She wanted his time, and his attention, and his love. Two out of three were relatively easy, but love seemed impossible. He'd expunged the word from his vocabulary. He didn't like to say it, and hearing it made him flinch. But she wanted to say it, and she wanted him to hear it; to know he was loved, even though she knew that the likelihood was that he'd react badly.

Coffees in hand, she changed her mind and led him through to the living room. She couldn't face another summit at that kitchen table.

Lucien followed and sat down at one end of the sofa. She took the other.

"Lucien..."

"I want you to stop working for me."

Wow. His unexpected, quietly spoken statement hit her head on.

"But I don't want to stop working for you," she said rapidly, unable to keep the panic out of her voice.

He placed his untouched coffee down on the table and turned back to her.

"Sophie... it's run its course. This thing going on between us has to stop, and it won't stop if we still see each other every day. I can't work with you without wanting to fuck you."

"Are you firing me?"

Lucien pushed his palms into his eye sockets. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Carry on as we are?" All thoughts of declaring love now paled into insignificance by comparison to the urgent need merely to hold on to what they already had.

He shook his head. "It won't work."

Sophie moved closer to him, afraid to touch him. "Don't do this."

He turned his head towards her, and the look of pure desolation in his storm blue eyes hurt her heart.

"I mean it, Sophie. Don't come into work tomorrow. Or the next day, or the one after that. I'll write you an amazing reference. I'll pay you until you start somewhere else. It doesn't matter if it's weeks or months. Just don't come in."

Every word of his speech landed like a razor blade slicing her flesh, and anger and frustration battled for space in her head. He didn't mean it. His eyes and his body and his kiss told her that he didn't want her out of his life, yet his stubborn head wouldn't let his feelings get a look in.

There was only one way Sophie knew to cut through all of his crap.

She stood up and unbuttoned her blouse.

"Don't do that," he breathed, as she peeled it from her body and dropped it one the floor. He'd taught her many lessons, including how to embrace her own beauty, and in that moment she turned the tables on him. Pupil to teacher. As he'd taught her how to be a confident lover, now it was her turn to teach him how to have the confidence to love.

He dropped his head into his hands when she let her skirt fall to the floor beside her blouse.

In just whispers of dove grey lace, she stepped closer to him and stroked his head.

"Look at me, Lucien."

She felt a heavy sigh leave his body before he lifted his head, his eyes dragging slowly up the length of her body. Her fingers smoothed over his hard, proud cheekbone as she waited for his gaze to reach hers.

But it didn't.

His tormented eyes lingered on her breasts as he drew his top lip in between his teeth, and then he moved onto his knees in front of her and buried his face against her abdomen. His arms slid around her hips, holding her captive as she cradled his head to her body, letting her hands smooth and soothe him.

He breathed her in deep, and Sophie ached for him. What the hell was it that held him back? Why did he torment himself like this? She wanted to make it better for him, to find the right words to unlock his heart. But right there and then, just holding him seemed the most important thing.

And so she held him.

Lucien breathed in the scent of Sophie's skin, lost in how good she felt in his hands, and how good she made him feel in hers. Did she have any idea how powerful she was? He knew that he needed to leave, but there was no way he could leave her like this. The soft roundness of her bottom filled his hands, and the silken curve of her stomach warmed his face. He wanted to bury himself in her and never come up for air again.

Eventually, she eased her body back from his just enough to allow space to lower herself to her knees. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Her brave, unwavering gaze met his as she reached behind her back and unclipped her bra.

He'd seen her naked enough times now to know how she'd look, but watching her offer her sweet, wholesome and utterly fuckable body to him was something he wanted to remember forever.

"You said you wanted it to be me last night," she murmured, and she reached for his hands. "I'm here now." She lifted his hands to her breasts, and closed her eyes when his fingers made contact with her skin.

Christ, he was in trouble. Everything he'd hoped to feel with Tammy last night crowded in, and so much more besides. His cock strained hard against his clothes, but his chest ached too, heavy with need for this woman, a need that was somehow more than physical. It was alien to him, terrifying and yet compelling.

Her rose nipples stiffened beneath his thumbs and her flesh filled his palms. She opened her eyes, and the raw vulnerability there seared him.

Tammy had been bold-eyed last night as she stripped with the expectation of sex. Sophie had none of Tammy's boldness, but she had a lion's heart of courage. He'd just told her that they were through, for Christ sake. She'd risked his rejection when she'd taken her clothes off, and Lucien knew her well enough to know that it wouldn't have come easy. My brave, beautiful princess. All of those thoughts filled his head in an abstract way, but the overriding sensation leading his body and his hands at that moment was white-hot lust.

He could no more walk away now than he could stop breathing.

Sophie's body responded to his caress, her eyelids drifting down, her lips parting a little with the tiniest of moans. It was an invitation Lucien couldn't resist.

He brushed his lips over hers when she whispered his name, once more as he squeezed the softness of her breasts and let his tongue stray between her lips.

"Stay with me tonight," she said, her fingers slow and deliberate on the buttons of his shirt.

He knew he should say no, but the words wouldn't come as her palms slid inside his shirt and eased it back over his shoulders. He wanted to be naked. He wanted her hands on him. Christ, he was losing his mind over this woman.

"One more night, Sophie, and then no more." He needed to say it, and he needed Sophie to hear it, and to accept it. "Tonight, and I will walk away. Do you understand?"

Her lips trembled beneath his, and her slow tears turned their kiss salty, but she nodded. Thank God. Even the temporary reprieve was worth fighting for, somehow representing a tremulous pact that made it okay.

"You’d better make it good then," she half-laughed and half-cried, and he crushed her against him, missing her already.