Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set

by Julie Ortolon

  Her mouth, warm and willing, soon claimed his attention. He’d never known anyone who put as much of herself into a kiss as Alexandra. When she was kissing him, he was convinced she was thinking of nothing and no one else. She matched his every move and made some bold moves of her own. Recalling her shocked hesitation the first time they kissed, he found it hard to reconcile that innocence with the way she was kissing him now.

  His pulse quickened as he wondered whether she’d take to lovemaking as rapidly.

  He trailed his lips to her delicate chin and continued down the slim column of her throat, lingering in that sensitive place where neck met shoulder. He smiled when he sensed her shiver, then pulled back when he felt her fingers go to the line of tiny buttons on his white waistcoat.

  By God, she was learning fast. “You’re undressing me now?”

  Her fingers fumbled. “It seems so.” When she finally got the waistcoat open, she slid her hands underneath and up. The white garment fell down his back to join her frock on the floor. “Shall I fetch you a dressing gown?” she asked, watching avidly as he divested himself of his braces.

  “Hmm?”

  She skimmed her hands over his thin cambric shirt, making his muscles twitch underneath. “Griffin said you would put on a dressing gown.”

  “For what, five minutes? I would only take it back off.”

  She nodded knowingly. “I told him that.”

  He wasn’t at all sure he liked his friend discussing his love life. He did, however, like his friend’s sister running her hands all over his torso, even when she grazed bruises that still hurt.

  “You feel good,” she said, her eyes filled with wonder.

  He ran his own hands down her sides. “You feel good, too,” he told her, his gaze dropping from her intent expression to the swell of her cleavage beneath the plain, low-cut chemise.

  The rosy tips of her lovely breasts tightened under his perusal, and her cheeks turned a delicate pink. “I suppose you’re not going to lift my nightgown then, either?”

  “Pardon?”

  “He said when you were ready, you would lift my nightgown.”

  “What nightgown?” he asked, gesturing at her half-clad form.

  “Never mind.”

  Alexandra swallowed tightly. This wasn’t going at all the way Griffin had led her to expect. Despite what she’d said earlier, she was starting to feel a bit nervous. Her legs were trembling. She was grateful when Tris led her to a chair—until he pulled her sideways onto his lap.

  She hadn’t sat on anyone’s lap since she was about four years old. Tris’s fragrance surrounded her, filling her head with the scents of soap and starch and warm man. He began plucking the pins from her hair. “Do you know,” he said, “how long I’ve dreamed of doing this?”

  “How long?” she whispered.

  “Too long.” He lowered the heavy mass, finger-combing the curls down her back to her waist. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s terribly unruly.”

  “I like it.”

  Somehow he got her shoes and stockings off, and when he rose with her in his arms, cradled against his chest, she was glad of it. For surely she couldn’t have walked to the bed, considering her knees had dissolved.

  He laid her gently on the sheets, then straightened to remove the rest of his clothes. As he pulled his shirt over his head, she gasped and reached to touch him, her fingertips brushing the bruises. “Do they hurt?”

  He flashed her a wicked grin. “I think you need to kiss them to make them better.”

  She nodded, thinking that sounded like an excellent plan. In fact, now that he’d given her the idea, she was dying to kiss him all over. Just as soon as he joined her in the bed—

  He pushed down his trousers and short drawers, and she lost her train of thought. She also lost her breath. Her heart stuttered in alarm.

  She stared.

  Griffin had said that part of Tris would get hard so he could slide it into her, but he’d neglected to say it would also get big.

  “Sweet heaven,” she started—and Tris jumped into bed, pulled the covers over them both, and cut off her sentence with a kiss.

  It was a lovely kiss, but it failed to erase her trepidation.

  “You’re nervous now, aren’t you?” he said.

  “No. Well, maybe. A little.”

  “It will fit, sweetheart.” He ran a hand down her side and back up. “And remember, I promised to stop if you hurt.”

  “Yes, you did. Thank you.”

  He continued slowly stroking her all over through her chemise, which she found rather soothing. Her brother would have warned her if there were a chance of it not working, wouldn’t he? And she trusted Tris. Now that she couldn’t see that part of his body, she was certain it wasn’t as large as she’d thought.

  It simply couldn’t be.

  She’d been surprised, that was all. She’d exaggerated its size in her mind. Everything would be fine.

  She released a shaky breath. “Are you going to ask me to open my legs now?”

  His hand stilled. “What?”

  “Griffin said that after you kissed me and touched me, you would ask me to open my legs.”

  “Would you leave Griffin out of this? I really must have a talk with him. He is singularly unimaginative.” Heaving a giant sigh, he reached for the hem of her chemise. “Let’s get rid of this, shall we?”

  “I told him you’d take it off,” she said smugly, raising her arms to cooperate.

  He dropped the chemise to the floor beside the bed. “Told who?”

  “Griffin.”

  “Enough with Griffin,” he demanded, snuggling closer beside her.

  “All right.” She really couldn’t think straight when Tris was this close, anyway. Especially when he was running his hands all over her naked body, leaving a trail of warm goosebumps in their wake. Especially when he licked his way down to her breasts and swirled his tongue all over them and fastened his mouth on an aching peak. Especially when he suckled and nipped and made her wonder if anyone had ever died of too much pleasure.

