Sylvia Day - Passion for Him

Colin digested the information carefully. With him, Amelia was a creature of passion. She always had been. But they had been separated at the same time she’d learned of her father’s treacherous nature. Certainly the revelation of Welton’s true evil would have changed her, altered her in some way. In his heart he was attempting to woo the girl of old, but she was not that same girl any longer. He had to take that into consideration.

“Ware is the reasonable choice,” Colin said, but he no longer thought the earl was the best choice. Amelia’s vitality came from the passionate fire within her. It needed to be celebrated, as it would be with Colin. Not extinguished by the decorum Society would demand from Ware’s wife.

“Yes,” St. John agreed. “He is.”

The pirate made his egress as silently as he’d arrived, leaving Colin with a great deal to consider.

Amelia sat stiffly during dinner, highly conscious of the fact that Colin took his meal in his room. The discussion she’d had with him in the stables prodded at her and gave her no rest. She was poor company, speaking little and casting a dark cloud over everyone’s already somber mood. Despite her best efforts, she could not forget the sight of Colin working in the stable, a station he might still occupy if he had stayed in her employ. It was a shocking revelation to her, and she did not know what to think of it.

She retired early and hoped exhaustion would claim her, but fate was not so merciful. Unable to sleep, Amelia spent long hours tossing about in her bed. She finally abandoned the effort and left the confines of her disheveled linens. Donning her robe over her night rail, she slipped downstairs to the library.

The hour was late, all parties abed, leaving her the massive manse to herself. There were many times she roamed the St. John house at night, finding comfort in the silence and feeling of aloneness so reminiscent of her youth. Her imagination wandered, creating stories and tales in her mind, her memories picking up various passages from favorite books until she found herself at the library.

The door was slightly ajar, the flickering light of a blazing fire betraying the presence of someone inside. A shiver of awareness coursed over her skin in a wave of gooseflesh, urging her to forsake thoughts of reading and return to the safety of her bed. She debated a moment, internally examining why she would proceed when she valued stability so highly.

Ever since Colin had returned to her life, she had been acting with reckless disregard for anything but her own wants and needs. The correlation to her pater could not be ignored, and her jaw clenched with determination. It was most likely Ware in the library, and his presence would ground her and mitigate the riot of emotions she did not know how to deal with.

She pushed open the door.

Entering on silent feet, she noted the shirtsleeve-clad arm hanging over the side of a wing chair and the large hand holding a crystal goblet at a careless angle. From the darkened color of the skin, she knew she had incorrectly guessed the occupant’s identity, but she did not retreat. Something about the way the glass was held alarmed her. The amber liquid inside was tilted perilously close to the rim, threatening to spill onto the English rug.

The room was warm and comfortable, the walls lined floor-to-ceiling with bookcases displaying a mixture of worn volumes and priceless artifacts. Overstuffed furniture was scattered around the space, as were many side tables. It was a library that was actually used, rather than serving as merely an ostentatious display of wealth. Despite the inevitable upcoming confrontation with the man in the chair, she was soothed by the smells of parchment and leather, and took comfort in the silence inherent in a place of learning and discovery.

Amelia rounded the wingback and found Colin sprawled within its cradle, his long legs stretched out to rest his booted feet atop a footstool, his torso sans a coat and waistcoat, his throat bared by a missing cravat. He looked at her with heavy-lidded, emotionless eyes and lifted the goblet to sculpted lips. There was a scratch near his brow and a trail of dried blood below it.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly. “How were you hurt?”

“Stay away,” he said in low, rough tone. “I am in a dark place, Amelia, and I have consumed more liquor than is wise. I cannot say what I will do if you come too close.”

Draped on the carved wooden arm of a nearby chair were his waistcoat, coat, and weapons-a small sword and dagger.

“Where did you go?”

“I have yet to leave.” He turned his head to look into the fire.

She heard the sadness and despair beneath the words, and her heart hurt for him. For her. “I am glad you did not go out.”

“Are you?” Colin’s head turned. In the light of the flickering fire, his beautiful face was hard, his dark eyes cold. “I am not.”

“What could you have done in this condition?”

“There is no reason for me to evade Cartland. I should turn myself over to him and spare everyone the jeopardy my presence creates.”

“Your life is the reason!” she protested. “If you concede, you will die.”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Without any hope of having you, perhaps such a fate would be merciful.”

“Colin! How can you say such a thing?” She covered her mouth and fought the tears that welled.

He cursed softly. “Go away. I am not fit company, as I warned you.”

“I am afraid to leave you.” She feared that he would do as he threatened and surrender.

“No, you are not. You already left me, remember?”

Amelia almost said more, but his dangerous mood stilled her tongue. She had seen St. John in similar moods at times and had always wondered at Maria’s fortitude in seeking him out when he was so afflicted.

He needs me , Maria would say in explanation.

It was obvious that Colin needed comfort, too. And Amelia had distanced herself from him, which left him only the bottle to turn to for solace.

She approached him with shoulders squared, lifting the hem of her robe to her lips where she wet it. Reaching him, Amelia raised his chin with one hand and used the other to smooth away the blood. He was still, his eyes watchful, the tension that gripped him reaching out and surrounding her as well, making every nerve ending tingle and every breath a pant.

With an edgy snarl, Colin turned his head and pressed his lips to the sensitive skin of her wrist. She froze, unable to move as his tongue stroked over her now madly fluttering vein.

His glass hit the rug with a soft thud and a splash, and then he was on her, wrapping his big body around her and pulling her to the floor.

“I want you.” His hot open mouth moved ravenously over the tender flesh of her throat. “So badly, it’s eating me alive.”

“Colin…” The feel of him, over six feet of potently aroused male, ignited her simmering passion to a raging fire. “We shouldn’t…”

“Nothing can stop it,” he said, his hand pushing open the halves of her robe and cupping her breast. “You belong to me.”

Her gaze turned to the door she had left open when she entered. “The door-”

His lips surrounded her nipple through her night rail. Amelia gasped and clutched his hair.

“Remember that night,” he whispered against her breast. “Remember how I felt inside you. Remember how deep…how I filled you…”

She quivered in longing, her blood hot, her breasts heavy and aching. His callused fingertips rolled and tugged at her nipple, sending waves of pleasure along the length of her body.

“Colin-”

He came over her and took her mouth, inundating her senses with the taste of brandy and the exotic spice that was uniquely his. She moaned in delight, sucking at his thrusting tongue in a desperate effort to drink in more of him.