She slipped away to avoid this very moment, this confrontation, this longing for something that terrified parts of her she hadn't realized she possessed. Yet here he is—just there, right behind her, so close her spine shivers in anticipation of his touch.
But he doesn't make contact. He stays just there, just behind her, his breath just caressing the crest of her shoulder, his presence making her want to risk too much.
"Are you avoiding me, Mary?"
She dips her head, shaking it in denial, turning towards him where her eyes confess the truth.
"Don't be silly, Matthew," she tries, unconvinced by her own tone, seeing the doubt splashed across his face. "Why would I be avoiding you?"
He steps nearer until toes nearly touch, until mouths hover just there, until she smells him, tingling from this essence radiating between them palpably.
"Because you don't have an answer for me, and you're afraid I'll press you for one."
A sigh escapes before she can call it back, and she gazes into eyes that mine parts sealed off for her own survival.
"I'm right, aren't I?" he questions, and she sees his fingers flex, instinctively knowing he wants to touch her, to feel her skin, to kiss her until she can neither breathe nor reason. She wants him to do just that, so badly it's frightening.
So badly it hurts.
"If only it were that simple," she mutters, casting her eyes to her feet, searching for clarity she cannot muster when staring at him directly. He is too close, much too close to volatile answers she dreads giving voice.
"Why can't it be?"
His question hovers in mid-air, tugging on strings pulling her in two different directions. If only she could sever her emotions from her past. If only she could erase one night from existence.
"Why can't you simply tell me how you feel, if you love me enough…"
He pauses mid-sentence, swallowing back hopes she knows he has entrusted to her keeping, feeling horribly inadequate for such a delicate task.
"If you love me enough to be my wife.
His eyes draw her in, the depths of blue sweeping her under, making her ache. Her fingers move of their own accord, stroking his cheek, sensing a trembling heat he feels just for her. Then his hand settles on her lower back, moving her towards him, unleashing a terrifying need.
She wants a future with him. She wants him. She wants…God, she wants.
So does he.
Lips come together softly, sampling textures, drawing tingles to the surface that bind them even closer. Arms encircle, fingers clasp, and she feels the stroke of his tongue, prompting her mouth to open, to pull him in, to taste him fully. This kiss is different—raw and ragged, heated and full. He is earthy and sweet, hinting of brandy laced with need. Soft strokes in her mouth rock knees, clog reason, tune every sense she has to him. Him—Matthew, and only Matthew.
It is just too much.
They moan into each other as bodies press together, and her breasts harden in an ache she recognizes and relishes. He angles his mouth for more of her, arms roaming the slope of her back, stopping just short of trailing too low, making her wish that they would. Hers slide up his chest, burying in his hair, tugging hungry lips lower until they blaze a path down her neck. He marks, she claims, asking permission without breathing a word, granting access though sighs and touch.
His kisses move lower, sampling her clavicle, tasting her pulse, making her arch against him as she molds his jacket in her fist. Something between a hum and a growl resonates into her ribs, knocking the air from her lungs, prompting her to forget who she is and where they are.
"God, Mary."
His words float over her, forcing her eyes open, bringing her back to a reality she would like to forget.
"Matthew," she voices raggedly, understanding where this could lead if left unchecked. Understanding what it would mean for her—for them.
Oh, God.
Her hands freeze, her body numbs as the truth hits hard. Another has touched what is private, has seen more than he should have, has claimed what she can never regain.
She pushes away from him, regret and fear making her tremble.
"I'm sorry," he manages. "I shouldn't have taken advantage like that."
He cannot look her in the eye. If he only knew…
If only…
"Matthew," she begins, taking his hands, forcing his gaze back to hers. "Don't apologize. We both got carried away, not just you."
"Perhaps," he replies. "But it is my responsibility to protect your honor, Mary. If you only knew…"
He stops abruptly, biting his lower lip.
"If I only knew?" she echoes
Eyes nearly black bore under her skin.
"What I was thinking," he admits quietly, his voice trembling. "What I wanted." Heat floods his features, and he clears his throat roughly. "What I want."
Her pulse throbs all over.
"How do you know I don't want the same thing?" she whispers, drawing his gaze with the force of a physical touch. "Men aren't the only ones who feel desire, Matthew."
So much lays on her tongue, the contents burning her mouth, her stomach turning over rapidly. If only he knew…
"But we aren't the ones who bear the consequences when things go too far," he states with a shake of his head. "It's my job to guard your honor, Mary, until…"
He stops again, taking her hand, bringing it to his lips.
"Until we are allowed to do this properly. I won't compromise you before we are married. I won't allow that to happen."
Her insides sink to her knees. He will not understand. He will think her wanton or weak. She is a fool to hope for anything else.
She was a fool that fateful night.
"Yes. Properly," she whispers as hope crashes to the ground.
He stares in confusion as she moves away in silence, her shoulders slumped and closed.
"Mary," he calls out. "Did I say something wrong?"
She spies the unattainable, the life she could have claimed, the life she now wants but threw away lying under a man whose touch labeled her as damaged.
"No," she smiles sadly, crossing her arms over her chest before leaving him speechless and alone.
If only he knew…
If only.