When he finished kissing her, he didn’t know who was more befuddled, Phadra or himself. Drawing in a deep breath, her wide eyes glazed with passion, Phadra reached up and under the front collar of the dress. Her fingers twisted and released the hidden button from its buttonhole, letting the neckline fall open to reveal the curves and valleys of her breasts.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, bending his head toward them. Then her hands stopped him.
“Now it’s your turn,” she said.
Startled, Grant stared at her for a moment until he saw the gleam of challenge, and hunger, in her eyes. He tipped back his head and laughed. “Are we to be equal in this also?”
She came up on her elbows to look him straight in the eye. “Can we?”
“Oh, yes,” he promised, and pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Phadra’s reaction was everything he wanted and more, for when she reached up to run her hands over the hard lines of his chest, her fingers lightly touching the bandage, he stopped them. “Now it’s your turn.” Her eyes opened wide, blinking in surprise. “Everything equal,” he reminded her, finding this love play intriguing. He rolled over on his back and, with a pretense of casualness he was far from feeling, placed his hands behind his head as if he had all day.
Phadra looked at him, and then a slow, sure smile spread across her face as she accepted his challenge. Kicking off her shoes, she stood up on the bed, her feet shifting to help her keep her balance. She reached down and gathered her dress up around her waist, then slipped it over her head. Her hair caught in her skirts before tumbling down wildly around her face and shoulders, several long curls brushing over the high curves of her breast.
She looked beautiful, wanton, desirable. For a blessed moment he forgot to breathe. “Willful wife,” he whispered, and then rose up on his knees to meet her. “Wonderful wife.” His hands pushed up the cotton of her petticoat, his palm running up the back of her leg. “Willing wife,” he finished as almost reverently he bent down and placed his lips against the tender white skin of her inner thigh.
She gasped, as if the sound had been surprised out of her, and then seemed to hold her breath as he tasted her, his lips touching first the inside of one thigh and then the other, working his way slowly upward.
She tasted as cool and smooth as buttermilk. He didn’t want to frighten her, but how he wanted to taste her, to touch her! Gently he urged her to open to him, and she obeyed, her weight relaxing in his arms, the very essence of her dewy and soft. For a second her hands fluttered as if she didn’t know what to do with them…and then she laid them against his head, her fingers curling in his hair. Her breath escaped in a low, sweet moan, and he smiled.
Suddenly Grant was done playing games. He lowered her to the bed in his arms, his skillful fingers un-lacing her corset, loosening the tapes holding her petticoat.
“Grant?”
“Don’t, Phadra. Don’t let it frighten you.”
She looked at him then, her eyes clear and sparkling. “I’m not afraid. I want this.”
“Oh, Phadra, when you look at me like that…” His voice trailed off as he lowered his head and closed his mouth over her breast, drawing the sensitive nipple in with his tongue as if sipping nectar.
She cried out his name, the sound lost in the rhythm of the rain. Her hands smoothed the muscles of his back before pressing him against her, a silent plea for more. He obliged while pushing and pulling the last of her cotton and linen undergarments down around her knees, at which point she helped him by kicking them off her feet until she lay naked, open and panting for him.
Grant rolled off the bed and onto his feet. Unbuttoning his breeches, he hooked his hands in the waist and pushed them down over his hips. He lay back on the bed and, cradling her in his arms, kissed her, running his hand down the smooth, soft skin of her arm, over her back, and along the curve of her buttocks. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered as he slipped his hand between their bodies to the very sensitive center of her femininity. She was ready for him. More than ready. At the first brush of his fingers against her, her flesh quivered as if aching for his touch.
He was barely able to control his own body as she arched and moved naturally to his touch. He didn’t want to scare her. He didn’t want to hurt her. But he wanted her.
Nothing he’d known before this moment compared to this primal desire racing through his body. Grant lifted himself up and on top of her, letting her feel the strength of his heat between her thighs. She moaned slightly, the sound captured in his mouth, and moved against him.
She pressed her breasts, the nipples hard and firm, against his chest, her arms hugging him closer, and Grant accepted that as her consent. Ever so steadily, he pressed himself into her.
Nothing could feel sweeter, or tighter, than Phadra. The feeling of her adjusting to fit his size was almost his undoing, and yet the desire to please, to make her first time wonderful, overrode his own needs. His mind half mad with lust, he pushed through the barrier of her maidenhead and claimed her as his wife, burying himself deep inside her.
His penetration into the deepest recesses of her body shocked her. He held himself still, letting her accustom herself to the feel of him.
“Are you all right?” He raised himself, favoring his good arm, and looked down at her, his gray eyes smoky.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “Are we still taking turns?”
His eyes turned light with surprise and then laughter, a laughter she could feel to the very core of her being. It felt good.
“No,” he admitted gently. “In this we’re as one.” Then he kissed her so deeply, so tenderly, all fears were erased from her mind.
When he moved, she discovered she moved with him. He began whispering her name with each stroke, the sound hypnotizing her and encouraging her to meet him and find pleasure.
She didn’t know what she was searching for; she didn’t know what he wanted. But it seemed right to have his body cover hers, and as she relaxed he became her guide, taking her to places she had never known existed.
