His gaze was intense under his bowler hat that was dripping with rainwater. The rain raged on and the thunder rumbled above them, illuminating the dark clouds.

Sasha's mouth was slightly parted in disbelief and her brows fused in confusion.

Finally, he moved, taking a step through the doorway and into the tiny hall. His footprints darkened the carpet. Sasha lay stupefied by the door as he shook off his coat and hung it on the rack behind him. His bowler hat followed.

Sasha blinked, trying to make herself believe that she was not seeing an apparition.

West raked his fingers through his damp hair and finally went still, looking at her. His white long shirt was slightly damp with parts clinging to his chest and shoulders. He pulled at his cravat. Why was he taking off his cravat? Surely, he was not intending to stay long? The cravat joined his coat.

"Why are you here, West?" Sasha asked, finding her voice.

He went to the open door and closed it, the sound distinct, almost unnerving. He turned the lock and faced her. "Willoghby may come back."

"What?"

Whirling around, he walked down the hall and into the parlor. Sasha jumped to her feet and followed, the frown on her face deeper. "That is preposterous." She saw him pick up the book she had been reading, leafed through the pages, snapped it close, and threw it on the settee. He walked to the window and looked out. "My report against Willoghby must have reached Belcourt by now," she lied. "He should be facing the consequences of his actions soon."

West turned to face her. His gaze cruised her entire form, from head to foot and back up to her eyes. Then he blinked. "Do you have tea? Can you offer some?"

Sasha blinked, lost for words. She looked around her as if someone else was there to help her. "I will... I will brew some for you."

He did not follow her when she went to the kitchen to make the tea. She did not find it necessary to wake any of the servants for the task because she needed the time to clear the confusion and think.

Why was he here?

They had parted merely hours ago. What could have happened?

Willoghby? Was he that concerned?

Sasha was biting down on one nail when the kettle whistled. She jumped in alarm.

A few minutes later, she was back in the parlor with a tray of fresh tea and some biscuits.

He was standing in front of the window, looking out, his hands in his pockets. At the sound of the tray being laid on the table, he closed the curtains and turned.

He watched as she poured him a cup. His hands brushed against hers as he received it. Sasha went to the fireplace to poke the fire, but then she realized she had left the fire iron in the hall. She fetched it with hurried steps, came back to the parlor, and proceeded with her task.

The silence between them was unnerving, giving Sasha more time than necessary to come up with any possible reasons why he was here. Done with the fire, she turned and looked at him. He was still standing, his tea on the table.

"Why are you really here, West?"

Again, he just looked at her, his light blue eyes almost searching, yet also a veiled expression of intent.

Sasha found herself holding her breath as he took in a lungful of air. Raking his fingers through brown waves, he exhaled long and slow.

Finally, he bent down on the table, his hand planted on a piece of paper that she never realized was there. He slid it across the wooden surface toward her before he straightened.

Sasha walked over to the winged chair, sat down, and picked up the paper, her hands slightly shaking, her heart picking up speed inside her chest.

She frowned down at it.

"I am here to present a new contract," he said under his breath, just loud enough for them both.

Sasha blinked, reading the first line. "I can see it is a contract."

"I ordered the previous one be changed."

Her eyes shot straight toward him, her face crumpling with immense curiosity. "I do not understand."

Ever so slightly, his eyes narrowed. "You would if you start reading."

Giving him a stingy look, she lowered her gaze and started reading. Sasha blinked, her frown deepening. "It is still the same as I remember—"

Finally, she saw it. Or she did not see it. Her heart stopped and her breath caught in her throat. She felt the familiar rush of thrill over her body, creeping and prickling her skin in their wake. Her gasp escaped as a long, soft sigh.

A nervous laugh escaped her throat. Blinking up at him, she started to say, "You must be jesting—" but the look in his eyes immediately contradicted her statement. Sasha swallowed.

"I am utterly serious, Sasha," he said. The cords in his neck were visible. His hands were in fists, hidden in his pockets. Good Lord, he was tensed! West Blackwood, Duke of Eaton, was tensed!

