Nervous anticipation fluttered in the pit of her stomach. She wanted this. She wanted him. But now that the moment was here, she couldn’t deny that she was feeling something very close to panic. The pop of the champagne cork had her jolting.
“I’m going to assume this is decent stuff,” Matt said without turning. Obviously he’d heard her come out of the bathroom, and Jessie wondered if he’d been giving her a little space to adjust to the sudden reality that they were alone in this room that all but screamed sex and sensuality. “What I know about champagne could be written on the cork with room left over, but the label has all sorts of obscure French designations.” Still without turning, he poured champagne into the two crystal flutes that sat beside the bucket of ice. “To tell the truth, I wouldn’t know the difference between Dom Perignon and sparkling grape juice, but I—” He was turning as he spoke, his words breaking off when he saw her.
Jessie fought the urge to tug the silk peignoir closer around her. She was modestly covered. Sort of. More or less. The nightgown and peignoir had been a gift from Lurene. The peignoir was little more than a lacy veil over a brushed-silk gown of a soft peach tone just a few shades darker than Jessie’s skin. Spaghetti straps held up the fragile cups of the bodice, arching over her shoulders before crossing over her back, which was bare to below the waist. The bias-cut skirt clung to her waist and hips before falling in soft folds to her ankles. In the box, the gown had looked almost demure, but, once on, the silk draped itself to her body like a lover’s hands, revealing little but hinting at a great deal.
“I guess saying ‘wow’ would lack sophistication.” Matt moved toward her, and Jessie tried not to stare at the furry width of his chest.
“What else could I expect from someone who doesn’t know champagne from grape juice?” she asked, pleased that her voice was almost steady as she took the champagne flute from him.
“True.” His smile faded, and something warmer and more intimate took its place. “You look incredible, Jessie.” He reached out to touch the lacy edge of the peignoir, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. “Whoever designed this knew exactly what it would do to a man, seeing a woman’s skin through the lace.”
With an effort, Jessie dragged her eyes upward, but the warm blue fire in his made her pulse stutter. Desire. No man had ever looked at her with such naked hunger. It set off little tingles in all sorts of interesting places. She closed her eyes, half-afraid of what they might reveal.
Still holding the champagne flute, Matt smoothed his free hand over Jessie’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the lace, feeling the tension that hummed through her. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman like this, feeling hunger tearing at the threads of his control. He wanted to strip the lacy covering off and run his hands over the smooth silk beneath, to feel her body through the textured weight of the fabric before he stripped even that away and put his hands on her bare skin. He wanted to pull her down to the floor and bury himself in the damp warmth of her body. He wanted to make her moan with pleasure, wanted to hear her cry out his name. He wanted to know that, for that instant, she was completely his, just as he would be completely hers.
She wanted him. He could feel it, could nearly taste her, pulse trembling on the back of his tongue. But he could also see the wariness in her eyes, the way she watched him, as if afraid he was going to pounce, which was exactly what he wanted to do.
He found himself suddenly wondering about her past experience. He was willing to bet there hadn’t been very many men in her life. A woman with a lot of experience wouldn’t be looking at him with trembling uncertainty. Was she nervous because of past experience, or nervous because she didn’t have much experience? It didn’t seem like something he could ask. Besides, he didn’t want to hear about any other men. He was surprised at the twinge of jealousy that tightened his gut for an instant. He’d never cared before, but, somehow, it was different with Jessie.
“I think everything went very well,” she said suddenly, her voice tight and breathless. “With the wedding, I mean.”
“Hmm.” He ran his fingers lightly down the open neckline of the peignoir, stopping at the edge of the silk gown. He could feel Jessie’s heartbeat beneath his fingertips. If he shifted his hand an inch or two, he would be touching her breast.
“And the reception,” she said on a gasp. “It went well, too. The food and the music and…and everything. People seemed to…seemed to have a good time. I think. Don’t you?”
“The only thing I can think about at the moment is how good you smell.” His fingers still resting between her breasts, he bent to taste the pulse that beat so frantically at the base of her throat. The breath shuddered out of her, and her head fell back.
Matt took full advantage of her surrender, teeth and tongue trailing up the arch of her throat. He moved his hand, fingers brushing over her nipple and felt her jolt. Then his mouth was on hers, hard and hungry. His hand slid under the lace peignoir, flattening against the bare skin of her back, pulling her in to his body. For one sweet, searing moment, his erection was pressed against the gentle curve of her belly, and then Jessie gasped and jerked away. Champagne splashed onto his hand from the glass he’d forgotten he was holding. Her eyes met his for an instant before dropping compulsively downward and then shooting rapidly back up again, color surging into her face.
It was difficult to think past the blood pounding in his temples, but Matt struggled to find something to say to ease her discomfort, not an easy thing when he wasn’t sure why she was uncomfortable.
“Where’s a codpiece when you need it?” he murmured.
Jessie’s laugh was choked, and she turned away with a quick, awkward little jerk, her cheeks hot with color. Matt set his champagne glass down and reached around her to take hers. She resisted for an instant and then let him take it, still without looking at him.
Okay, so she was shy. He could deal with that. He didn’t mind coaxing her response, not when it came so sweetly.
