by Trisha Telep
He needed no further encouragement. But even as he licked and bit and suckled, let his hands roam her soft skin, some trace of reason lingered. She wasn’t ready yet, however her touch and her sighs of pleasure urged him to further depredations. He kept coming back to her mouth. He had ten years of kisses to make up for. Each kiss was hotter than the last.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she said in a broken voice.
“Whereas you’re dressed just right,” he whispered with a low laugh, tasting her breast again.
She’d been lovely as a girl, fresh and dewy and as rich with promise as a furled rose. But the woman in his arms now took his breath away.
With every minute, he felt her confidence increase. When she dragged his shirt up from his breeches, her touch on his naked back shot lightning behind his eyes.
“Sebastian, I want to see you.”
He couldn’t remain immune to her pleading. He rolled off the bed and tore his clothes off, flinging them into the corner in his haste. Then he paused, wondering if he should have been more circumspect. Would the sight of his rampant nakedness terrify his wife? When she was a girl, his unabashed maleness had frightened her. Could that have changed?
She slid up against the headboard, making no pretence at modesty by covering herself with the sheet. Dear Lord, she was a sight to set any man’s passions afire. Her face was flushed, her lips were full and red, her body was a symphony of curves and hollows. Her thick golden hair cascaded around her shoulders, teasingly covering one breast and leaving the other bare. Kinvarra felt himself grow harder, larger, needier.
Her eyes widened as her inspection continued down past his chest and belly. Hell, what would he do if she stopped him now?
Could he stop?
Yes, something inside him insisted.
“You’re magnificent,” she said softly, her eyes glinting blue fire under their heavy lids.
She sent him a smile of such joy that his foolish heart performed another somersault. She’d always been able to confound him with a word. Ten years without her hadn’t changed that. She stretched out one hand in invitation. To his astonishment, she wasn’t shaking. All her earlier uncertainty seemed to have vanished.
“Come to me, my husband.”
Alicia watched the expressions cross Kinvarra’s striking face. Somewhere in the last years, she’d learned to read him. When they’d first married, she hadn’t known how to pierce the shell of physical perfection to reach the man beneath. He’d seemed a godlike creature, too far above mere mortals for her to feel worthy of being his wife.
But the man who stood before her now, superb in his nakedness, was all too human.
For all his strength and beauty, he was vulnerable. How had she never seen that before?
Tonight she’d learned that he blamed himself for their marital difficulties. How odd, when finally she admitted that she’d been at least as much at fault as he in the disaster that had been their early married life. She’d been spoilt, demanding, headstrong, too quick to take umbrage, too slow to offer understanding.
Tonight she surveyed her husband’s powerful body and felt a woman’s desire. And a woman’s ability to forgive. Sensual need raged in her blood, made her heart pump with eagerness to know this man’s possession. Fear lurked too but she refused to acknowledge it.
As she watched his face, she recognized he was still unsure of her, unaware how she’d changed. He didn’t know that, after a long and difficult road, she’d discovered exactly where she ought to be.
In Kinvarra’s arms. For ever.
How had she imagined poor, pathetic, inadequate Harold Fenton could compare with the man she’d married?
“Sebastian, I want you,” she said softly, surprised at how easily the words emerged. “Don’t make me wait.”
Something in her voice or her smile must have convinced him she had grown beyond the skittish girl he’d married. Determination flooded his face, hardened his jaw, set his eyes glinting in a way that, for all her arousal, made her pulse race with trepidation.
And excitement.
How had she never recognized what an exciting man she’d married? She must have been insane ten years ago.
This was no time for regrets. Not when her tall, handsome, overwhelmingly virile husband prowled towards her with such purpose. There was none of his earlier hesitation in the way he drew her into his arms and tugged her under him. There was just hunger and a masculine strength that made her feel both delicate yet stronger than steel.
