Chapter 9: The Terms

We got to the cottage at midnight with lemon cake on my veil and my shoes in my hand.

Theo shut the door behind us and leaned against it.

"Mrs. Bancroft," he said.

"Say it again."

"Mrs. Bancroft."

I dropped my shoes on the floor and walked across the room to him.

"I've been a Pruitt for twenty-eight years," I said. "I'm so tired of it."

"Then take it off."

I turned around and lifted my hair.

His fingers found the first button at the nape of my neck, and he undid it slowly.

There were thirty-one of them down my back.

He did every one, kissing the skin he uncovered.

By the twentieth my knees were weak.

By the thirtieth I was begging.

"Theo, please."

"I've been waiting five years," he said against my spine. "I can take another minute."

"You can't."

He laughed, low and wicked.

He pushed the dress down off my shoulders until it fell around my feet.

I stood in nothing but a strapless slip and the pearl comb.

He turned me around and looked at me.

His eyes went dark.

"God, Dee."

"Take your clothes off. Right now."

He pulled the sweater over his head and dropped it.

I went for his belt, and he caught my wrists, and I looked up at him.

"Monday I sit in my grandfather's chair," I said, "at the head of my father's table."

"I know."

"You said you'd never sleep in my family's house. That was your rule."

"It was."

"Monday night, I'm going to hold you to it. I'm going to make you break it."

His breath caught.

His grip on my wrists tightened, then let go.

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