His Wicked Embrace novel Chapter 20

Zehra couldn't help but laugh as Lawrence did his best to lay a blanket down on the soft cool grass. A light breeze kept flipping the fabric into uneven layers rather than behaving and lying flat on the ground.

"Here, let me." She grasped the other side of the blanket, and together they were able to get it down.

"Ah! There we are." Lawrence helped Zehra down beside him. Once seated, he opened the wicker basket he'd had his kitchen prepare. She took the opportunity to watch him as he pulled the food out of the basket and placed it on the blanket. He was kneeling next to her, and she admired his strong thighs, outlined by the tightness of his trousers in his current position.

Zehra was fascinated by the way his dark hair caught the sunlight on the hill. Golden amber glinted and sparkled in the strands. She'd never seen a man with such hair color. Now that the shock of what she'd been through had finally begun to fade, she was starting to pay more attention to the unusual aspects of his appearance.

"What?" Lawrence asked. His hazel eyes searched her face when he realized she was studying him. They sat mere inches apart, and an invisible energy seemed to pull between them.

"Your hair." She reached up without thinking and brushed her fingers through it.

A smile hovered about Lawrence's lips. "What about my hair?"

When she realized that she was still touching it, she dropped her hands in her lap, blushing. "I've never really seen that shade before. The color, it's striking."

"No gingers where you're from?" His rich laugh warmed her to her very core.

"Ginger?" She giggled. "You mean like the root? What does that have to do with your hair?"

"I'm a ginger. That's what we call redheads." He combed his fingers through the strands, smiling. It was the kind of soft smile that reminded her of her father and of her home. A smile that was gentle, playful, open, but only to a person lucky enough to witness it.

She began to understand her sweet, seductive rescuer more and more simply by talking with him and watching him. He was like her father in some ways, quiet, intense, but at the right moments, when they opened up, it was as though the sun would never stop shining down on them. She shook her head to banish the sudden flare of pain at the memory. Instead she focused on Lawrence and the way he made her want to smile.

"You Englishmen and your silly words."

"We have plenty of silly words, but I promise to waste none on you unless you wish me to." He winked as he handed her a plate with a mix of cold meats and fruit before he poured her a glass of lemonade.

They dined in silence, but she found she liked it. The quiet sounds of distant birds whispered in the trees.

"What bird is that?" she asked.

Lawrence cocked an ear toward the trees. "That's a lark."

Zehra listened to it again. "It is different from the larks I know."

"I suppose it would be. Your home is over two thousand miles away."

She had known how far she'd traveled, and yet hearing it now made this land seem even more wondrous and exotic. It was peaceful here and freeing. They'd walked here without horses or a carriage, and they'd chosen a spot on the hill away from other couples who were likely to picnic today. It was as if the two of them were alone in this strange world. Her eyes met his before sliding away.

"You did not love your father?"

He looked away. "Quite the opposite. I loved him very much. He died when I was a lad. It broke my mother's heart and devastated our family. He made Rochester Hall our home, and every room still carries the lingering presence of him. Sometimes it is too painful to go back."

Zehra reached out and touched his hand. "Places collect memories much the way people do. Evil or good. You should never be afraid of a home that carries love in its stones. You should embrace it."

She thought of her own home, oceans away, and how evil clung to it now. She would never go back there, no matter what. Her mother had taught her to put love in her heart above all else. It was a hard thing to do when she thought of her parents being betrayed and murdered. For a moment, she was sucked back into that darkness, where smoke and blood threatened to suffocate her.

Lawrence cleared his throat. "Picnics are supposed to be pleasant things, and here I am bungling it up, aren't I?" His rueful smile tugged at her heart as he made a grand show of delivering the bluebell he'd plucked to her.

Zehra took the flower and rolled the stem between her fingers, making it dance. She smiled and then lay back on the blankets, watching the clouds form shapes overhead. She heard a rustle of cloth and felt Lawrence settle down next to her. She looked at him as he propped his chin on one hand and stared back at her. His eyes were enigmatic, but the sensual curve of his lips made her hopeful he would finally give her a taste of the pleasures he'd teased her with.

She knew so little of him, yet she also felt close to him in a way she'd never felt with anyone. There was a quiet, intense intimacy between them that was unshakable.

"Would you be angry if I stole a kiss?" he asked.

She knew why he had asked the way he did. This was the man who had rescued her. She owed him a debt of honor, yet he did not want her affections if they were born from obligation. But what was growing between them was not part of that debt she owed, not to her. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted him to do so much more.

Zehra bit her lip before replying. "I'd be angry if you didn't."