When he’d kissed her, she thought she’d measured his passion. But now he was insatiable. He touched her everywhere, he kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough of her mouth, he whispered praise and endearments until she was intoxicated with delight.
He touched her between her legs, stroking the sleek folds. She shuddered against him as sensation streaked through her. New, strange, astonishing pleasure. She cried out his name and jerked her hips up to meet him. She wanted him to take her, to fill the lonely reaches of her soul, to appease her hungry senses. Her arms closed hard around him, feeling the coil and release of the muscles in his back.
He rose above her and she caught the turbulent emotion in his face as he stared down at her. The moment spun into eternity then shattered when he joined his body to hers with a sure command that made her heart slam against her chest.
Her body tightened. After the years without him, the invasion felt frightening and unfamiliar. He was a large man and she’d been chaste for so long. She dragged in a shuddering breath, struggling to adjust to his size and power.
Another breath, heavy with the musky, male essence of Kinvarra. She shifted, angled her hips, felt him slide deeper, more surely. Then magically all awkwardness flowed away and, with perfect naturalness, she arched up to join him in a union as much of soul as body.
And recognized with despairing clarity she’d never stopped loving him.
Her hands clenched in the hot, bare skin of his shoulders as the inexorable truth rolled over her like a huge wave. Then she closed her eyes and gave herself up to Sebastian.
Right now he was hers. She refused to let fear of the future destroy this moment of ultimate closeness. She refused to accept fear at all. Fear had already cost her so much.
She felt his tension as he held himself still, then with hard, purposeful strokes that built her arousal to an inferno, he began to move. The dance wasn’t new to her, although the deep, joyous intimacy of this moment was.
She spiralled higher and higher until she touched the sky. This was beyond anything she’d ever felt. Beyond anything she’d even imagined.
At the peak, glittering light blinded her and she cried out. Such rapture. Such glory.
Such love.
Vaguely through the swirling storm of passion, she heard Sebastian’s deep groan. He shuddered and liquid heat spilled inside her. For a long moment, he held himself taut before he slumped, his body heavy with exhaustion.
The air was redolent of their lovemaking. It was as if she breathed the memory of pleasure. She tightened her hold on his back, feeling the sinews flex as he settled himself against her without withdrawing. She’d never felt so close to another person.
The fire burned low, leaving the room in darkness. Alicia stared up at the ceiling, watching the shadows gather. Nothing could dull the glow she felt or dam the satisfaction rippling through her body. She felt made anew. She felt ready to conquer the world. She felt tired and languorous and ready to sleep for a week.
So this was what a man’s possession could be. She’d had no idea. No idea at all what she’d been missing.
With sudden desperation, her fingers dug into his back. Oh, dear heaven, don’t let fate be so cruel as to take Sebastian away from her now that she’d discovered him again. Not now that she was finally woman enough to be his wife in every sense.
He’d undoubtedly wanted her when he’d taken her, not even the most inexperienced woman could have thought otherwise. But had Sebastian meant what just hap
pened as a last goodbye to a bitter, unhappy past? Or was it the first step in a long, joyful journey together?
Kinvarra gasped for breath, his heartbeat drumming in his ears like a wild sea.
An ocean of satisfaction flooded his body. He’d intended to take his time, prepare Alicia, raise her to peak after peak of ecstasy before he found his own pleasure. But when he’d touched his wife’s naked body and read desire in her shining eyes, he couldn’t hold back.
He’d been as hungry as ever the eager young man had been, although at least this time, praise the angels, she hadn’t closed away from him in misery. Instead she’d achieved her own delight in his arms. He’d felt the way she tightened, and he hadn’t mistaken her broken cry as she’d arched to take him.
His big body still pressed her into the mattress. She must feel crushed, suffocated. He was a brute not to move away from her.
But how sweet it was to lie here in the aftermath, to let his hands wander her silky skin, to listen to the soft music of her breathing, to rest surrounded by Alicia.
Heaven couldn’t offer an eternity of bliss purer than this moment.
