Page 39 of Gabriela and His Grace (The Luna Sisters #3)

He’d kissed Gabriela Luna, and he could not wait to do so again.

Kiss her and so much more.

No , Sebastian growled to himself as he splashed his face with water and stared at his reflection in the bathing room mirror. Gabriela trusted him; not just to deliver her safely to London, but with her fragility and her fears. She certainly trusted him not to molest her.

Sebastian glanced down at the bulge in his trousers.

The one he had been sporting since Gabriela had eagerly returned his kisses on the deck.

He needed to get himself under control. Sebastian Brooks, the eleventh Duke of Whitfield, would be damned if he ever gave Gabriela a reason to look upon him with disappointment again.

Gripping the sides of the basin, Sebastian willed his cock to relax.

It had been entirely too long since he’d been with a woman, and Sebastian had always had a healthy sexual appetite.

Yet the stresses of finding James and David, as well as the construction process of the Camino Rojo mine and what its success meant for the dukedom’s coffers, had curbed his inclinations.

He’d fielded plenty of come-hither stares and overt flirtations while in Mexico, but Sebastian had not been tempted.

After tasting her lips and holding her in his arms, Sebastian knew it was because no other woman captivated him quite like Gabriela did.

Once he was certain she had fallen asleep, he would take himself in hand and relieve the pressure that had damn near unmanned him when she’d asked for his kiss.

Just thinking about how enthusiastically she’d responded to him made Sebastian hard again. He bit back a snarl.

Sighing, he turned to consider the nightshirt Brodie had laid out for him.

Sebastian never slept in a nightshirt, for he hated how the material tangled about his legs, instead preferring to sleep in his underpants and nothing else.

But the nightshirt was Brodie’s warning against impropriety, and Sebastian heeded it.

After slipping into the underclothes and a banyan, he knocked on the door leading into the bedchamber.

A faint “Come in” drifted through the wood.

Inhaling, Sebastian pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

Gabriela sat in the center of the bed, her lustrous locks loose about her shoulders. In a modest night rail and robe, she looked girlish…and so beautiful Sebastian’s chest hurt.

They stared at each other for several heartbeats, and Sebastian suspected she was trying to think of what to say. He certainly was. So much about their relationship was new, and he wanted to proceed with care. Gabriela deserved all the care and gentleness he was capable of.

“Are you sure this sleeping arrangement works for you?” she asked into the silence, biting her lip.

Sebastian was nodding before she had finished speaking. “Of course. Brodie prepared a sleeping cot for me on the sofa.”

He was not looking forward to ten nights spent on the velvet sofa, but seeing Gabriela comfortable would relax his mind even if it did little to relax his muscles.

She drew her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms about them. From his vantage point, Sebastian could see her toes peeking out from the linen of her nightdress. It was adorable.

Shit, he was in a bad way.

Yanking on his banyan sash, Sebastian cleared his throat. “Well, good night, then. I hope you sleep well.”

“Que duermas bien,” Gabriela murmured, her cheeks pink.

Sebastian studied her a moment longer, simply taking in her demure state.

She appeared innocent in a way he’d never seen her.

The Gabriela Luna he’d always known had been fearsome, cutting presumptuous men and haughty women down with a few words.

But the last few weeks had shown Sebastian that her poised veneer hid a depth of vulnerabilities.

The need to protect her, not just from those who would exploit her and her good name for their benefit, but also from himself, grew every day Sebastian was with her.

And now she would sleep just feet from him.

“Dulces suenos,” he finally said, before he slipped out of the room.

The sofa was just as uncomfortable as Sebastian imagined.

It took him several minutes to organize his long limbs on the narrow piece of furniture in a manner that didn’t send him sprawling onto the parquet floor, and then additional time to relax enough to sleep.

But Sebastian’s sleep was fitful, filled with nonsensical scenes from both Mexico and London, a meld of faces and a mess of dialogue he could not decipher.

At one point, Sebastian was at Whitfield Manor, lined up on the old limestone steps, fidgeting in his best knickerbockers and collarless jacket as he waited for his father to make his biannual appearance.

When the old duke had stepped from his carriage, Sebastian had turned to run away but slipped and tumbled down the stairs.

The wind had been knocked from his lungs, and he’d stared up at the cloudless sky…

until his father’s glowering face eclipsed the sun.

