Page 66 of I Do, I Do, I Do
“Good. That means I’m getting under your skin.” Since she wouldn’t come to him, he moved across the blankets to sit next to her. And suddenly the lean-to seemed hotter than the heated rocks could account for.
Zoe smoothed her skirt to cover a glimpse of woolen stockings. “There’s going to be talk about us spending a night together.”
“Do you care?” he asked, tucking a wisp of dark hair behind her ear.
She held her breath as his fingertips brushed her cheek. This was going to be a very long night. “A little,” she whispered, thinking of Clara and Juliette.
“Nothing is going to happen unless you want it to,” he murmured, turning her to face him. Lantern light glowed in his eyes, softening the color to a reminder of spring grass.
“Then you won’t kiss me.” Their breath mingled, and a tiny gasp caught in her throat. He smelled like snow and wood smoke, leather and soap.
“I wouldn’t kiss you if you were the last woman on earth,” he said, his lips grazing her forehead as he guided her into his arms.
There was nothing soft about this man. His arms were like iron bands closing around her, pressing her against the tight muscles of his chest. He pulled her onto his lap and beneath her skirt and petticoat, she felt thighs like cordwood.
“Oh, Tom,” she said, closing her eyes on a moan. “I can’t do this.”
“You aren’t doing anything. I’m the one who’s doing something.” His lips moved on her temples, kissed her eyelids.
“You said you wouldn’t kiss me.” She couldn’t believe it. Her arms went around his neck, and she adjusted herself in his lap to make her lips more accessible.
“I’m not kissing you.” Light kisses covered her face, the corners of her lips, the tip of her nose.
“Yes, you are.”
“You must be dreaming.”
If so, she had dreamed this dream before. Spreading her fingers on his cheeks, she gazed into his eyes, the lashes still damp with melting snow. Then she parted her lips and let him take her mouth.
Instantly she felt his arousal and the deep heat of her response. Her arms tightened around his neck, and she gave herself to a kiss that began almost chastely and ripened into a give-and-take that shook her to her core—where she had never been touched.
When they pulled apart, gasping and holding each other, Tom whispered, “Oh, God, Zoe. You don’t know what you do to me.”
He kissed her again, this time passionately, not holding back, kissing her as if he found heaven in her mouth and in her touch. She knew this because heaven was what she found in his arms. When his hand slid up to her breast, she gasped and rocked back on a wave of sensation.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, easing away to look into her eyes. “I only wanted to kiss you. I didn’t intend to offend or take advantage.”
A strangled sound midway between a laugh and a sob constricted her throat. “Oh, Tom.” For a minute she couldn’t say anything else.
It was possible they would never again have the luxury of hours of privacy together. Very likely, tonight would be her only chance to lie in his arms. And he loved her. Tears sparkled in her eyes. He had always loved her. If her circumstance had been different, if she had never met that bastard Jean Jacques Villette, she would have returned his love with all of her heart and soul.
And there was the answer to the question that had been circling her mind since she understood they would share the blankets she had spread over the boughs. She made her decision while gazing into his apologetic eyes. He had nothing to apologize for. She wanted him, needed him.
Lifting his hand, she placed a kiss in his palm, then gently curved his fingers around her breast, hearing his sharp intake of breath. Then her own shaking fingers rose to the row of tiny buttons running from her throat to her waist, and she opened them one by one.
“Zoe.” His voice was hoarse with desire. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” Swallowing hard, he dropped his gaze to the cleavage appearing beneath her fingers and a sound rumbled in his chest. “I was teasing earlier. I didn’t mean things to go this far. Zoe, please.” He caught her hand and looked into her eyes. “I would take a bullet in the heart rather than dishonor you.”
“I know,” she whispered, her eyes wet. “Tomorrow we both may regret this, but tonight…tonight I need you, Tom.” She needed to know love from an honest man, a man whose words were true and whose body belonged to her alone. She wanted to know his touch as well as she knew his heart.
His arms went around her, and he crushed her so tightly to his chest that she felt his heart pounding against the accelerating rhythm of her own. His mouth claimed hers with hard, possessive passion, and she surrendered to the sunburst in her mind. Yes. Yes.
His trembling fingers finished opening her shirtwaist, and her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Another time she might have laughed when they were both stripped to shapeless woolly long johns. But all she could think about now was the splendor of his long, hard body as he peeled away the last barrier.
“How beautiful you are,” she whispered, staring at him in the lantern light. An arrow-shaped wedge of dark hair curled on his chest. Wide shoulders tapered to a narrow waist; his thighs were roped with hard muscle and sinew. She had never thought of men in terms of beauty, but he was so hard against her softness. So angular in contrast to curves. Only a master sculptor could have created a being so rawly magnificent.
He helped her out of her long johns and then stared at her with the same awe. “You’re exquisitely perfect.”
She had never seen a naked man in the light and had never let Jean Jacques see her naked with the light on. But she stood before Tom with no embarrassment and made no effort to cover herself from his gaze. There was nothing uncomfortable about nakedness between a man with love in his eyes and a woman who returned that love.