He kissed her now, his tongue entering her until she felt herself full of him—and still she wanted more. When she wrapped her arm around the still-sensitive area near his wound, he pushed away from her, telling her to lower her hand until it rested on the hard curve of his buttocks so that she could better communicate what she wanted.
This felt natural, felt right. She let him know that she wanted more. More, more, more…her movements came faster, and he kept pace with her, kissing and stroking her until…until…with a startled cry, she found it.
Hearing her gasp of wonder, Grant pushed deeper inside her, surprised by the strength of her release. Her eyes opened wide with knowledge and deepened with sudden understanding as contraction after contraction flowed through her and to him. Then, and only then, did he seek his release, letting his seed spill into her in the most satisfying, most soul-fulfilling act of sex he’d ever experienced.
For one long moment he held her to him as if he’d never let her go, and then, rolling to his side and gathering her close to him, he fell asleep, his senses filled with the touch and taste of Phadra and the steady rhythm of the rain.
Cradled in the haven of his body, the heady scent of their lovemaking mingling with the fragrance of flowers, she listened to the rain and relived over and over what had passed between them.
It was better than fairy tales, magic, and Chinese fireworks rolled up into one.
For the first time since her mother’s death, she felt close to another human being.
For the first time in her life, she felt complete.
Phadra didn’t remember falling asleep but when she woke it was to find herself held in his arms, her back hugged against his chest, her buttocks curved to fit his hips, and the heat of him moving inside her body. He wouldn’t let her stir but held her body in place with those wickedly knowledgeable fingers while he took her to heights she hadn’t thought possible. It was possessive. It was hard. It was wonderfu
l.
Afterward they sat on the bed while he peeled the orange with his long, tapered swordsman’s fingers and talked—about nothing, about everything. Even when they sucked the juice from the orange and no words were exchanged, she felt the two of them to be in perfect harmony.
“It’s just as you said,” she whispered, half to herself.
“What is?” He looked over at her, offering her another slice of the orange.
She took it, her fingers brushing lightly against his, and even that slight contact excited a response from her body. “I feel as though a part of me has joined with you and become one.”
Grant leaned toward her, his long legs stretching out intimately against hers, and pulled her closer. “That’s the way it is supposed to be between a man and a woman.”
“Like this?” she asked, her eyes looking up into his light gray ones.
He brushed the back of his fingers against her breast. The nipple tightened, and deep inside her she felt again that heady rush of desire. “Yes,” he said solemnly.
Suddenly he sat up. “Come. I’m hungry for something more than a piece of fruit.” He went over to his wardrobe and threw it open. He chose a red silk dressing gown and offered it to her.
“What are we going to eat?” she asked. She felt almost decadent as she slipped her arms into the hugely oversized garment that smelled like him and let the fluid silk cascade over her body.
He pulled on his breeches. “There’ll be something down in the kitchen.”
“We can’t go down to the kitchen like this. What will Wallace or Henny say?”
“Nothing, I imagine,” he answered, opening the door for her. “I gave them all the day off and asked them to let us have the house.”
“You didn’t!” she gasped.
He leaned against the door, his eyes alive with amusement. “Phadra, Henny and Wallace are probably thinking it’s high time the two of us got together.”
His words sounded so close to the truth that Phadra didn’t argue but followed him through the hallway, feeling like a naughty child as she trailed him down the back stairs to the kitchen dressed in nothing but the silk dressing gown. While she sat on a high stool, he sliced some cold capon from the night before and offered it to her with a loaf of crusty bread and a glass of champagne.
Again she found him to be a good companion. Never had the conversation between them been so easy—but then she realized that she’d always felt free to speak her mind to him. As it grew dark, he lit some candles and then insisted on heating water to make a bath for her. As he rolled out the large copper tub and placed it in the middle of the kitchen, he talked about raising his sisters in this house after their mother had died.
“Anne and I did it all, taking care of the little ones and everything.” He poured the heated water into the tub.
“What do you mean, ‘and everything’?”
Grant shrugged. “Father left debts. Matters that had to be settled.” He smiled at her. “My lady’s bath awaits.”
“Grant…,” she started uncertainly.
Before she could utter another protest, he slipped the robe off her, lifted her up, and lowered her into the warm tub. “You need this.”
And she discovered she did. The warm water soothed the tenderness between her thighs. She sighed at the luxury. “I’ve never had anyone prepare my bath for me before.”
He dropped to his knees beside the tub. “We’ve done several things you haven’t experienced before,” he said, grinning. He picked up the bar of soap that he had fetched a moment earlier and dipped his hands into the water.
“What are you doing?” she asked, edging away as far as she could in the tub.
“I’m giving you a bath,” he responded evenly, and brought his hand out to show her the bar of soap. He then lathered his hands and began rubbing the soap across her neck and shoulders, his hands slipping underneath her hair.
It felt heavenly. Her tense muscles relaxed. The soap had the clean, masculine fragrance he used every day. Finally he removed his hands; thinking him done, she closed her eyes, sinking deeper into the water.
