The rage was enough to choke him. “She was wrong. Wrong to deny you. Wrong to make you feel anything less than perfect.”
“But I’m not perfect. Not for this. If Piers thought I was perfect at seventeen, he would have married me then. The same with nineteen, and twenty-one, and twenty-three. The last time he saw me was almost two years ago, when he was here for that brief sojourn before leaving for Vienna. We could have exchanged our vows that very week, and I could have gone with him to the Continent. But he didn’t want me there. I would have embarrassed him, perhaps.”
“You would not have embarrassed him.” Goddamn. Any man who would feel anything less than proud to have this woman at his side was a man Rafe wanted to pound into mince. Brother or no.
“My mother always said the same thing. I was a good girl. But for a marchioness, that wasn’t good enough.”
Rafe was beginning to understand why she’d been resisting him all this week. Time and again, she’d been saying she just wanted “good enough,” and time and again he’d told her to want better.
“Clio, you are . . .” Sensual, alluring, voluptuous. “Beautiful.”
Somehow he had to make her believe this. If his sordid past and plainspoken nature would ever come in useful, this was the time.
“Believe me,” he said. “There are a great many men who prefer women with something to them.”
“Are you saying Piers is one of those men?”
“There’s a solid chance of it. I’m his brother, and I’m one of those men.”
God, the feel of her under him in the dining room yesterday. He could still sense her lushness embossed on his body. Every curve.
“Then that means there’s no chance at all,” she said. “You and Piers are nothing alike.”
“You’re right,” he said. “My brother and I are different in many ways. In almost every way. He’s a diplomat. I’m a fighter. He’s driven by duty. I’m a rebel. He spent eight years neglecting to tell you just how goddamn attractive you are.” He walked to the door, shut it, and turned the key. “I’m not going to wait another minute.”
At the click of the lock, a shiver raced down Clio’s spine. She crossed her arms over the bodice of her unbuttoned gown and hugged herself tight.
“I’m not going to touch you,” Rafe said. “I’m just going to talk.”
She shivered again. Did he mean that as some sort of comfort? His voice was the most dangerous thing about him.
“Unlike my brother, I don’t have any difficulty saying what needs to be said. No matter how rude or impolitic.” He paced back and forth in front of the door. “Listen to me. You . . . you didn’t have brothers. You don’t know the adolescent male mind. We can’t get enough of female bodies. Breasts, hips, legs. Hell, even a glimpse of ankle will get our blood pumping. We spy on the maids when they’re bathing, we trade lewd sketches . . .”
“Why are we speaking of this?”
“Because every man has one woman who was his first proper fantasy. The first he thought about, day and night. The first he woke from dreams of, hard and aching.” He met her gaze. “You were that woman for me.”
“I . . .” Clio was breathless. “I was?”
“You were.” He stepped toward her. “Hell, you still are. I’ve wanted you since I was a randy youth. This body made me wild. Every lush, round, maddeningly erotic curve. There are a thousand carnal things I’ve dreamed about doing to, with, on, or inside you.”
Clio didn’t know how to reply to that. So, naturally, she came out with the most pedantic, silly reply possible. “A thousand? That’s a rather incredible number.”
“An exaggeration, perhaps. But not by much. Do you want to hear a list?
She nodded. If it saved her from speaking, she would love nothing more.
“Let’s see.” His gaze roamed her body. “I can start with your breasts. They take up the first fifty places on the list alone. One, fondling. Two, nuzzling. Then kissing, licking, sucking in that order. Five, biting gently. Six, biting harder. Seven, pressing your breasts together, holding them tight around my thrusting cock.”
She blinked at him. “Really?”
“You said it yourself. Men are disgusting.”
“I suppose I wouldn’t call that disgusting. Just . . . surprising.”
In fact the mere picture of it—if she could trust her imagination to picture it properly—was drawing her nipples to tight points and making her warm between her thighs.
“And I’m not even to ten yet,” he said. “I’m just getting started. There are things on that list even I can’t say aloud.”
He took a step back and began to circle her in slow paces.
“Bloody hell. There’ve been times I didn’t know how to look at you. Because you were such a good girl, and in my mind, I’d made you do such wicked, wicked things. I have wanted you ever since I can remember wanting.”
“Even with all the women you’ve had.”
“Even with all the women I’ve had.”
She clutched the loosened gown tight to her chest. She couldn’t believe any of this.
“But you said it was because of Piers. You wanted me because you were envious of him, and it wasn’t really anything to do with me.”
“Oh, yes.” He returned to stand before her. “That’s what I told myself. I told myself a lot of things. I told myself that it just so happened you were my sort.” He swept a hungry look down her body. “I was only attracted to you because I’m always attracted to fair-haired, blue-eyed, lushly curved women. That would make sense, wouldn’t it?