Suddenly, Sebastian could see nothing at all, although a throbbing pain radiated from his elbow.

“Dios mío, Your Grace, are you all right?”

Sebastian blinked his eyes open and winced when he inadvertently put pressure on his elbow. Was he on the floor? A dim beam of light cut across his face, and he turned to it, spying a blurry Gabriela as she hurried to him from the other room.

“Let me help you,” she cried, dropping to her knees beside him. Grasping his arm, she urged him to sit up.

“How bloody embarrassing,” he groaned, perching on the edge of the sofa. Sebastian slowly extended his other arm, gritting his teeth when his elbow pinged with a dull bite of pain. “I haven’t fallen out of bed since I was a child.”

“Is it really fair to call this a bed?” Gabriela arched a brow, first at the sofa and then at him. “I’m surprised you were able to fit on it at all.”

“It was a close thing”—he shrugged—“but not impossible.”

Her answering snort made him chuckle.

Rising to her feet, Gabriela jerked her chin to the bedchamber behind her. “Well, come along.”

His forehead crinkled. “Come where?”

“To bed, tonto,” she said, splaying her arm.

“But”—Sebastian slowly shook his head—“I can’t share the bed with you.”

“Why not? The bed is large enough for both of us, and this thing”—she scowled at the sofa—“is barely large enough for one of your legs.”

Turning to the offending piece of furniture, Sebastian realized she was right. How he managed to contort himself to fit on it in the first place was beyond him. Still, how could he possibly sleep in the same bed with her without…

“Ella, this isn’t a good idea,” he eventually managed, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Maybe not,” she whispered. Her throat worked on a swallow. “But it’s the only option I’m comfortable with.”

Sebastian dared to glance at her, finding her staring back at him resolutely. He wasn’t sure if Gabriela was agreeing to simply share a bed with him or perhaps—no, he wouldn’t even think it. They would sleep in the same bed out of necessity and nothing more.

It was a declaration he repeated in his head as he watched Gabriela climb under the sheets, and he followed suit.

They already smelled of her, and he fought the urge to bury his face in the pillow.

When she flashed him a smile over her shoulder and then turned to douse the bedside lamp, Sebastian reminded himself of the declaration once more.

And as the mattress shaped to the lines of his body and his eyelids grew heavy, Sebastian willed himself to keep his distance from her, even in his dreams.

· · ·

Her eyes ripped open, and Gabby blinked for a moment, trying to orient herself. Faint rays of sunlight streamed through the cracks in the drapes, and the distant cawing of seabirds and the dip and roll of the ship reminded Gabby of where she was. On board the ship heading to London. With Whitfield.

Thinking of the duke sparked a new realization; her cheek was not resting on the pillow, but rather on his broad chest, in the spot directly over his heart.

Gabby was afraid to move. Nervous to inhale.

Unwilling to do anything to draw attention to herself, especially when the steady cadence of Whitfield’s breaths told her he was still asleep.

A small part of Gabby was also loath to disrupt the snug position she’d inadvertently found herself in.

She and the duke lay facing each other, the long lines of their bodies touching, Gabby’s head tucked under his chin, and their feet tangled together.

Her arm was thrown over his hip, the other fisted in the front of his nightshirt, and she bit back a gasp when she realized the backs of her knuckles sifted through the soft hairs on his chest. His bare chest. He felt firm and strong everywhere she touched, and ay Dios, he smelled divine.

Gabby permitted herself a moment to inhale deeply of his now familiar scent, her eyes closing as it filled her lungs.

“Should I compliment Brodie on the new soap he acquired for me?”

Heaving a breath, Gabby would have jerked from Whitfield’s embrace if he had allowed her. But his arms kept her close, and she hid her face against his neck.

“It’s quite…pleasant,” she finally mumbled, pleased her voice contained none of the anxieties pulsing through her.

“Pleasant? Surely it’s better than pleasant. It’s Mexican soap, after all.”

Gabby rapped her fist against his chest before she could think better of it. “If I had known it was Mexican soap, I would have been more effusive with my praise.”

“You know I covet your praise,” he teased.

“Until recently, I had no notion you did.” Gabby angled back to see his face. “You’ve never acted as if you desired it.”

Whitfield slowly raised a brow. “Come now, Ella dear, surely you know that a man of my prodigious ego is always hungry for a beautiful woman’s praise.”