights battered her senses.
Need. A desperate, driving need gripped her, and she knew that she had to run. Now. This minute. Or it would be too late.
“I can’t do this. I don’t know what’s come over me, but you have to believe that I feel as if I’ve lost my way.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, struggling for breath. “I do believe you, Aidan. It’s the same for me. I’m walking a very thin line, and just now I very nearly crossed it.”
He opened the door. “Go now. And whatever you do, don’t look back.”
She ran along the path leading to the mansion. In her haste, she never even noticed that she’d left the cashmere throw behind.
Ross picked it up and buried his face in it, breathing in the fragrance of her cologne, the smell of her skin, and wanting, more than anything, to run after her.
It took all of his willpower to remain where he was.
Seven
Aidan stepped into the sunny dining room and watched as Cullen and Bridget, heads bent, quickly looked over at her and stepped apart.
“Good morning, my dear.” Cullen walked over to press a kiss to her cheek. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine.” She wondered if, up close, he could see the lack of sleep in her eyes.