His hands dipped lower and then brushed the crests of her breasts. Phadra came up with a start. Unrepentant, he flashed her a smile that deepened his dimples and stole her heart—and warned her that he had something other than a simple bath in mind.
She tilted her head in his direction, arching one eyebrow suspiciously. “Did you plan this?”
“All of it, or just the bath?” he asked, his knowing fingers lingering a moment between her legs before sweeping up the inside of her thigh. He lifted her leg and made a show of lathering it, his strong hands kneading, caressing the muscles.
Phadra was finding it hard to breathe, let alone think coherently. “Any of it,” she managed to say before breaking off in a sigh as he kissed and nibbled a sensitive spot on the inside of her knee.
He looked up, his quicksilver eyes warm and admiring. “Perhaps it would be better to say that I thought it would be fun.”
Phadra pulled her leg from him and sat up in the tub. She covered her breasts with her arm. “Fun? Grant Morgan is actually unbending enough to have fun?”
Grant sat back on his heels. Gently he reached out and twisted one of her wet, unruly curls around his finger. “Actually, Grant Morgan isn’t unbent at all.” She didn’t even begin to understand his meaning until he leaned over, kissed her, and then rose to his feet and began unbuttoning his breeches.
The modest part of Phadra wanted to hide, but another part of her surged with pride. There was no doubt as his breeches fell to the floor that this man wanted her. And she wanted him. Already her need thrummed through her body—but still she was slightly shocked when her staid, conservative banker stepped into the tub.
“It’s not big enough for both of us,” she protested.
“Yes, it is,” he said. “Trust me.” Lifting her up as easily as if she were a doll, he sat down in the tub and brought her down on top of him.
“Grant, this is—” She struggled for a word as he shifted himself to cradle intimately against her. His hands wrapped themselves around her breasts. “Ecstasy,” Phadra finished, leaning forward until her breasts flattened against the soft, wet mat of hair on his chest.
Phadra sighed with the contentment of a well-fed cat, her head beneath his chin as he stroked and lathered her. “Phadra?” his low, deep voice asked.
She looked up, her nose so close to his lips. “Can you do it again?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she answered, the slow glow of desire starting in her belly. She started to stand up, but his broad hand held her in place. “Here?” she asked, shocked.
He smiled, a wicked smile. “Phadra,” he chastised with mock seriousness, “you dare to question the Lord of Love?”
Her eyes met his. She was surprised by his lazy teasing. Then his strong hands molded and shaped her buttocks, lifting her and then setting her down so he could fill her. Phadra sat up straight, her eyes wide with surprise at the sensation of warm bath water and hot, hard man.
He laughed quietly a moment before gently instructing her to move. Phadra still wasn’t sure what he meant until he lifted his mouth up to hers and began stroking a gentle rhythm with his tongue. Almost without conscious thought, Phadra slowly began to copy that rhythm. Her movements became more sure, less hesitant, as his eyes closed and his body arched to meet hers, giving her a sense of her power.
He let her set the pace. His breathing became harsher, more labored. His hands stroked her arms, and he whispered words to her, love words that made her feel strong and wonderful. And then her need took over, driving her to a pace that sloshed the water back and forth in the tub and onto the brick floor. This was what it was about, her heart sang. This give-and-take between a man and a woman. This was marriage. This was love.
He came, his body thrusting up into hers and holding her while he shouted her name to the world around them. Throwing her arms around his neck, Phadra gave in to her own wild release, co
llapsing on top of him.
Long, wondrous minutes passed before either of them moved. He moved first, his hand relaxing and then tiredly caressing the small of her back. She felt his face curve into a smile, and he released a sigh of pure satisfaction. Lifting her a moment, he settled the two of them more comfortably in the tub.
“I hope Henny and Wallace don’t ever come back,” she said, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder.
He chuckled, the sound low and warmly masculine. “If they did come back right now, I don’t think I could move even if my soul depended on it.”
“Me neither,” she agreed, tracing a swirling line in the damp hair on his chest. The emerald on her ring winked at her.
“Grant?” she asked, raising her head until she could look him squarely in the face. “We’re going to be all right, aren’t we? I haven’t ruined you completely, have I?”
For a second she thought she saw a hesitation beneath the lids of his half-closed eyes, but then just as quickly it wasn’t there and she could believe she’d imagined it. “We’ll be fine,” his deep voice reassured her. Then he hugged her so tightly, she chose to believe him.
Later, after they’d managed to find their way back to their bedroom, she wrapped a dry bandage around his chest and shoulder. He folded her up in his arms and they made slow, lazy love one last time. He warned her she would be sore in the morning, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything but having him hold her close and listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart.
Dear Lord, she loved him. The truth of it went straight to the very core of her being. She loved Grant Morgan. And then she said those words aloud, softly, against the silky hair of his chest, as her eyes closed and she drifted off with a sigh into the deepest sleep she’d had since the moment they’d met.
Grant didn’t know if she’d meant for him to hear that quiet declaration. For a brutal moment, he wished that he hadn’t heard it.
But he had…and then bit by bit, measure by measure, a miracle began to happen. Those words, simply said and honestly given, began to work magic upon him. A magic he’d never known he needed.
Treasured Vows Page 28