Sasha scoffed, still in disbelief. She looked down at the paper, then back at him. "West, I do not see the 'no sexual relation' passage I should be seeing."

"Do not question my agreement, Sasha. I was the one who had it drafted hours ago."

Her breath hitched. How many times could this man leave her breathless in a day?

"And do not ask why," he said before she could open her mouth to ask just that. "It would be a very dumb question."

Sasha nodded, convinced that he was not playing. Moistening her lips, she said, "West, you were insistent—"

"Can a man not change his mind?"

"But should you not think about this first for a day or two? A week?"

"I do not have a day, Sasha." He was almost growling as he said it.

Sasha let out a shaky breath. Blood was rushing in her veins in a not so very healthy way and she closed her eyes as she felt a shudder. Composing herself, Sasha opened her eyes and met his gaze, fixing him with a serious, intent look. "We are no longer in Humbrick, West."

He let a few seconds pass by, just staring deep into her eyes. "I know."

Sasha nodded and looked down at the paper.

Then she stood up and walked out of the parlor.

*****

West's mouth dropped open as he gawked at the empty doorway.

Then he scoffed in disbelief.

Blinking, he looked around the room as though he was expecting an audience. Did she just leave him alone in the parlor?

Did she realize the struggle he had to go through just to be here tonight? Just to deliver that bloody paper?

He walked up to his attorney's home in the rain and demanded for a new agreement be drafted that very moment. He waited hours for the man to finish and stamp his name on the document.

Then he spent one more hour pacing around his villa.

And when he finally made up his mind, he rushed to his carriage with the storm raging on, as if the heavens were condemning him, rallying against his decision.

He still went, knocked on her door, soaking wet.

He gathered the audacity to present the document.

She laughed at him and left him alone in the parlor with naught but tea and biscuits and a weak fire kindling in the fireplace.

"Sasha," he called, starting for the door. "I did not suffer that carriage ride and the days in Humbrick just to be dismissed in—"

She suddenly appeared in the doorway with a pen in her hand, her face utterly serious and beautiful to the core.

Frozen in his spot, West's eyes went back to the pen in her hand.

"You do not blame me for this," she said, voice clear and strong.

His gaze came back to meet hers. He nodded.

Sasha held his eyes with scrutiny.

He nearly flinched when she moved and stiffly walked back to the winged chair.

He made a slow turn, letting out a shaky breath as she bent over and planted the tip of her pen on the paper.

His heartbeat stopped, his breath suspended. His jaw clenched tight.

It was as though a giant foot had been pressing down on him, but when her hand began to move and he saw the black strokes on the paper, West felt the weight lifted off him, giving him back his breath; offering back the light in the parlor, the warmth of the fire.

*****

Sasha had to carefully write her name because her hand was shaking.

She could feel it. The anticipation prickling her senses.

The room was quiet save for the crackling of the dying fire in the fireplace. She should feel cold, but she was not. No, far from that. As ink flowed out of the tip of her pen, her mind rushed to what would come next and the power she was about to give him.

From the very first time they kissed, Sasha had been an open student. Always curious, always willing. Never afraid. She allowed him to show her the promises of pleasure with no inhibition for she knew their limitations. They could never go far in Humbrick and they never did. She took comfort in that.

Now, she could not tell. There were numerous reasons why she should not be doing this. She was becoming one of the Belles and she never intended to do that. This was supposed to be temporary, a means to a return home.

Yet the woman in her was demanding for this. The selfish part of her was screaming for more than just stolen kisses.

When she saw him outside in the rain earlier, Sasha had to admit that she saw this coming. The silent conversation their eyes had was enough to suggest that this was bound to happen.

He was doing this because he was man enough to admit that he was a man.

And she was a woman.

The moment her pen stopped, before she could place it on the table, West was on her side, pulling her from the chair to meet his hungry kiss.

The pen dropped and bounded on the carpet. They would later leave a stain, but that was no longer Sasha's concern. She closed her eyes from what little remained of her inhibitions and sighed with relief, one so great she did not expect it.

