Julianne MacLean by My Own Private Hero

willing. But no, it was more than that. It was deeper than that.
    Adele’s long legs began to slide apart on the bed beneath him, opening, making a cozy place for him between her thighs. She truly had no idea, not the faintest, of the peril she was placing herself in.
    He knew, however. He also knew with a crushing wave of frustration that it was long past time to stop. “Don’t do that, Adele. Don’t spread your legs. Push me off. Now.”
    Her body tensed at the harsh tone that was now a command rather than a request, and a second later she obeyed. Her small hands moved to his chest, and with open palms, she pushed. He rolled off her onto his back.
    “I’ll stay in the bed so you can sleep,” he said, his voice deep and husky, “but don’t touch me again. Do you understand?”
    She nodded. “Yes.”
    He turned his back on her. He was angry. Not at her. She’d been through an ordeal, and she just wanted to be held. She needed affection. Caring. He had taken advantage of that innocence and vulnerability. He had been very weak.
    He was angry at the situation, at himself for letting this go too far. And he was angry with Harold for sitting idly back with his head in the clouds, while Damien saved the day as he always did. Harold should have saved it himself. He should have been Adele’s hero. He had known how beautiful Adele was. He should not have expected Damien to be made of stone.
    Damien closed his eyes and vowed to keep his back to her for the rest of the night, no matter how badly she needed to be held. After tomorrow, what Adele needed would be Harold’s problem. Damien would have his own problems to deal with. He would have to forget about Adele, and he would have to live with the regret over his weakness and lack of honor tonight. Not unlike the adulterous mother he didn’t care to remember.
     
    Adele gradually became aware of the backs of her eyelids growing brighter, and felt her mind awakening, little by little, from the murky oblivion of a long, deep slumber. Conscious thoughts began to form. It wasn’t dark anymore. It was morning. She had slept. But what a headache she had.
    She opened her eyes and looked up at the white ceiling, remembering suddenly that she had kissed Damien somewhere in the depths of night, and he had lain on top of her in the bed.Just the thought of it stirred her senses to the thrilling memory of his warmth and heavy weight, and the feel of his lips and tongue when he’d kissed her with an open mouth.
    The thrill was crushed quickly, however, by a heavy, devastating awareness of what she had done, what she had wanted, and what she had let herself do. Thank God Damien had stopped things when he had.
    Even so, she would never be the same again. She now understood more completely the true basis of attraction between men and women. She felt as if her eyes were now open to a whole new world—a world of men and their so-called charm. It was all about lips and hands and the sweet promise of physical pleasure.
    She also understood Damien’s famous allure, and the reason he was able to have any woman of his choosing. There was something seductive and special in his eyes, in his body, and quite frankly, in everything about him. Last night, he’d drawn her to him like a magnet, and she had been pulled in, much to her dismay. It was shocking to think she had lost all sense of right and wrong, and had not been able to find the strength to fight against a temptation.
    She felt suddenly nervous and afraid, because she would never be the Adele she was yesterday. Or thought she was. What would her parents think if they knew what had happened last night? Could she blame it on the wine? No, it wasn’t just that.
    She glanced to her left. There was Damien.Still. Her heart began to pound with uncertainty and apprehension. He was asleep on the bed beside her, lying on his back with his head turned in the other direction, still wearing the clothes he’d been wearing yesterday—the