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Because what if he put his ring on some woman’s finger, and the next day he saw her? It would be enough to break his heart. No, it would be more than that. It would be enough to shatter his soul.
It was only when Benedict noticed that his jaw was clamped together like a vise that he realized he was absolutely furious. At whom, he wasn’t precisely certain. But he did not like seeing Sophie so hungry.
he watched her face, her cheeks turning delightfully pink, her eyes cast down to her lap, the strangest thing happened. He realized he wanted her. He really, really wanted her.
The sight of her hand reaching toward his groin—even if she was aiming for a plate of biscuits—did funny things to him, to his groin, to be precise. Benedict had a sudden vision of things … shifting down there, and he hastily grabbed the plate, lest it become unbalanced.
“I think I have to kiss you,” he said, looking as if he couldn’t quite believe his own words. “It’s rather like breathing. One doesn’t have much choice in the matter.”
But when Benedict kissed her, she felt real. And when he kissed her, he did so with his entire body. His lips, which had begun the intimacy with such gentle reverence, were now fierce and demanding on hers. His hands, so large and strong they seemed to cover half her back, held her to him with a strength that left her breathless. And his body—dear God, it ought to be illegal the way it was pressed against hers, the heat of it seeping through her clothing, searing her very soul.
“Be mine,” he said, his voice thick and urgent. “Be mine right now. Be mine forever. I’ll give you anything you want. All I want in return is you.”
“I need you.” He pressed his hips hotly against hers. “Do you feel how I need you?” “I need you, too,” she whispered. And she did. There was a fire burning within her that had been simmering quietly for years. The sight of him had ignited it anew, and his touch was like kerosene, sending her into a conflagration.