A sound that was a groan and a growl rolled out West's throat as he pulled her toward him. She felt his jagged breathing on her face, his fingers through her hair, his hand on her hips restless, clutching at her dress.

He broke off from the kiss, swallowed hard, breathless. "Take me to bed." One would believe he was begging. Probably he was because Sasha felt it too. The need, the devastation... the madness.

Her hands shaking, Sasha found his hand behind her and pulled him out of the parlor. They stopped once at the bottom of the stairs, twice in the middle, and once more in the dark corridor for a searing, searching kiss. A prelude to something colossal, something Sasha may later regret, but one she knew would forever change her.

Would it be magical as the romance novels claimed?

Would it be scientific? Anatomical?

Iyana had left a candle burning on the table beside her bed. The window was left open, allowing a gush of cold wind inside her chamber when they entered.

He kicked the door, shutting it close. The lock clicked in place. She watched him take the three steps to the window and shut it close, muffling out the angry roars of thunder and rain.

They were cooking a different storm. A perilous one.

"For the record," he said, voice low and gentle... thrilling, "you signed your name?"

Sasha nodded, a pin falling off from her hair.

West reached her but did not touch her.

Her tongue stuck out to moisten her lips as her eyes flickered with annoyance. "If you are planning to play teasing, West, I should remind you that we have had enough of that to last us a lifetime."

The smile that stretched his lips almost made her cry. It was a rare gem, that smile.

Lifting his hands, he plucked out the rest of the pins that dangled in her hair, dropping them to the floor one by one.

"You are feigning patience," she impatiently bit out. A voice in her head scolded her. Why was she rushing? She knew the answer.

She did not want the fear to find time to creep in.

He nuzzled her nose, brushing her cheek with his smiling lips.

"And you are not even talking."

"Have a heart, Sasha, I am speechless," he said in a teasing tone, his mouth against her lips. "And I am not feigning patience."

"Then you must be feeling sleepy."

"I am giving you time for retreat."

Sasha opened her mouth to say something when she suddenly froze. He looked at her with alarm. "I was merely jesting, Sasha—"

"West, the agreement!" she hissed.

He was suddenly running toward the door and Sasha heard his footsteps down the stairs. She hastily brushed her hair with her fingers, collecting herself.

When he returned, he was breathless. She sighed with relief seeing the paper in his hand. He folded it and slipped it in the pocket of his trouser, eyes on her, turning dark. The teasing had just ended, Sasha thought as he closed the door and locked it.

He came for her next, his arm wounding around her waist, slamming her against his length, and at the same time, his mouth lunged for hers to dance and taste with hers.

The West from Humbrick was kissing her, hungry and rough, bold, and shameless.

With a sharp breath, West easily pulled the ribbon that held her pelisse in place around her waist. He cursed under his breath as he worked at the buttons and Sasha heard more when he tried to pull the fabric off her arms.

"What has your maid been trying to do, woman? Wrap you as a present?" he asked as he tugged once more. Sasha laughed. "You are not helping."

She bit her lip and gracefully managed to free her arm of the long sleeve. The first layer of clothing now on the floor, West glared at the remaining ones.

"You're wearing stays in the evening," he dryly said, pulling her toward him, his hands roughly pulling at the strings behind her. "I am not trying to be funny," he warned, biting her lower lip when she chuckled. Another long, consuming kiss postponed the removal of the stays. When she was finally free of it, Sasha started to feel the panic in her throat.

She was almost naked now.

His mouth traveled down her throat, kissing the high collars of her chemisette. One tug and the fabric fluttered to the floor. Sasha's chest heaved as his hands went to her chemise. "At the very least you are not wearing a bloody petticoat."

Sasha bit her lip, waiting in anticipation.

West groaned as his hands glided up and down the side of her, pushing her chemise higher up her thighs. "Sasha, you're not wearing drawers."

She shook her head as his hands slid underneath the chemise, flesh meeting flesh. It was when his hands rested on her hips did she realize she was not the only one shaking. His hands were barely touching her, shaking as they went higher, the fabric of her chemise collected around his wrist. Higher and higher, his breath shaking, her breath held.