Jessie tensed as she felt him move up behind her. She was going to have to tell him the truth. Any hopes she’d had of being able to handle this with casual sophistication had vanished the minute she felt him pressed hard and firm against her stomach.
Matt slid his hand under he
r hair, tugging the tumbled curls aside. The feel of his mouth against the nape of her neck made her shiver. “You are so beautiful.”
His hands slid the peignoir from her shoulders, letting it drop to the carpet, a delicate pool of lace.
“Matt?”
“Hmm?” He nibbled at the soft skin beneath her ear and felt her shudder.
“There’s something I need to—” He caught her earlobe between his teeth, and her thoughts scattered like feathers in a windstorm. His hands slid over the brushed silk of the nightgown, and the feel of the fabric slipping over her skin set fire to nerve endings she hadn’t even known she had. “Matt, please, I—”
He cupped his hands around her breasts, thumbs brushing across her already aching nipples, and Jessie’s breath caught on a moan. He took the hard little peaks between thumb and forefinger, pinching lightly. Pleasure so intense that it hovered on the knife edge of pain shot from breast to loin, weakening her knees and making it hard to think. There was something she wanted to say, something she needed to tell him. His mouth found the pulse at the base of her throat, his tongue tasted the trembling rhythm.
She smelled of soap and woman, innocence and seduction. Matt could feel his own pulse drumming in his temples as he ran his hands down her arms. He’d wanted this for so long. It seemed as if he’d been waiting for this moment—this woman—forever.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered again and felt Jessie shudder as he strung kisses along her shoulder.
He was painfully aroused, and it was only sheer willpower that kept him from pushing her down on that ridiculous bed and burying his aching hardness in the sweet warmth of her. This was Jessie, he reminded himself over the painful throbbing
in his loins. This was her wedding night—their wedding night—the first of a lifetime of nights together.
He turned her in his arms, his hands gentle as they slipped up the slender length of her arms to cup the soft curves of her shoulders. This was Jessie. His wife. And he had all the time in the world to make this right for her.
“Matt?” Jessie looked up at him, her eyes full of nerves and needs. “Matt, I’ve never done this before.”
She blurted the words out as if they were a confession. Matt’s smile was quizzical, edging toward confusion. “Marriage is a first for both of us, Jessie.”
“I don’t mean marriage. I mean this.” She lifted one hand in a helpless little gesture meant to encompass the room, the huge bed and the mostly naked, blatantly aroused male who was looking at her with an expression that blended concern and lust and a growing confusion. Obviously he didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about. Jessie nearly gave in to the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. Why couldn’t she just spit the word out? It wasn’t like it was a guilty secret.
“Jessie?” Puzzled by the rapidly changing emotions that flickered across her face, Matt reached out to catch her hand in his, ignoring her halfhearted attempt to pull away. “What’s wrong?”
What was wrong? Jessie stared at him helplessly. Nothing was wrong. There were people who would think everything was right. Not so many years ago, she wouldn’t have been standing here, tongue-tied and nervous, trying to find a way to confess her virginity to her bridegroom as if she’d committed a crime. She felt a sudden irrational spurt of anger. Why couldn’t he just look at her and figure out what was going on? He was older, experienced, had probably left a girl in every port. Shouldn’t he just…know somehow?
“Jessie?” Matt pulled her toward him, linking his arms lightly around her waist. It was meant to be comforting, and it was. Sort of. Jessie closed her eyes and tried not to think too much about the broad expanse of muscle under her hands or the warm male presence that seemed to envelop her. He lifted one hand and brushed the hair back from her face, planting a gentle kiss on her exposed temple. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
He’d never used an endearment before, unless she counted the times he’d called her a brat. And no one had ever called her “sweetheart.” It melted her defenses, made her feel…cherished. She leaned her forehead against his chest.
“I’ve never done this, Matt,” she whispered. “Not ever. Not with anyone.”
Matt frowned down at her bowed head. She’d never done what? She couldn’t possibly mean she’d never… His eyes widened. Jesus, was she saying she was a—
“You want to get a little more specific about what ‘this’ is?” he asked cautiously.
Her laugh was ragged around the edges. When she lifted her head, her dark eyes were bright with nervous tears. “I’ve never…had sex with anyone, Matt. And I don’t know why I feel as guilty as if I’d just confessed to one of the seven deadly sins.”
When Matt didn’t say anything but just stood there, staring at her as if he’d never seen her before, nerves had her mood shifting abruptly from apology to irritation, and she glared up at him as if he’d hurled accusations at her.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin at twenty-nine,” she said defiantly. “It may not be commonplace, maybe it’s even a little weird, but it’s not…sick, and it doesn’t mean I’m frigid or anything. Not that I’d know for sure, I suppose, except I can’t imagine you could be frigid and not know it. Besides, I don’t think anyone believes in frigid women anymore, though it stands to reason that there must be some out there somewhere. And probably frigid men, too, for that matter, only they never called them that.” She frowned over that idea for a moment and then shook her head impatiently.
