If this is the adrenalin rush he gets from pulling off a heist, I can understand it now.
“We did it!” I whoop, when we’re safely inside, and nobody can see my grin. “Oh my God, I can’t believe we actually did it.”
St. Clair crosses to the liquor cabinet and pours himself a whiskey. He gulps it down in one swallow, then slams the glass on the table.
My elation tremors. He looks furious, and I realize just how badly I screwed up. I risked everything, put both our lives on the line with my clumsy, amateur mistake.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I know I messed up, and you probably hate me right now, but we made it out okay, and that’s the most important thing. You were right, I never should have come—”
“But you did.” He shoots me a look that stops me cold. “And whose fault was that?”
My heart plummets even more. “I know, I talked you into it. It was a mistake.” He turns away and I edge closer. “Look at me. Please?”
St. Clair turns, and I can see the fury on his face.
I shrink back. “I should go,” I murmur miserably. “I’ll go back to England, or America, whatever you want. I’m sorry.”
“Will you stop saying that?” St. Clair explodes. “You have nothing to be sorry about. This whole debacle is my fault!”
I pause, not understanding. “Charles—”
“I can’t believe I put you in danger like that.” St. Clair paces, his face stormy. “I knew it was too dangerous, but I was arrogant, I thought it would be a breeze. And then, when I saw you there behind those bars…fuck, Grace, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t take better care of you. I put our whole future on the line, and for what?”
So this is what it’s about? He’s angry at himself. He blames himself for what happened.
My heart swells. “Don’t.” I tell him, placing a quieting hand on his arm.
“I’m not a child or a fifties housewife, Charles. I don’t need your permission to take action, and I knew what I was getting into, I knew the risks involved. I chose to come along. I am responsible for me.”
“No, but—”
“Listen,” I insist. “This was my idea from the start. You can’t wrap me in tissue paper and keep me safe from the world. I have to be willing to face the consequences of my actions, and I am.”
St. Clair doesn’t look convinced. “I won’t do that again,” he warns me. “I know you want to be a part of this life, but I meant it, I’m quitting it all, and I’ll never steal another thing if that’s what it takes to keep you out of danger.”
I slip my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. “I think I’m done with the heist lifestyle,” I admit. “My nerves aren’t up to it.”
He laughs, a low rumble against my ear. “You could have fooled me. You seemed so calm.”
“It was all an act. I was freaking out inside.”
St. Clair tilts my face up to him. “I’m so, so sorry,” he says again, fervently.
“It’s okay. You came back for me.” I smile. “You could have left me and saved your own skin, but you didn’t.”
“Never,” St. Clair vows. He kisses my palm, sending a little batch of shivers down my spine. “I love that you can still surprise me with your strength, Grace. You were incredibly brave tonight.”
I look down, sheepish.
“You are unlike any woman I’ve ever known.” He kisses my forehead.
I can’t help but light up at his words, but there’s still something I need to know. “Why did you come back for me? You could have gotten away.”
He lifts my chin up to meet his eyes, those always shifting shades of blue like a painting of an ocean. Right now it’s a sea of love, and I am going to dive in. “I will never leave you, Grace. Not for a painting or anything else. I will always return to you, always. You are what matters most.”
My heart swells at his words. “I believe you.”
He kisses me, his mouth fierce and hungry against mine. I sway into him, adrenaline rushing through me, my need for him growing stronger and more desperate with every insistent stroke of our tongues.
St. Clair pushes me back against the wall, his hands roaming, already tearing my clothes away. I grab at his shirt, pulling it open to reveal his sculpted chest. Buttons go flying, fabric rips, but I don’t care. All that matters is our skin, together, the feel of his hard body naked against mine. He grips my thighs and lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist. I can feel his cock, ready and pressing against me, and I moan in sweet anticipation.
St. Clair carries me over and lays me out on the dining table.
“What a feast you’ll be,” he murmurs, peeling off my panties and tossing them aside so I’m spread out, totally naked in front of him.
My stomach twists, I shiver with lust.
“Don’t move,” he growls, placing my hands up above my head, and nudging my legs apart. “Just hold on.”
I curl my hands over the edge of the table, bracing myself, but St. Clair takes his time. He circles the table slowly, like an animal, his eyes devouring me.
God, he’s sexy.
I wriggle, impatient. I can feel his gaze like fire on my skin, and with every passing second my heart pounds faster, my body aching for his touch. I’m naked, completely exposed, but in this moment I feel powerful.
He needs me.
I arch my back, jutting my breasts higher, and hear an appreciative groan.
“You belong in a gallery,” he breathes, trailing one hand over my breasts. Pleasure ripples through me, but it’s not enough. “A masterpiece, for the whole world to worship.”
“You mean, like this?” I lift my head and give him a teasing smile.
He chuckles. “No, this view is just for me.”
He grips my ankles, and suddenly pulls me down the table toward him. My breath comes out in a rapid pant. He lowers to his knees, cups my ass, and buries his face between my thighs.
“Oh, God,” I moan as his tongue finds me, caresses me, teasing my clit and flicking into the hot aching heart of me. I lay back, totally at the mercy of his devouring mouth. He reaches for my tender breasts, stroking me, squeezing me. He traps my nipples between his fingers and pinches lightly, then harder, the pain making the pleasure between my thighs even more intense.
“Charles,” I whisper in between my shallow breaths, coming undone.
He licks deeper, harder, and fuck, I can feel my orgasm rising. But before the waves can crest, he lifts his head. I almost sob in frustration, but he just smiles.
“Darling, we’re just getting started.”
He lifts me from the table, and crosses to the bedroom in a few short strides. He places me face down on the bed, landing a swift spank on my ass. I gasp at the brief pain as a shiver of desire runs through me.
“Tell me, my sweet Grace…how do you want it?” St. Clair is behind me, his voice a seductive growl in my ear. I can still feel his hands on me, soothing, caressing.
“I just want you,” I try to twist around to see him, but he pulls my legs down to touch the floor so I’m bent over the bed now, my ass in the air. He spanks me again, sharp and sweet.
“Do you want me here?” he murmurs, sliding a hand around to lightly stroke my clit.
I moan.
“Or how about here…” His fingers dip deeper, skimming just inside my slick entrance.
“Yes. Please,” I beg.
“Ask nicely,” he orders me.
“Please, Charles,” I thrust back against him, wanting his fingers deeper. “Fuck me.”
He curls them higher, and it’s good, so good, but not as good as his cock.
I squirm, impatient. “Charles.”
“My sweet, dirty girl,” he chuckles. “You want me, don’t you? You need my cock, driving deep, giving you everything you need and more.”
“Yes.” Yes, a thousand times yes.