Wolfsgate by Cat Porter Page A

his face.
    “One thing at a time, Brandon. That’s all you can do.” Her hands reached up towards his face, but he grabbed her wrists and held them fast, his grip firm despite his fatigue.
    “Don’t. I need to feel this,” he said, releasing her hands. He wiped at his face himself. “It’s been happening frequently since the poison cleaned out of my system. Quite inconvenient for a man, eh?”
    She took a breath and returned her attention to removing his other boot. His chest heaved for air as if trying to rid itself of the dullness embedded there. The silence fell heavy between them.
    “Justine, I need to apologize to you.” A pained expression shadowed his features. “I’ve been such a bastard. Davidson found me at the tavern tonight. He explained a few things to me. Things I wasn’t aware of.”
    Justine set the boot aside. “I’ve wanted to explain to you since we came home, but there never seemed to be a good time.”
    “I don’t know how can I ever thank you for taking on such a burden for my family.”
    “You don’t have to.”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “It’s all right, Brandon.”
    “No, it is not. I’ve been indulging in self-pity and self-absorption at your expense.”
    “Well, you’re entitled, after everything you’ve been through,” she said sweeping the hair from his face. “And the after-effects of the opium only make it worse.”
    “You deserve better from me, much better.” His voice was raw, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I get carried away at times and—”
    His grey-green eyes held hers as his hands cradled her face and drew her closer to him. Her pulse raced as he bent down and touched his cool lips to her forehead. His heavy gaze fell to her mouth and the flutter in her stomach rose through her chest. He bent his head down closer, and his lips brushed hers. She gasped softly at the gentleness of his touch, heat coiling though her insides.
    Brandon’s eyebrows knit together as if a new thought suddenly perplexed him. A noise muffled in his throat, and he bent and kissed her again, his hands sliding down around her neck keeping her close. His tongue snaked through her lips, seeking hers, and Justine let out a small cry as she opened her mouth to him.
    Her hands skimmed over the hard muscles of his thighs which were now pressed around her, then they slid up around his taut middle. She tasted the ale in his mouth, inhaled the tobacco that clung to him along with an undeniable masculine musk, all of it unwinding that knot within her. His tongue lashed against hers, and a melting warmth seeped through her, seizing her core.
    He suddenly pulled away. “Christ,” he whispered as he rested his forehead against hers. Her fingers reached up and caressed his cool cheek. “Forgive me, Justine.”
    “For what? For…that?”
    “No, not for that .” He smiled against her skin, his thumb tracing her swollen lips. “Forgive me for being a difficult bastard.”
    “I forgive you.” She kissed the underside of his jaw. His burning gaze was dissolving her like sugar crystals in a hot cup of tea. “Let me take your frock coat from you.” She rose and absently put a hand on his thigh to steady herself, his muscles hardening under her touch. Brandon stretched his arms out. His shirt clung to his smooth broad back in perspiration, and he fidgeted in his seat, his shoulders twitching.
    Justine frowned as she touched his arm. “Brandon, would you like a bath? It might help.” He cast a glance at her. “The tub is in the kitchen, if that’s all right with you?”
    “That’s fine. I’ll help you.”
    “No, you sit. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
    “I need to move, do something.”
    He rose to his feet and rested one arm on her shoulder, and they slowly walked into the kitchen together. She showed Brandon the tub in the anteroom, and he helped her pull it out before the fireplace. He lit a fire as Justine filled pots with water, then took out a clean