Chapter 8: One Bed

The blue room had a bed big enough for four people and a door that would not lock.

Nathaniel stood with his back to it and his hands in his pockets.

"I'll take the chair," he said.

"It's a very small chair."

"I've slept in worse."

I put my bag on the dresser and turned around.

My heart was going so hard I could feel it in my teeth.

"The terms say you touch me when someone's watching," I said.

"Yes."

"The door doesn't lock. Margaret's maid could walk in at any time. Anyone could be watching."

His eyes went dark.

"Claire."

"So that makes this an audience," I said. "I'd hate to break the terms."

For a second he did not move.

Then he crossed the room in three strides, and his hands were in my hair.

He kissed me harder than he had in the corridor.

I opened my mouth under his, and his tongue slid against mine, slow and deep, and I made a sound that I did not recognize.

My fingers found the buttons of his shirt.

I tore the first one off.

He laughed against my mouth, a rough, breathless laugh, and he lifted me off my feet and set me on the edge of the bed.

"You've been wearing that dress all day," he muttered, dragging my sweater over my head.

"It's a sweater."

"It's been in my way since the church."

His shirt hit the floor.

He was lean and solid, with a long pale scar low on his ribs and a line of dark hair that ran down under his belt.

I put my palms flat against his chest, and I felt his heart hammering.

He unhooked my bra with one hand, and his mouth came down on my nipple.

I arched into him and clutched his hair.

"Nathaniel."

He sucked, and his teeth grazed, and he moved to the other breast while his hand pushed my skirt up my thighs.

His fingers found the wet cotton between my legs.

"You're soaked," he said, low in his throat.

"You've been doing this to me for three days."

"Four." He pulled my underwear down and off, and he knelt on the carpet between my knees. "I counted."

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