“I just haven’t met anyone I wanted to go to bed with. Well, I mean I have met guys I thought I might like to… But not enough to actually do anything about it. It is a sort of big step, and then, the older I got, the more it began to seem like a really big step. You know, sort of like it’s no big deal to get your tonsils out when you’re four, but it’s hell on earth if you wait until you’re twenty, so it’s really better to get it over with when you’re young, because if you don’t, you still have to do it someday, and it’s just going to be harder. I suppose I should have told you that—”
She became aware that Matt’s chest was shaking beneath her hands—shuddering, really, as if he were crying or… Startled, she lifted her head and met sapphire-blue eyes dancing with barely suppressed laughter.
He was laughing at her? She was pouring out her heart and soul, writhing with embarrassment over something that shouldn’t be embarrassing at all, and he was laughing?
Hurt and indignation flooded over her, and she stepped back, half-formed visions of sweeping furiously from the room dancing through her head, but Matt caught her hands in his before she took more than a step. He was smiling. No, he was grinning, damn him. Grinning like a hyena, and she knew for a fact that she hated him. Really, really hated him.
“Let me go,” she demanded, giving him a look that should have turned him to ash in an instant.
Not visibly scorched, he tightened his hold on her hands and even tugged her a few inches closer. His mouth was not quite steady, and his eyes were bright with that damnable laughter. If he would just let her go, she could storm out in the best tradition of wronged women everywhere, but not before she smacked that blasted grin off his face. And maybe smacked him again just for the fun of it.
“Jessie.” His voice was shaking, and he stopped, making a visible effort to regain control before he tried again. “Jessie, are you comparing sex to having your tonsils out?”
“What?” She glared at him. “Of course not. Why would you…” Her indignant protest trailed off as she heard the echo of her own words. Color crept up from her throat, heating her cheeks. My God, she had made it sound that way. Not that she’d meant it that way, and he had to know it, the wretch. And even if it was funny, that didn’t mean he had any business laughing. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, making a futile grab for her dignity. “I was just trying to explain how—”
“How you managed to remain pure as the driven snow at the ripe old age of twenty-nine,” Matt finished helpfully. “Do you still have your tonsils, too?”
Jessie bit her lip, refusing to smile. “No. I had them out when I was six.”
“Thank God.” He gave an exaggerated shudder of relief. “I was afraid you were going to ask me to do a tonsillectomy in the morning.”
She glared at him. She did not want to laugh. “You’re a horrible person, Matthew Tyler Latimer.”
“I know, Jessica Lenore Latimer.” He pulled her toward him, pressing her hands to his chest, and then the laughter drained away and was replaced by a sudden look of tenderness that brought fresh tears to her eyes. “You’re not afraid of me, are you, Jessie?”
Chapter Eleven
“N-no.” She threaded her fingers through the mat of dark, curling hair on his chest. Matt sucked his breath in sharply, and she lifted her head to look at his face. There was concern there, but his eyes held hunger, too. Her stomach tightened, and she looked away, half-afraid of what he might read in her eyes.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered, and it was true. She wasn’t afraid of him. It was everything else that scared her to death. His expectations. Her expectations. She was terrified that she would fail at this most basic of human acts. She was afraid of doing something stupid and awkward and…beginnerish. And underneath it all there was a nervous little hum of physical fear. She knew what was going to happen. She wanted it to happen, but she couldn’t help but think about the possibility of blood and pain.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she repeated, but even to her own ears she sounded less than sure.
Matt slid his fingers through the silky hair at her temple, his touch feather light. “I’d like to tell you that it’s going to be the greatest experience of your life, but I don�
��t know that it will be. At the risk of forever ruining my reputation, I haven’t exactly made a habit of deflowering virgins.”
The dry-voiced confession brought her head up, a little choke of laughter escaping her. “That’s such a stupid word for it. I mean, there’s nothing floral about it, is there? Who do you suppose came up with that phrase?”
Matt’s grin was a little lopsided, his fingers not quite steady as they touched the curve of her cheek, trailed along the line of her jaw. “Probably the same people who refer to a man planting his seed.” His hand under her chin prevented her from ducking her head to hide the sudden color in her cheeks. “When you think about it, there’s a whole horticultural theme going.”
“I’m sorry to be such an idiot,” she said, wishing desperately for a sophistication that had never been hers.
“You’re not an idiot.” He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable for the first time. “I’m sure this is breaking every rule in the bridegroom’s handbook.” He hesitated, and she felt his chest expand beneath her hands as he drew a deep breath. Self-conscious color slid across his cheekbones. “Jessie, I’ve…ah…had quite a bit of experience in this particular…ah…area, and I’ve never had any complaints.”
Jessie studied his collarbone with great interest. He’d meant it to be reassuring, and it was. Not that she’d really needed that particular reassurance. She’d known Matt would be a considerate lover. It wasn’t in him to be anything less. She wasn’t crazy about being reminded, even obliquely, that he’d slept with other women. But it wasn’t as though it was a surprise, and, to tell the truth, she was pathetically grateful that he had the experience she was so sorely lacking. It was nice to know that one of them knew what they were doing. And if that was terribly double standard of her, so be it.
“I just didn’t expect to be so nervous,” she muttered to his collarbone.
Loving Jessie Page 17