The very moment she was bared to him, Sasha felt tears at the back of her eyes. He did it so gently and with pure patience that her fear of shame never materialized.

Before her senses pulled her back to reality, Sasha was scooped off the ground and carried to bed, laid down there with ease that opposed the rough kisses that followed when he crouched on top of her, a tiger claiming his kill.

Sasha was unaware of how or when at the point of all of it did West manage to discard himself of his clothes and boots. Was it when he knelt on the bed, his eyes looking down on her sprawled over the covers as if he took delight at the sight of her? Was it when he bent down to kiss her slow, then hard? While he trailed kisses on her throat, her shoulder, the side of her breast, her hips?

Sasha could never tell what happened after or before anything for her mind could barely comprehend the thousands of sensations. She was nowhere near the speculative state, much more so when he settled between her legs. His mouth lavished her breasts, her neck; worshiped her mouth, devouring her soul, intoxicating her with the feel of his skin against her, of his hands on her hips.

Her thoughts staggered at the incoherent words he rasped in her ear. His hands were everywhere, caressing, kneading, molding her for something that was yet to come. Fire, all-consuming fire.

But the pain. Good Lord, the pain was undeniable. It robbed her of everything else they had built up thus far, pulling her back to reality, to the logic that she was hurting, her brain telling her that no, it was not pleasure—it was utter, true pain.

Having anticipated it, knowing it would come, was not enough. Her eyes widened as she sucked in a breath, the pain so far from subsiding.

An unstoppable cry escaped her lips.

Above her, West was unmoving. Her eyes fluttered open and found him stunned above her.

Sasha swallowed, her nostrils flared. "You cannot blame this on me," she reminded him.

His lips parted then closed and his jaw clenched. A shaky breath escaped him as he moved his hand to rest on her hips. They were shaking. "Bloody tarnation, Sasha—how—how is it—you're a virgin."

"Were," she corrected.

A flash of anger crossed his eyes. "Now is not the time to be smart."

Sasha closed her eyes, assessing the pain. Then she groaned. "I did not imagine it to be this painful, really."

Suddenly, his head was beside hers. He had not moved, his hips stuck between his legs. She cautiously planted her hand on his back and he flinched.

"Do not touch me yet, Sasha. I might finish off and you will regret it."

"Why?"

"Stop asking questions and let me think." His breath was hot against her neck as he buried his face against it with a long groan of suffering. It was apparent she was not the only one in pain.

"Why do you need time to think?"

"I have never lain with a virgin."

"Then it is a comfort to know this is the first time for us both."

Another long groan and then his shoulders began to shake. Sasha frowned, realizing he was laughing. "Are you going insane?"

Pushing back, he hovered above her, his eyes glimmering with laughter. "You are not helping."

She squirmed beneath him and he held her still with one hand, his eyes in near panic. "Stop moving. You will be hurting yourself."

She glared up at him. "I believe it is I who can tell if I am hurting."

He blinked down at her as she tried to move her hips again, gaze filled with anticipation. "Well?"

She grimaced, bending one knee. Then she froze. "Goodness. It's painful, West. What should we do? Perhaps we are doing this wrong?"

"I believe it is I who can tell if we are doing this wrong," he said, copying her words. "Perhaps you need a little more time."

"No! I can—Why are you laughing?"

"I do not mean we should postpone tonight, darling. I do not think I can be that patient."

She sighed, trying to move. Then she grimaced.

"Do not push it," he whispered gently, picking a damp strand of hair from her forehead. He cupped her face and planted a kiss on her mouth. "We can wait a little while."

Sasha was doubtful. Perhaps they should postpone. But his mouth was doing something to her. He kissed her gently, nipped at her lip, grazed his teeth against her chin, sucked at the pulse on her neck, licked at the hollow of her collarbone until it settled and closed over her breast and she moaned, the numbness turning into a needy throb. Her fingers dug his waist, her hips lifting.

The pain was still there, but so was him—his mouth, his hands... him, West. She was being worshipped patiently. She was turning pliant and weak again, the pain degraded to mere discomfort, no longer a distraction.