  She wasn’t thinking of Griffin then. Nor could she think of him long minutes later, when Tris abandoned her tingling breasts and recaptured her lips with his. Just then, it seemed she couldn’t think at all.

  Especially when he was brushing his fingers up and down her legs.

  Especially when he found a sensitive spot behind her knee.

  Especially when he was drawing circles on the insides of her thighs, tiny circles that moved ever closer to that place between them where she felt a hot, growing ache.

  He didn’t have to ask her to open her legs, because somehow they opened all by themselves. And his hand slid between them, to cup her like he had the night he’d sleepwalked. She gasped, feeling such an exquisite need, she found herself straining against his hand in hope of easing it.

  And then he moved his hand, stroking her. The pleasure grew, and the urgency grew along with it, until she heard little mewling moans and realized they were hers. For long, languid minutes he played her body, slick slides of his fingers that brought forth bursts of sensation.

  Then he slipped a finger inside her. “Tris!” she cried.

  “Hmm?”

  That hmm was a hum inside her mouth that seemed to spread throughout her body. And it didn’t seem to require an answer. Not that she could have answered him, anyway. Not when he was stroking her inside, and her body was responding by clinging to his finger. His thumb found a spot so sweet she feared she might scream from sheer excitement. He rubbed that spot as he thrust his finger deeper and kissed her at the same time, his tongue exploring her mouth with movements that matched what he was doing below.

  She’d never felt anything like it. She’d never even imagined anything like it. Her heart raced, and little spurts of pleasure sprinted all over her body. Tremors shimmered through her, the sweet torture continuing until she thought one more velvet stroke might be her undoing. But she wanted something more. Ne
eded something more.

  She wasn’t sure what, but she suspected it was him.

  “Now,” she whispered, tearing her mouth from his. “Come inside me now.”

  A low groan escaped his throat. He moved over her and fit himself between her legs, and she felt him there, poised to enter her, felt him trembling as he tried to hold back. He finally pushed inside, but only a little. Just enough so where their bodies were joined there was a feeling so urgent it made her whimper with anticipation.

  “Now,” she repeated.

  “I don’t want to hurt—”

  “Now!” She shoved her hips against him, taking him in.

  Then froze, still as the stone figure of the river god in the center of their circular drive.

  “I’m sorry,” he grated out, staying still with her.

  “No. It doesn’t hurt.” It had hurt, but only for a moment. Now she was immobilized by sheer wonder. He was large, but he fit, and he felt incredible filling her.

  He was throbbing inside her.

  She shifted, raising her knees a little. He sucked in a breath. Her own breath caught as well, because she’d felt him move within her body, creating a cresting wave of heat.

  “You’re supposed to move,” she informed him.

  He released a strangled laugh, pulling out of her a bit. “I suppose Griffin told you that?”

  “Forget Griffin,” she said and lifted herself to meet his thrust.

  The sensation was exquisite. The sheer beauty of it made something tighten in her chest. “Dear God,” she whispered. “I hadn’t the slightest idea.”

  “This is only the beginning,” he said and moved again.

  It seemed awkward at first, but she soon learned how to move with him, gasping when he pulled out and sighing as he settled back in. Gradually their motions gained speed, until she was lost in the rhythm, awash in pure pleasure. The pleasure built and built, and built some more, until, quite suddenly, her body erupted. She arched against him, holding on for dear life as wave after wave swept through her, the sensations so intense they stole her very breath. The sheer release of it was stunning, and became even more so when she felt him shudder within her and heard his low groan of surrender.

  He collapsed against her, but his was a warm, welcome weight. It seemed a long time before she managed to come to her senses, to breathe a languid sigh.

  “I feel very sorry for Griffin,” she said at last.

  She felt Tris smile against her neck. “Why?”

  “He said it would feel good. Can you imagine describing that as good?”

  “No,” he said with an exhausted chuckle as he eased off her. “That strikes me as a very insufficient word.”

  “It was glorious. No, that isn’t strong enough to describe it. I don’t think the right words exist.” Feeling drained and yet somehow better than she ever had before, she snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder.

  He pressed a slow, warm kiss to her brow.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  He squeezed her close and kissed her forehead again much harder, but he didn’t respond in kind.

  It didn’t signify, she decided, ignoring the stab of disappointment. He’d shown her how he felt with his body, with his hands, with his cherishing kisses. His experiences in the past had left him reluctant to trust love, and she was sure he wasn’t the first man who found it hard to say those three words. She’d just keep telling him, assuring him, and he’d respond in time. Soon.

  This marriage may have been precipitated by scandal, but everything was going to work out fine…especially after they cleared his name.

  In the meantime, she’d content herself with the wonder—the pure pleasure—of simply lying here, skin to skin. She’d never felt another sensation so sublime…except perhaps the events of the past hour.

  As she drifted off to sleep, she replayed every exquisite moment in her head.

