Healing Hearts
Page 8
She beamed at him. “Nor will you. Ever. You have made me a very contented woman.”
“No more contented than you have made me, my darling.” He paused and sent a theatrical frown her way. “And yet, I could have sworn I heard you refer to me as ‘that blasted man’ just now.”
“I like to know where you are at all times, Riverton.”
“Good lord.” His put-upon sigh was belied by the twinkle in his eyes. “I am completely under the cat’s paw, the most devilishly hen-pecked of all married men. May I ask why?”
“In case I should feel the need of your…services.”
“Indeed. My services? That puts an entirely different complexion on the matter.” He stepped farther into the sunny room, his eyes just as bright. “Do you feel in need of my…services…now, wife? At this very moment?”
“Why, I believe I do, Riverton.”
Adam’s smoldering, possessive gaze travelled over her leisurely, his eyes heating to a sultry azure. “In that case, I put myself at your disposal, to do with what you will. I am eager to oblige you in every way. I feel the most urgent need to do so, in fact.”
He sauntered farther into the room. He still limped some, but he rarely used the blackthorn staff anymore. When they travelled to London, he occasionally carried a more refined ebony stick during their shopping strolls and walks in the park.
He took a seat beside her, nudging his chair so close their thighs touched. “I fear I was remiss this morning, my love. Had something for you, but…you distracted me.”
“I see. I distracted you.”
He withdrew a flat case from the pocket of his waistcoat and opened the box. Emma gasped at the exquisite string of pearls nestled on black velvet.
“They are magnificent, Adam.”
“Pearls for my pearl.” He grinned as she presented him with her back. He fastened the clasp at her neck.
“You know you need not—”
“Hush. It pleases me to do so, wife.”
“As it happens, I have something for you today also, Riverton.”
“Do you?” He leaned closer with a wolfish smile and then spied her stitchery and shook his head.
“Don’t tell me you are making me another handkerchief, Em. I’ve set aside two drawers of my bureau for them already.” He examined the fine cambric stretched taut in the embroidery hoop. “I must say, that is the most deucedly odd-looking handkerchief I have ever seen.”
“That’s because it isn’t a handkerchief, silly man. ’Tis a bonnet.”
“Rather small, though, isn’t it?” He lifted an eyebrow. “What sort of bonnet?”
“My word, you are impossibly slow-topped this morning, Adam. Perhaps you are not getting enough sleep?”
His hands gripped hers. “What sort of bonnet, Em?”
“The sort that might go with a christening gown.”
His jaw dropped and his hands tightened on hers. He stared into her eyes. “Are you bamming me, my dear Lady Riverton?”
“Well, I admit I had hoped for a somewhat different reaction to my announcement that you’ll soon have your heir.”
Adam let out an ear-splitting whoop and yanked Emma from her chair.
“Yes, indeed. I was hoping for a reaction more like that.” She shrieked as he twirled her through the air.
“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” he murmured into her ear.
“Hmm. Let me think back. Not since breakfast, as I recall.”
She glanced up at him and started at the profound depth of love and passion burning in his eyes.
“I was a dead and broken man until you came into my life, Em. You’ve filled my empty heart with joy, given me everything any man could want. Something to live for. Someone to live for. And now…my child growing inside of you…How very blessed I am.”
He shook his head as if he could not quite grasp the magnitude of his good fortune. Tears welled in Emma’s eyes, her happiness beyond measure.
He brushed his lips against hers, the kiss so sweet, Emma’s eyes watered more.
“Good thing I have so many handkerchiefs,” Adam said. He produced a bit of fine linen from his waistcoat pocket and dabbed them dry. “Was that a little M I saw you embroidering, my love?”
“I thought, if you would not very much mind, we could name him Michael?”
“Or Michaela,” Adam readily agreed. He slid his fingers from her rib cage to belly, as if taking her measure, before settling his hands about her waist. “When do you think, sweetheart?”
“Perhaps six months or so.”
“Six months.” He grinned and danced her around the room. “And we can still…”
“Oh, most definitely, yes.”
As Adam spun her nearer to the entrance to the solarium, he booted the door closed and tugged at the gold chatelaine chains looped at her waist.
“What on earth—”
“I feel the immediate need of your services, Lady Riverton. Immediate. So immediate I cannot wait to get you to our bedchamber.”
Emma’s gaze shifted lower, to the large bulge straining the superfine of his trousers.
“I see that, Riverton.”
He swallowed her laugh in a blistering kiss, his mouth seizing hers until her legs wobbled. His body pinned her against the door. His erection stabbed her thigh, thick and hot and hard. He kissed her again, fumbling past the dangling chains holding a small pair of golden scissors, a cloisonné thimble and the household seal, to extract the key he wanted.
Snick. The lock clicked in the door behind her back.
He grabbed her skirts, bunching the yards of material to her waist.
