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Paladin124

Sophia could barely hold herself upright. She stared into Erik's eyes and tried her best to ignore the surge of animalistic impulse she felt hot in her veins, which was impossible given her weak knees and short breaths. Her heartbeat drowned out all other sounds, and for a moment she wasn't sure if she heard him correctly.

Most assuredly he would not force her to kiss him, even though at the moment it would have been difficult to keep from kissing him. Dark and mysterious—those were the perfect words to describe Monsieur Belmont. Fierce and commanding, however, hadn't come to mind…until now.

"Tell me," he said, inching closer to her face. She watched his smooth lips move with each syllable and thought of how they had felt against hers.

"I want to know if you love me or if all you've said is because you no longer have…what was her name?"

His grip momentarily loosened. "Her name was Christine, and I do love you," he said in a surprisingly calm voice.

"But…why?" she asked. "You're a composer and a musician. I am…well, look at me." She lifted her arms from her sides. "I'm here to keep your house. I'm nothing like what would suit your lifestyle."

His mouth hardened. "And you know what would suit me?"

"I would assume you'd be happiest with a woman who shares your interests."

"I wasn't," he answered. He reached to touch her face, but abruptly lowered his hand. She found herself holding her breath, wishing for his denied touch. "But I was never…with her."

Her cheeks burned. "I don't need details," she snapped.

"There are no details. There was never anything, nothing real at least. Have you heard anything I've said, Sophia?"

"Yes, I've heard you, and I want to know something."

He stepped closer, threatening to steal the air from her lungs.

"Am I replacing her?" she blurted out.

He searched her face and shook his head. "I didn't think of her when you were near me, if that's what you're asking."

"What do you think about?"

His gaze flickered to her breasts and then back to her face. Long moments passed, and as she stood before him barely able to think, he cupped the back of her head in his hand and turned his face to the side.

"The possibility of love."

Sophia found herself leaning forward in anticipation, but he made no move to kiss her. She rocked forward, caught herself, and leaned back. The momentum threatened to topple her, but Erik managed to steady her.

"You will never believe me if I merely say I love you," he said. "I'm not good with words. Music has been my gift, not dissertation, but I don't have a song for you." His words came out a growl that caught her by surprise. She swallowed and continued to stare at him, frightened by his gruff nature and tantalized by the look in his eye.

"What do you have for me, then?" she asked warily.

"As I've said, I will," he paused and licked his lips. "I'm going to kiss you because I cannot imagine never kissing you again."

"I could slap you," she murmured.

He nodded, his eyes trained on her lips. "You could."

"I could shriek, and your mother would come running."

His lips were nearly against hers. If she'd wanted to free herself, all she had to do was duck from his grasp and run from the solarium, but her knees had turned to liquid and her belly did cartwheels of anticipation.

"Citrine would arrive first," he said, his breath hot against her face.

Her toes curled with the need to touch him, feeling their unmistakable electricity. "She'd probably kill you without question."

He nodded very slowly, and his lips parted. She felt the heat of his mouth against hers, the gentle prodding of his tongue against her lips. All at once she wanted to kiss him back and also demand that he give her a better explanation—though for the moment she couldn't quite remember her question.

Strong arms smashed her against his chest, and before she realized what had happened, he'd lifted her off her feet and swept her into his embrace. She gave a squeak of surprise and he lowered her to the ground, leaving her panting almost as hard as he was breathing.

"I'm in love with you," he said with a great deal of urgency. "Perhaps you are not right for me in the ways you think you should be, but I don't care. You don't have to sing or play piano or learn to read music."

"Good, because I can't do any of those things." She refused to let him go, finding herself caught up in a swell of undeniable emotion.

"All I want is for you to walk with me around the estate, talk about whatever is on your mind—which I know you will—and just…I just want you, Sophia. I don't know how else to explain it."

She laughed to herself. "When you come to your senses, you won't want any of those things."

He cupped her face in his hands. "As long as it's you, I want it."

"Erik—"

"I want you," he said, taking her hands in his. "As mine and no one else's."

Her lips parted in astonishment. "As…yours?"

"Forever."

"But—"

Before she could question him, he released her hands and kissed her again. His tongue probed her lips, tempted her to allow him in for a kiss she knew would drown her senses and inhibitions. She hated him for how good he made her feel, how he caused her blood to surge through her veins and for her head to feel deliciously light. She found herself clinging to his arms to steady herself as he weakened her knees with each succulent kiss.

Large hands grasped her first around the waist and then lowered until he cupped her bottom, which made her gasp in surprise and slap his hand away. As much as she savored his touch, he still left her confused.

"Shame on you," she said under her breath, smacking his hand away. "With your mother in the next room."

"I don't care who sees," he whispered back, gathering her in his arms with greater urgency than she could believe. It was as though he'd never touched her and now he couldn't bear to be away from her a moment longer. She relished the attention, the need he built inside of her as well—and the thrill of wanting something she didn't quite understand.

"Erik," she breathed, afraid he'd send her over the edge with one more tender kiss. If his

"I love you, Sophia," he said. "I don't know how to prove it to you or what to say in order to make you believe me. But I do I love you and I want you to stay with me. I want to take care of you and have you take care of me. Not as a servant in my home, but as my wife."

Once he said it, he smiled at her with an expression wavering between overwhelming joy and the fear of rejection.

A rush of blood and adrenaline left her weak-kneed in his arms. She stared up at him, felt the warmth of his moist breath on her face, a soft tickle of anticipation.

"Oh, Erik," she murmured, not knowing what else to say.

-o-

Angelina sat in the parlor and attempted to ignore the fragments of conversation streaming from the solarium. She folded and refolded her napkin, and told herself repeatedly that she hadn't heard Karl's name mentioned.

What would have happened to you if I hadn't returned here? What would Karl have done to you? What would he still be doing to you and to Sabine? To the little girl as well?

She closed her eyes and held her breath to keep the bone-numbing cold from settling inside of her. What had he attempted to do? She didn't need to speculate. The answer haunted her, brought back memories of a child who had faded one summer. The man who'd emerged in a sweet child's place terrified her. If he'd ever thought of hurting Sophia…or Sabine…or, God forbid, little Laure.

"A disgrace on your father," she whispered. "And I haven't the heart to blame you."

Once Erik's relationship with Sophia was repaired—and by the silence in the other room she hoped it meant they were speaking quietly to one another—she would ask him if he knew where Karl had disappeared to and when he would return.

Her only hope was that it wouldn't be any time soon.