by Brenda Joyce
Blanche tried to move closer, and as she began kissing his chest, she brushed herself against his manhood. Then she slid her tongue across his skin. It was salty.
“Blanche,” he said harshly, a protest.
Blanche smiled against his flesh. “You have tasted every inch of me,” she whispered, and then she sent her tongue across his nipple.
Sir Rex gasped again, this time closing his hands on her hips and pulling her hard against his arousal.
Blanche scraped her teeth across him and he groaned. She slid her hands lower and seized the waistband of his breeches. Sir Rex became absolutely still, except for his heavy breathing.
She unbuttoned them, whispering, “Come with me to bed.”
“You don’t have to do this,” he said thickly.
She smiled as he sprang up against her hand. “I want to love you the way you love me.”
He choked, sitting on the bed. Blanche bent over him and finally tasted his hot, slick flesh. Sir Rex seized a hank of her hair, grunting, and passion blinded her. With her tongue, she scraped and laved his length while she hollowed so greatly, only he could soon fill the empty space.
He cried out and suddenly she was beneath him, in his arms, as he pulled her drawers away. He held her face, kissing her deeply, with the same frenzy she was feeling. Instantly Blanche shifted to welcome him. He slid deep; he slid home.
“DID THAT GYPSY SAY something to you to turn you into a shameless hussy?”
Blanche laughed, snuggling in Sir Rex’s arms. “I am afraid someone has turned me into a shameless hussy, but it was not a vagrant gypsy.”
He pulled her impossibly closer and kissed her gently on the temple. “I love hearing you laugh,” he said softly. “I love seeing your eyes shine with laughter—and happiness.”
“I am so happy I can hardly breathe,” Blanche said as softly. She stroked his arm. “My only fear is that I cannot make you quite as happy.” And it was true. She gazed expectantly at him.
His eyes widened. “I have never dared to dream of such happiness. I had expected to spend my entire life alone. And here we are, Blanche.” He dimpled. “When I saw you standing at the window, and realized what you wanted, I thought, this must be a dream.” His grin widened. “Lady de Warenne!” he chided. “To think of making love to your husband in the middle of the day!”
Blanche laughed and kissed his chest. “Was it terribly improper of me to signal you to come to me at such an hour? Please be honest, Sir Rex.”
“You may request my services anytime, my dear. Never feel reluctant.” He touched her cheek. “Will you ever call me Rex?”
“No.”
He started.
Blanche smiled at him. “You will always be Sir Rex, my darling, but do you really mind?” She ran her hand over his chest again, simply because she loved touching him, and now, she also loved being able to express herself with him, without any reservation.
“Can you not try to call me Rex in private?” he asked, but he was smiling, too.
Blanche ran her fingers across his ribs. “I prefer Sir Rex.” She kissed the hollow spot between his rib cage. Then she laid her cheek there and looked up. “Darling.”
His eyes turned dark. His smile vanished. He ran his hand over her hair. “I can accept that. Blanche, call me ‘darling’ again.”
She sat. “Darling—you are more than my love, you are my life.” She was very serious now.
As seriously, he also sat and pulled her close. “Thank you. I feel exactly the same way.”
Blanche hesitated, because she had so much to say. “You saved my life.”
His gaze held hers. “I wish it were true, but I am certain, time healed you, Blanche, not I.”
She shook her head. “You awoke my bruised and battered heart, Sir Rex. You showed me joy and passion…and love. And those terrible memories came. Three months ago, I thought the price too painful, but I was wrong.” She took his hand and clasped it to her bare breasts. “The fear seems to be gone. I can manage the memories and the sorrow. Every day it becomes easier. More importantly, I don’t want to forget. My mother deserves to be remembered.”
“Yes, she does,” he said solemnly. He reached out and clasped her shoulder. “You have come a long way in a very short time. I am so happy for you, for our child, for us.”
Blanche smiled. “I cannot wait to have our child—and I cannot wait to meet Stephen when he comes to visit this summer.”
Rex smiled. “There is so much to look forward to,” he said softly.
Blanche met his gaze. There had been a time when she marveled at his ability to know her thoughts. Now, she looked into his dark gaze and knew exactly what he was thinking. She completed his thoughts. “With so much to anticipate, it is hard to know where to start.”
His gaze softened. Then, slowly, he slid his hand down her bare back. “Maybe it is best to remain focused…and in the present.”
Blanche thrilled. She watched his eyes lower to her breasts, which had finally become full, lingering on her quite taut nipples. She watched a flush mar his achingly high cheekbones and she felt his hand slip to her waist. He slowly lifted his gaze, and the intensity there sent a terrific jolt through her. But the sheet that covered his hips was as terrifically tented, not that she needed any evidence to know that her passion was shared.
But he surprised her. He said, “You also saved my life, Blanche.”
Tears came as she thought about the solitude and isolation that had been the hallmark of his existence. “You will never be alone again.”
“I know.” His gaze changed, smoldering.
Blanche felt her body hum and she wet her lips. “Why don’t we have supper in our room, my darling?” she asked softly.
Sir Rex smiled, but he was leaning over her and nuzzling her breasts. “Did that gypsy teach you to read minds, too?” he asked, not looking up.
Blanche laughed, but then her laughter died, for Sir Rex’s mouth was on her skin, causing so much delicious sensation, and she let him pull her down.
Joyfully.
And she didn’t need a crystal ball to know what their future held.
THE PERFECT BRIDE
ISBN: 978-1-4268-0389-5
Copyright © 2007 by Brenda Joyce Dreams Unlimited, Inc.
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