She whimpered in protest when his mouth left one breast, then sighed when he paid the other attention. Then she whimpered, fighting with herself. Wanting his mouth against her but hating the thought of him stopping. She strained beneath him, turning restless with need.

She choked on words that demanded and begged.

And when he began to move slowly, the hunger intensified. She had a goal here, but what was it? She had a destination, but where? Where was he taking her?

He was the teacher. He guided her through it all with his hands, whispering words of encouragement.

Sasha wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her whimpers and his heaving breath were the constant echoes in the room. She sighed his name as much as he groaned hers. Words to a broken song.

Then she was there. In a powerful plunge, she was there, seeing the stars beyond the storm. Soon, he joined her, dropping on top of her with a shudder.

Rolling to his side, West scooped her to face him and claimed her mouth, lazily as if waking up after a good slumber, but insistent and hungry enough to give a glimpse of an erotic dream.

"I will never blame that on you," he said, biting her lower lip. His hand ran up and down her hip. "Are you all right, darling?"

Sasha nodded, smiling lazily. "Do you suppose I'd be sore on the morrow?"

He groaned. "Yes."

"Then can we do it again?" she asked. "I'd hate to sore for just that one, West."

He threw his head back and laughed, a good hearty one. Then he was laughing against her mouth. "No, Sasha, we cannot."

"We cannot?"

"I would need a bit more time, I am afraid," he said.

Sasha's eyes fluttered downward between them. "Oh."

His laughter rumbled in his chest and she planted her palm over it, feeling the vibration.

"But we can do something while we wait," he said, pushing her on her back.

"We can?"

With a wicked grin, West tucked her hair behind her ears. "But you cannot scream."

Sasha frowned. "Why?" she anxiously asked.

He just smiled at her before he bent his head and kissed the valley between her breasts while his hands kneaded. Sasha bit her lips as he traveled lower.

"West..." It was meant to be a question. It came out as a plea as his hands opened her legs wider and his mouth cruised even lower.

That night, Sasha screamed twice.

*****

"Then how could it be that you are a Belle for this long and still be a bloody virgin?" he asked that morning while he watched her take a warm bath.

"Not all Belles whore themselves the conventional way," she said with a chuckle.

But he was not laughing along with her. He was scowling. "Not quite funny."

Sasha sighed. "Let us simply say that I never found any interest in such activity."

West frowned. "Now that makes me wonder what kind of flowers you have been getting. Bloody incompetent stones."

She laughed and he smiled. She was glowing today. The storm from last night had cleared the sky and it was now shining a radiant light on her skin through the small opening of the curtains, the little he would allow.

Her face turned serious. "Not all gentlemen are after activities in bed, West."

"If you told me that before last night, I would never agree. But perhaps you are telling the truth."

She chuckled. "Men like you may never understand that there are some in your species that have other needs."

"Such as?"

She shrugged. "Companionship? Friendship?"

"Ones you can easily find outside of Belcourt."

"But ones that are rarely true."

He was about to say something more but chose not to. He stood and walked over to where she was, grabbing the towel cloth along the way. "Get out of there before you fall ill. The water had turned cold."

Sasha stood and he wrapped the towel around her, trapping her in an embrace. He planted a kiss on her lips before he stepped back and used the towel to rumple her hair dry. She struggled with him for a while, laughingly slapping his arm away until he stopped and wrapped her with the towel. He guided Sasha out of the tub and pulled her close.

"Your clothes will be damp," she warned against his mouth.

"I care less." He whispered back. "Are you sore?"

"A little."

"The truth, Sasha."

She smiled into the kiss. "Yes."

He groaned.

"You are starting to hate virgins, are you?"

He growled against her neck. "No, but I am starting to hate that you are indeed funny."

"And it is a bad thing?"

Stealing another kiss, West sighed. "Precisely, Sasha. It is not a bad thing indeed. Bloody hell, you taste better."

"What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Just found an answer to a question."

Her eyes narrowed. "Questions?"

He kissed her again. "Hundreds."