“Griffin Steele, what are you doing?” she yelped, twisting around to look down at him.
His smile looked feral and his features were pulled taut with passion. But it was the smoldering heat in his black eyes that made every nerve in her body quiver. He looked like he wanted to devour her—slowly. “Oh, my,” she whispered.
His gaze dropped to her bottom, exposed when he’d pushed up her chemise. He traced a finger along the cleft. “Have I ever told you what a gorgeous arse you have, Justine?”
“Ah . . .”
But before she could answer, he was swarming up behind her. His hands clamped around her hips, tugging her back and opening her to his touch. The pose made her feel intensely vulnerable and exceedingly naughty.
“Wouldn’t this be more comfortable on the bed?” she said, unsuccessfully holding back a nervous giggle. “Surely this—”
When he slipped his hand between her folds and then pressed a finger inside her slick channel, she gasped.
“Let’s try this instead,” he said, his breath hot on her neck.
Then his hand was gone and he was there instead, thick and heavy and hard, driving up into her. Justine let out a cry, rising straight up on her toes.
“Oh, oh!” She gripped the post for dear life.
Griffin’s entire body was plastered against hers as his fingers spread low and wide on her hips. The wool of his breeches brushed against her bottom and the backs of her legs, prickling her skin with sensation. She could feel the burning heat of his body through the linen of his shirt.
“Is it too much?” he said, his voice rough with passion.
She shook her head, too breathless for words. All she could do was push back, trying to increase the pressure, silently asking for more.
He gave it to her, slowly at first, but then with long, powerful strokes as he surged into her. Justine panted with the building pressure, trying to writhe against him but trapped between his unrelenting body and the bedpost.
“More,” she gasped. “I need more.”
He hummed in her ear. “So demanding, my termagant little wife.”
She would have scolded him if she’d had the breath for it. But when his hand slipped around to delve into her curls and find the tight knot of aching flesh, all rational thought vanished. He stroked her, rubbing the swollen bud as he drove into her. Everything in her body shivered to a fevered pitch and her back curved into an arch. Her head fell onto his shoulder and she cried out as waves of luxurious spasms contracted around the hard length buried deep inside her.
“God, Justine,” he gasped out. He surged into her one last time, holding himself high and hard as he climaxed.
For a sweet eternity they hung suspended. Then Griffin brought them down to the floor in a slow, controlled collapse with Justine sprawled on top of him, gasping and trying to catch her breath.
“You were right,” Griffin finally managed. “The bed would have been more comfortable. But I wouldn’t have missed that for the world.”
She breathed out an utterly replete sigh of satisfaction. “It was entirely naughty, but I suppose I should expect nothing less from the notorious Mr. Steele.”
With impressive, easy strength he lifted and turned her until she was cradled on top of him. He kissed her on the tip of her nose. “True, but from now on I will only be notorious with Mrs. Steele.”
She propped her arms on his chest, looking into his handsome face and then letting her gaze drift down to the mythical creature inked on his chest that was so much like him—fierce, protective, and magnificently independent.
A quizzical smile tilted up the corners of his mouth. “Justine?”
“I love you, Griffin Steele,” she said. “I know it’s not what you wanted, but I truly hope you don’t mind.”
She ducked her head, feeling suddenly shy. The last thing she ever wanted was to make him less than what he was—what he had fought so hard to be. She couldn’t bear the notion that marriage would be a trap or something that diminished him.
“Justine, look at me,” he said as he smoothed his hands along her spine.
She made herself look up.
“You,” he said. His dark gaze gleamed with intent. “You are all I want. Nothing else, now and forever.”
Tears stung her eyes again, and she had to blink. “Dear me, I’m turning into quite the watering pot today,” she whispered.
His lips parted in a dazzling grin much like the one his mother had given him a short time ago. Somehow, it seemed to signal a new beginning for all of them. “I love you, Justine Brightmore Steele. That will never change.”
She let out a sigh, knowing she’d be happy to bask forever in the warmth of his smile.
But then he winced, shifting beneath her on the floor. “I don’t mean to complain, my love,” he said. “But about that comfortable bed . . .”
Epilogue
Justine set aside her needlework when her husband strolled into the drawing room. She rose and crossed to the whatnot to retrieve a decanter and pour a splash of brandy into a delicate, facet-cut glass.
“How did you know?” he said, accepting the drink.
“You were locked up with Dominic for an hour and you just escorted your mother out to her carriage. Surely at least one of those events discomposed you.”