  She never had worn Juliana’s nightgown. And she’d forgotten to kiss his bruises.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  *

  GINGERBREAD CAKES

  Take three pounds of flour, one pound of sugar, one pound of butter rubbed in very fine, two ounces of ginger beat fine, a large nutmeg grated then take a pound of treacle, a quarter of a pint of cream, make them warm together, and make up the bread stiff. Wait a while and then make round balls like nuts and bake them on tin-plates in a slack oven.

  These are reminiscent of home, and excellent with a good gossip.

  —Helena, Countess of Greystone, 1783

  ALEXANDRA WOKE FIRST AND watched Tris sleep in the dim early light. His lashes lay dark against his cheeks, making him look young and sweet and vulnerable. His chest rose and fell in a slow, even rhythm, his breath drifting in and out between slightly parted lips.

  She breathed along with him. She wanted to do everything with him, but for now, breathing would have to do.

  When he opened his eyes, she smiled. “Good morning.”

  He closed the inches between them and kissed her. A long, sleepy kiss. “A good morning indeed.” His seductive smile didn’t look young, sweet, or vulnerable in the least. He raised his head to peek at the clock on the oak mantel. “Do you always wake before six? I thought ladies all slept until noon.”

  “I had a house to run for my brother. And now a house to run for you.”

  “For us,” he corrected, making her heart turn over in her chest. He reached for her.

  “Wait,” she said. “I owe you something.”

  He only raised a brow. Then laughed when she threw back the covers and began kissing each of his bruises, slowly, one by one.

  His skin tasted divine, tinged with a hint of salt and the faint, musky scent of last night’s coupling. When her lips brushed a fading mark that sat above his heart, she could hear it beating wildly in a rhythm to match her own. By the time she was finished, they were both short of breath.

  “Better?” she asked, her voice thick and unsteady.

  “Immensely,” he assured her, gathering her close.

  Then he kissed her again, his body against hers still overwarm from sleep. He skimmed a hand down her naked back, over her bottom, between her legs, where she was already slick and aching. But he took his time, matching lazy kisses with gentle caresses. When he finally slid into her, she sighed with relief and let him carry them both to bliss.

  She’d never slept nude, but she thought she could get used to it. She’d always risen immediately upon awakening—but she thought she could get used to lingering, too.

  He rang for Vincent and Peggy, and by seven they were both dressed and in the dining room.

  Alexandra smiled at him across the breakfast table. “I cannot believe how happy I am.”

  “I’m glad.” His smile more tentative than hers, Tris sipped from a steaming cup of coffee.

  “What shall we do today?” She lifted the pretty little jam pot that matched the crested breakfast service, hoping for marmalade but setting it down when she saw the contents were red.

  “I believe those are cherry preserves. I asked Vincent to tell Mrs. Pawley you cannot eat strawberries.”

  “Oh!” She dipped her knife and happily coated her toast. “Would you care for some?”

  “I cannot abide anything sweet in the morning.” He spread butter on his own toast, then speared a bite of eggs. “In answer to your earlier question, I’ll need to make a circuit of the estate today, having been away for a while. There are matters that will require my attention. And I must spend some time at the new gasworks; I’ve left the builders long without my supervision. Would you care to accompany me?”

  Alexandra hesitated, suddenly realizing that what happened in the bedroom was the easy part of marriage. Finding the rhythm of their days was going to be more difficult. She had no right to expect a honeymoon following such a hasty wedding, and she suspected Tris would rather not be distracted as he went about his business. Although she wanted to see everything at Hawkridge, this house was her domain
.

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” she finally said, “I’d prefer to stay here. I have much to learn to run this household.”

  “You have Mrs. Oliver for that.”

  “It’s still my responsibility to oversee everything properly.” She set down her teacup.

  She had another matter to broach, and there was no sense putting it off.

  But as he bit into his toast, she found herself putting it off anyway and looking about the room instead. “How unusual to see wood gilded in a mosaic pattern like that,” she said inanely, referring to the walls.

  “It’s not wood.” He set down the toast and lifted his cup. “It’s gold-stamped leather.”

  “Is it? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  He sipped and gave her a wry smile. “It was all the rage a hundred and fifty years ago. I’m told it’s supposed to absorb the smells of food, but it doesn’t seem to me that it works.”

  “Well, thank goodness for that. A century and a half of accumulated food scents would be a bit much, don’t you think?”

  He chuckled, and she drew a deep breath. “How long will you be gone today?”

  “I’m not certain. It depends upon what I encounter. Perhaps a few hours, perhaps until evening.” He sipped again, watching her over the cup’s rim. “My offer is still open for you to come along.”

  Although it sounded like a sincere invitation, he didn’t look like he particularly wanted her to accept it. “I think I should stay here,” she repeated and squared her shoulders. “But when you return later, perhaps we can discuss strategy.”

  “For removing scents from the walls?”

  “For mounting a new search for your uncle’s murderer.”

  His cup clattered back to its saucer. “No.”

  The bruises on his face were fading, but it seemed nothing else had changed. “We must clear your name, Tris,” she said carefully. “For my sisters’ sakes if not your own.”

  His gray gaze was resolute. “I told you before, I have no wish to reopen that coil of a case. There can be no good outcome. Either my uncle died in his sleep, in which case there’s nothing to find, or…”