What had just happened offered a profundity of experience he’d never known. He’d mourn forever if this was all the happiness allotted to him. If he was to possess her only this once.
Tonight they’d moved from hostility to a brittle trust to a conflagration of joy. But was this truce only a pause in their warfare? Or could it form the foundations of a future? He prayed for the latter, but ten years of yearning had taught him not to trust the promise of happiness.
Just like that, reality descended. He and Alicia had found shattering pleasure tonight, but he needed more. He needed her commitment beyond one tumble between the sheets, no matter how earth-shaking that tumble was.
He’d wanted this woman since he’d first seen her. He wanted to build a family with her. He wanted to grow old with her. Nothing in ten years of separation had changed that.
But he was wise enough now to know that wanting wasn’t enough.
He could probably compel her to return to him. After all, the law was on his side. But for all his faults, he’d never been a bully. Could he bear to let her go if she rose from this bed and announced she would return to London alone? He might not be a bully, but the primitive savage inside him howled denial at the prospect of losing her again.
Slowly he raised himself on to his elbows. He smoothed the dishevelled blonde hair away from her face. She looked beautiful, replete, weary. In spite of his good intentions, he’d used her ruthlessly. He’d wanted to cherish her, but passion had swept them up into a whirlwind where all that mattered was the endless drive to blazing fulfilment.
Piercing tenderness overwhelmed him and he bent his head to kiss her gently on the lips. Not the hard, demanding kisses of earlier, although the ghost of desire lingered in the soft touch. “Are you all right?”
She smiled up at him and he struggled against believing that the radiant light in her eyes was love. “Better than all right.” Her slender throat worked as she swallowed. “That was . . . that was astonishing.”
“Yes.” He fought against saying more. She was tired and defenceless. It wasn’t the right time to harangue her about the future. Instead he kissed her again then rolled to the side. “It’s nearly morning.”
“Mmm.”
When he drew her against his side, she was slack with exhaustion, a delicious bundle of warm, sated womanhood. He paused to savour the moment, praying it promised a beginning and not an ending. He’d sell his soul for the chance to hold her like this for the rest of their lives.
He held her until she slept, but for all his weariness and the throb of sexual satisfaction through his body, he couldn’t settle. Eventually he rose and padded over to the window.
Very quietly so as not to wake Alicia, he parted the curtains. Immediately white light flooded the room. It was later than he’d realized. The storm had blown itself out overnight and now the pale sun rose over the horizon, painting the fresh snow with gold and making it sparkle like diamonds.
The idyll of a winter’s night had given way to a new day. This morning he and his wife had hard decisions to make.
Would his glimpse of paradise prove cruelly brief? Could all the lovely harmony of these last hours crash on the rocks of past wrongs and his insatiable demands?
He didn’t know how to be anything but demanding. He wanted her with him. He wanted her in his bed. He couldn’t stop himself.
“How beautiful.”
He’d been so lost in his troubled thoughts he hadn’t heard her rise from the bed. His heart slammed to a stop as she slid her arms around his waist and pressed her warm nakedness to his back.
“I thought you were asleep,” he said softly.
“I missed you.”
His aching heart crashed once more as she brushed a kiss across his bare shoulder. “I’ve missed you for ten years,” he said before he could stop himself.
“I thought you were glad to be rid of me.” Her voice was muffled against his skin. “I was such a silly girl.”
“You were enchanting. You still are.”
Silence fell, a silence heavy with the weight of remembered pain and everything still unspoken. Because he couldn’t resist touching her, he rested his hands lightly on hers. The urge stirred to seize, to grab, to compel, but he crushed it. Last night, she’d given herself to him freely. He refused to compromise that memory.
She sighed softly, her breath a warm, sensual tickle against his skin. “The snow is so clean. Even after the storm, it’s perfect. It’s waiting for us to make the first footprints.”
He tightened his hold on her hands. So much hinged on the next moments. He struggled to find the right words, wondering if the right words even existed.