He sighed dramatically as he tugged her down next to him on the settee. “You know me too well, love. Between Dominic’s constant lectures and my mother’s endless apologies, I feel myself teetering on the verge of hysteria.”
“How very upsetting for you,” Justine replied, trying not to laugh at his dramatic exaggeration. “I take it that your visit with Dominic was not entirely enjoyable.”
“Oh, we quite enjoyed discussing Count Marzano’s precipitous removal from England. He will no longer pose a threat to the baby or anyone else in this family.”
“Thank goodness. I know Chloe was still worried about that.”
Griffin flashed a half smile. “But you were not?”
“Oh, no. Between Dominic and Aden, I was sure the Prince Regent would come round to our way of thinking. After all, how could he possibly resist their joint efforts?”
He laughed. “It’s true. As much as my cousin dislikes spending time with his dear father, he’s become quite adept at handling Prinny. Almost as adept as I am, in fact.”
“That’s only because His Highness owes you so much money,” she said in a dry voice.
His only answer was another crooked grin.
“So I take it,” Justine said, “that Dominic is satisfied there will be no political repercussions?”
“Very minor ones, perhaps, nothing we need be concerned about. But at Dominic’s insistence, I have agreed—grudgingly, I might add—to remain in England for a few more months until all matters are settled. We should be able to depart for Italy and Greece by late May.”
“It wouldn’t be very pleasant to leave at this time of year anyway.” Justine shuddered at the idea of traveling in winter. “Besides, you’ll be able to spend more time with your mother.”
His eyes narrowed on her but he said nothing as he drank his brandy. Mentally, Justine sighed. Although she gave her husband credit for treating his mother with a careful sense of courtesy, she wished he would let his guard down with her a little more. But he was proceeding slowly and with caution, and she couldn’t really bring herself to blame him.
“Did Dominic mention if Chloe will be allowed to remain as the child’s guardian?” she asked.
Griffin put his glass on the table in front of them and stretched an arm along the back of the settee, his hand curling around her shoulder. As always, her husband’s touch filled her with delicious warmth and a profound sense of security.
“Yes, although the Regent specified that Dominic should also be involved in seeing to Stephen’s well-being and safekeeping. So, it would appear that my mother and Dominic will be spending quite a bit of time together.”
“That should prove interesting,” Justine mused.
“For two people who were once so close, they hardly know how to treat each other.”
Griffin nodded absently, his fingers playing with the small ruffle on the top of her sleeve. “I’ve never seen Dominic more off-kilter. I have to say, I’m rather enjoying that part of it.”
Justine turned in her seat to face him, determined to beard the lion in his den. “What about you, my love? How are you feeling about Chloe, now that a little time has passed?”
He gave a casual shrug, but his lean, handsome features were thoughtful. “As much as I’d like to cherish my resentment of her, I find myself unable to do so. She seems so . . . vulnerable.” He sighed. “And so bloody sorry. Whenever she embarks on another round of apologies, I struggle with the most extraordinary sense of guilt, if you can believe it. It makes me want to grovel in apology.”
Justine put a comforting hand on his thigh, wishing she could do more to help him forgive his mother and, she hoped, eventually love her. If there was one thing she’d learned in the last few days, it was that Chloe infinitely deserved love.
“She sincerely believed she was doing the right thing by staying away from you,” Justine said.
He let out a little snort. “Yes, but she was wrong.”
“She realizes that now, too.”
He let out another sigh and tugged her against him. Justine went willingly, snuggling into her husband’s embrace.
“Well, there’s no point in beating my breast over it,” Griffin said. “After all, if my mother had found me, she probably would have carted me back to Yorkshire. Or made me work at her blasted charity, which might have been even worse. She’s almost as bad as a missionary when it comes to that sort of thing.”
“Who knows?” Justine said, patting him on the chest. “You might have ended up a vicar, after all.”
He laughed, and then tipped her chin up to look at him. She saw no shadows or regrets in his dark gaze—only love and a wicked glint of humor.
“As blasphemous as it sounds, my sweet,” he said, “there’s only one thing I want to worship right now, and that’s you. And preferably while you’re naked.”
She rested a hand on his cheek, putting all the love in her heart into her smile. “It is very naughty of you to say such a thing, but I suppose that’s what comes from marrying a man of your reputation, Mr. Steele. I have only myself to blame for engaging in such reckless behavior.”
And as he leaned down to kiss her, Justine could only thank God that she had.
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2014 by Vanessa Kelly
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Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom Page 36
