She needed to test him, test herself. If she read his innermost self, what would she find there? A text of devotion, or more deceit? She did not know if she could gather the tatters of her own heart and step out into the storm. Or perhaps the silken ties that bound her to him were gone forever. One way to know for certain.

She raised herself up on her toes and kissed him. Deeply.

For a moment, he held himself still, as if afraid to respond and drive her away. Even with tension thrumming through his body, she sensed his restraint, allowing her to find what she needed to discover.

Desire flared through her, and she grew bolder. He groaned as the kiss heated. Not tender, but hungry, their mouths opening, tongues slick. She gripped his shoulders. Their bodies pressed flush against each other. Beneath the fine material of her shift, she felt his whole body—every plane and hewn surface, each sinew underneath satiny flesh. As she burned hotter, his caution ebbed. His large hands cupped her behind, bringing her tight, hip to hip.

Hunger tore through her, stronger than sense or wisdom. Her heart still ached. Words of apology and remorse might suture his betrayal, but the wound remained, and its pain throbbed in time with desire.

She never knew that one could desire someone this way—shredded by loss and sorrow, consumed with wanting. An appetite that grew even as she devoured more and more. She must learn the secrets of his heart, and this urged her on, demanding more.

Gasping, she broke the kiss. Yet she had only just begun. When she tugged him toward the bed, he went willingly, face dark, expression stern.

“Take off your clothes.” Her terse command surprised them both.

He obeyed, unhesitating. His gaze held hers as he tugged off his boots and undid the buttons on his breeches. These he peeled from his body, and then, save for the bandages, he was naked.

“I’ve never seen you this way,” she murmured. “In the light.” Nowhere to hide. Nothing to conceal or disguise.

He understood this moment’s significance. He let her look her fill, and look she did.

She discovered that her husband was stunning. Lean and muscled, his arms hewn, shoulders wide, the surfaces of his chest, scattered with golden hair, the taut ridges of his torso that led to a hard, flat stomach. The line of hair that trailed from his navel. The long, firm muscles of his thighs, the indentations above his buttocks. He was no soft aristocrat, no pampered gentleman. Years of struggle had fashioned his body into something fierce and tough.

She wanted to curse the bandages for obscuring him with their lattice. This was the body of the man with whom she had shared so much pleasure, such profound intimacy. It frightened her, a little, to see what she had known and touched and kissed, as though she had fallen asleep with a hunting dog at her feet and woken up with a wolf.

For all that, he was human, too, as evidenced by the intriguing scars and small collections of freckles. A man of flesh. Her gaze touched upon the scar on his shoulder, given to him by Lord Whitney—a reminder of the tapestry of deceit that had been woven by Leo’s hands.

Something on his calf drew her attention. More markings of flame climbed up the thick muscles.

“Why two sets of markings?”

He glanced away, and she saw the hard beat of his pulse in his throat. “Those came later. The geminus offered me more power.”

Which he did not refuse, clearly. “When?”

“After I made the other investment for your father,” Leo said. “It knew I was wavering. Sought to bind me to the Devil with further temptation.”

That was not so long ago. After the riot at the theater, after both she and Leo had been endangered by the evil he and the other Hellraisers had unleashed. Yet he had given in to the Devil subsequent to all this.

She dragged her gaze back up to his face. He looked like a man ravaged, passion and yearning and regret in his eyes.

Her resolve held. Many questions remained unanswered: what he wanted from her, whether she might salvage the care she once felt for him. She would put them both to the test.

Urging him back, she pressed him down when the backs of his knees met the edge of the bed. He sat, then leaned back on his elbows when she pushed against his shoulders.

He lay like that, braced on elbows and forearms, feet upon the floor, staring up at her with eyes the color of storm clouds. His cock strained up toward his navel. His fingers gripped the coverlet. Only his ruthless resolve seemed to keep him from leaping on her, claiming her.

She bent over him, bracing her hands on the bed, and kissed him hungrily. He reached for her. She grabbed his wrists and lowered them to the bed. His fingers curled into the bedclothes. Giving in to her demands.

For all the deception, on an intrinsic level, they knew each other. And this caused her hurt to renew itself all over again, reminding her of what had been sacrificed.

She wanted to push him as far as she could.

Pressing her body to his, she rubbed her breasts against his chest. The fine material of her chemise provided little barrier. He was solid and hot beneath her. Sensation sparked outward from the taut points of her nipples, and against her belly she felt the thick, hard shape of his cock.

“Is this what you came for?” she challenged, breathless as she teased them both. “Why you chased after me? The softness of my body when the rest of your world is hard and cold?”

With a look of tortured pleasure, he clenched his teeth. “More than this. I searched for you because I wanted you, in any way I could have you.”

She took him in her hand. His response was a hiss, and an upward push of his hips. From crown to base, she stroked him, her grip tight. The silken feel of him in her hand made her shake with desire.

Abruptly, she released him and pushed back from the bed. He stared up at her, breath coming fast and hard.

“Is this your revenge?” he rasped. “To leave me wanting?”

“If it was, would you let me go?”

“It would destroy me.”

“Yet if I needed to leave, if it was the only way to ensure my happiness, would you?”

He swallowed hard. “Yes.”

Damn him. If he were a brute, unrepentant and selfish, this would be simpler, painless. Yet he wasn’t. He was Leo, and she loved him. After all this, she loved him still, and nothing hurt her more.

The choice to stay or go was hers. Yet she could not leave.

“If my happiness demands selfish gratification?” she pressed.

“I will give it to you.”

She climbed onto the bed, grazing her hands along his thighs. He was her supplicant now. She pushed him down, so that he lay back, his head upon the mattress. “And you’ll ask for nothing in return.”

“All I want is the chance to give you pleasure.”

With his gaze hot upon her, she braced her knees on either side of his head. Her quim was inches from his mouth.

She had never been so blatant in her demands. Her eyes challenged him as her body pulsated with need.

Prove yourself, she said to him wordlessly. Prove to me that all is not lost. His gaze holding hers, he gripped her thighs. Slowly, reverently, he brought her lower, until his lips pressed against her.

Anne swallowed a gasp, yet she could not keep silent when his tongue traced a glossy line from her opening to her pearl. He did this once more, and she cried out from the pleasure.

Though she wanted to let her eyes drift closed and float in sensation, she kept them open, watching Leo as he tasted her. With deep, lush kisses and licks, he feasted upon her, creating marvels of pleasure with his mouth. He drank from her as though she were the rarest and most precious delicacy, one he was determined to savor. And all the while, his gaze stayed on hers, burning bright.

Tremors shook Anne’s thighs as the climax built, then crashed over her. He persisted, sucking upon her. In this way, he was both worshipful and commanding, for he coaxed her to bliss over and over, and she could not stop him, did not want him to stop, needing only pleasure and more pleasure and not the labyrinth of questions and uncertainty that lay beyond pleasure’s ruby haze.