“Hurry, Adam.” She closed her eyes, leaning her head back.
He dragged his hand between them, tearing aside her petticoats. “Oh, God, Emma,” he groaned.
The deep, male sound of his voice, splintering with need, made her quiver.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart. I want you to see how much I love you. How much I love your taste, your scent, the silk of your skin.”
Emma’s lashes drifted apart. His intense expression set her on fire. He flicked his fingers over her swollen sex until she nearly screamed.
Adam slid down her body, positioning himself on the floor, between her legs.
“Oh, Adam. Your leg,” she protested. “You’ll do yourself damage.”
He grunted in response and twisted her skirts out of his way. With one hand planted against the door, he took her garter in his teeth, nudging it downward as he peeled her stocking off with exquisite care. The slow, sensual gesture made her wild with desire. Her flesh ached for his touch, her heart swelled with love.
He grasped her bare thigh and looped her leg over his shoulder, leaning toward her, his warm, raspy breath on her feverish skin making her shiver in anticipation.
“Adam!”
He buried his face in her nest of curls, and a long, slow breath escaped her. He kissed her tender folds, his mouth hungry, his lips teasing, his caresses so devastating, she came the moment he entered her with his tongue. She convulsed around him, but her body still throbbed, needing him to be part of her, like the child she carried.
“Come inside me, Adam,” she cried. “Please, my love, I must feel you inside me.”
He needed no further invitation. He rose, drawing himself up to his full height and tearing open the front of his trousers. As his erection sprang free, he seized her thighs and spread her legs wide. Emma glanced down at his hard, thick shaft, and melted, all her juices gathering at her hot core, ready to ease his entry.
He drove into her with one sure thrust, a motion so powerful it rocked her back on her feet and made the door rattle on its hinges. They moaned as one.
She flung her arms around his neck, inhaling his familiar manly scent, running her tongue along the side of his neck. She loved the taste of this man so. He lifted her, grabbing the back of her knees and wrapping her legs around his hips. She clasped her ankles at his back, holding him closer. His hands gripped her backsi
de, pressing her into him.
Still joined to her, he sidestepped to the chaise longue, and lowered her onto the quilted satin upholstery, following her down. The sofa’s mahogany legs thumped against the carpet as he pumped into her, increasing his rhythm, drawing cry after cry from her, each stroke bringing her closer and closer to heaven itself.
“Emma. Emma, I love you more than life.”
His words transported her. She dug her nails into his back, opening her eyes to gaze up at his beloved face, slick with a sheen of sweat, taut with passion. She loved his weight on her, loved the feel of his body, the rasp of his laboring breaths. One last thrust, so powerful that she shattered, convulsing around him as he throbbed, hot, hard and pulsing, pouring himself into her, quaking in release. He roared her name.
She heard a world-thundering crash. And Adam collapsed on top of her.
When Emma drifted back to earth, it occurred to her that she was far lower than she ought to be, sprawled half-on, half-off the couch, with the ceiling tilted at a peculiar angle above her. She stroked her husband’s muscled back. He lay at an odd angle, his long legs flung off to one side. Her fingers sifted through the damp hair on the nape of his neck, until his breathing evened.
After a while, Adam lifted his head and grinned at her, his bemused expression a mixture of sheepish chagrin and triumphant masculine pride.
“What?”
“We’ve broken the chaise,” he informed her.
That explained the crack and their curious position. She peered over the edge of the divan, examining the delicate curved legs, now splintered and horribly askew.
“We have, have we?”
“Do you mind very much, Em?”
“Definitely well worth it.”
Adam tugged her tighter to his chest and rolled her onto the Aubusson rug as they both howled with wild laughter.
“I dare say we have given the servants something interesting to gossip about, Riverton.”
“Let everyone talk. I’m top over tail for my wife and I don’t care who knows it. Indeed, I may not be truly satisfied until we’ve demolished every stick of furniture in this house!”
Emma smiled secretly, thinking of the many wings and rooms they had not yet fully…explored…and all the fine pieces that filled each one. “It will take us lifetimes to get through them all.”
“Then by all means, my darling, let us begin!”
About the Author
Taryn Kincaid started writing as soon as she could and never stopped. Sometimes she has been lucky enough to get paid for it. As an award-winning reporter and columnist, she covered everything from fires and homicides, to corrupt politicians and hero dogs. And also the fun-and-fluff stuff. Not usually a bit like TV. Nowadays, she haunts courthouses. That’s not usually a bit like TV, either. Taryn reads and writes all genres. She is a member of RWA, Hudson Valley RWA and RWA’s Beau Monde, and Fantasy, Futuristic and Paranormal chapters. She is the author of Healing Hearts, a Regency novella, and Sleepy Hollow Dreams, an erotic paranormal. Taryn is addicted to the blogosphere. And Twitter.
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9127-4
Copyright © 2011 by Terri Hall
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