“Our future could be like that, Alicia. A new path. A new life.” He paused, swallowed, and his voice was husky when he spoke what was in his heart. “Come back to me.”
He felt her stiffen although she didn’t move away. His gut cramped in anguish as he wondered if he’d ruined his chances. Permanently this time.
“For how long?” Her voice was quiet.
He stared at the glittering scene outside without seeing it. Instead, all his mind, all his soul focused on his wife. Again, he risked honesty, even if honesty cost him all chance of achieving his dream of a life with her.
“For ever.”
This time she did draw away, and he read the inches between them as absence. “Why?”
He turned to study her. She looked unhappy and uncertain and remarkably young. Almost as young as the girl he’d married. “Because I love you.”
“No . . .” She shook her head as if she didn’t believe him.
Kinvarra smiled at her, even while she broke his heart. Again. “Yes.”
Alicia raised her chin and stared at him as if what he said made no sense. “I was so awful to you. How can you forgive me?”
“How can you forgive me? Let’s rise above the past, my darling. I want you with me. I’ve never wanted anything else. Don’t let old mistakes destroy our hope of happiness.” He paused and swallowed. “If you love me, come back to me.”
For an unendurable moment, her expression didn’t change. Sebastian heard his every heartbeat as a knell of doom. Then the tension drained from her face and her eyes turned as blue as a clear sky. Suddenly, in the depths of winter, he basked in the reviving warmth of summer sun.
She stepped towards him although she didn’t touch him. “Sebastian, I love you too. We’ve wasted so much time. Let’s not waste any more.”
Shaking, he reached out to curl his hands around her upper arms and drag her against him. He could hardly believe what was happening. Yesterday he’d been lost in an endless mire of despair. Today the world offered love and hope and a future with the woman he adored. The swiftness of the change was dizzying.
“My wife,” he murmured and kissed her with all the reverence he felt in saying those two words.
Th
e vivid, passionate woman in his arms kissed him back with a fervour that sent his blood rushing through his veins in a hot torrent. A bright, unfamiliar joy flooded him as he realized that Alicia at last was his.
Then because it was cold and he wanted her and he loved her – and they’d been apart for longer than mortal man could bear – he swung her up in his arms and strode across to the rumpled bed.
The Dashing Miss Langley
Amanda Grange
It was a perfect summer morning in 1819 when Miss Annabelle Langley drove her curricle through the streets of London, weaving in and out of the brewers’ carts and carriages with consummate skill. She was a striking sight, her Amazonian figure clad in a sky-blue pelisse and her fair hair topped with a high-crowned bonnet. She had no chaperone except for a tiger perched behind her. He was a splendidly clad urchin and he grinned impudently at the crusty old dowagers who looked on with a frown as the curricle whirled by.
In anyone else such behaviour would have been considered fast, but as Annabelle was twenty-seven years of age and possessed of a large fortune, she was grudgingly allowed to be eccentric.
She brought her equipage to a halt outside a house in Grosvenor Square and, handing the reins to her tiger, she approached the porticoed entrance. She lifted the knocker, but before she could let it drop, her sister-in-law opened the door.
“My dear Annabelle, I am so glad you are here,” said Hetty with a look of relief.
“But you knew I was coming. Why the heartfelt welcome?” asked Annabelle in surprise.
Hetty linked arms and drew her inside, much to the disapproval of the butler, whose expression seemed to say, Ladies opening the door for themselves? Whatever next?
“It is Caroline,” said Hetty, her silk skirts rustling as the two ladies crossed the spacious hall.
“What, do not tell me that she is not ready?” said Annabelle. “I suppose she has overslept and she is still drinking her chocolate? Or is it more serious? Is she standing in front of the mirror wondering which of Madame Renault’s delightful creations she should wear?”
“It is worse than that,” said Hetty with a heavy sigh as she guided Annabelle into the drawing room.
