Page 80 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
Chapter Twenty-Three
For far toomany long, empty months, Jon had hungered for this moment. Now, the woman he had craved with every cell in his body was in his arms. And he was holding her. Kissing her. Savoring every moment. Every touch.
How could he have ever thought he’d want to live without her? How could he have been such a bloody fool?
I want to kiss you. He’d murmured the words like a plea, and the sweet honesty of her response drove him wild.
I’d like that too. She wanted him. Just as he wanted her.
How had he gotten so blasted lucky?
Tenderly, he pressed his mouth to hers. Lightly at first. Gently. Testing the waters of her desire.
Deepening the kiss, he drank in the sweetness of her plump mouth. God above, how he’d missed this. And then, as she melted her body into his, a quiet little moan escaped her. Whisper-soft, the sound was one of pleasure and desire and innate hunger. Bloody hell, had he ever heard anything as blasted erotic?
As he kissed her, she reached for him, lightly sweeping her fingertips over his cheek. The simple, nearly chaste touch struck him with the force of a lightning bolt. A primal hunger pulsed through his body. But he held back.
Easing from the kiss, he pressed soft caresses to the curve of her face, to her throat, to the tender spot just below her ear that always brought a little sigh of delight.
Longing he’d ruthlessly suppressed broke free, unleashing a heated need. But he had to tamp down his desire. He knew she wanted him. He sensed her passion would match his own.
But it was too soon.
He could not fully pursue this moment. Their bond was still tenuous. Perhaps even fragile. He would not—could not—take a chance that might well drive her away.
He dragged in air, as if that might clear his head. Instead, he breathed in a subtle blend of rose water and lemon infusing the long strands of her honey blond hair. Jon searched her face, seeking the answer he needed in her eyes.
And so, he kissed her again. Tasting her sweetness. Drinking in the subtle scent of lavender that perfumed her skin. Savoring the tenderness in her caress.
She is bloody perfect. And for this moment in time, she was his.
Gently, he led her to the settee. When the backs of her legs bumped against the upholstery, he slowly eased her down upon the plump cushions. Propping an elbow against the back of the settee, he indulged his desire to simply look at her lovely face, to drink in her beauty. Golden rays of lamplight cast a soft glow over her high cheekbones. With a feather-light touch, he traced the slightly heart-shaped contours of her face.
By thunder, the very sight of her took his breath away.
She gazed up at him, studying his features as though she’d found something she’d been seeking, something she wished to treasure until the end of her days.How bloody wonderful.
With Belle, everything was different. Utterly, completely, different. No other woman could compare to her. Never had he felt like this, the gentle thrill in his heart when he looked into her eyes. From their first glance across a crowded ballroom, she’d intrigued him. When Belle’s gaze met his, he’d been drawn to her—to her utter lack of guile. He’d seen honesty and a radiantbeauty all her own. One look into those gorgeous eyes that gleamed like rare sapphires, and he was hers. No other woman would do.
Only his beautiful Belle.
He leaned over her and cradled her head beneath one arm. Her honey-hued tresses flowed unbound against the upholstered cushions like spun gold. Relaxing in the moment, he traced his finger over the curve of her face. Down the pert slope of her nose. Along the curves of her tempting mouth—a mouth slightly rosy from his attentions.
Perfection.
The woman was sheer perfection. And tonight, he would savor every moment while he held her. Every moment while he kissed her. Every moment while he made her sigh against his mouth with delight and pleasure.
“Oh, Jon.” When she murmured his name, Belle’s voice was husky and low. Yet smooth as silk. “I love it when you kiss me.”
“And when I touch you, darling?” he whispered against her mouth.
“Ah, sweetheart, you drive me wild.” She pulled in a breath. “I do love it when you’re a bit wicked.”
“Only a bit?” he teased.
“Perhaps I do prefer you to beverywicked.” She pressed a kiss to his mouth, a caress that was quite far from chaste.
Wicked.Ah, the word seemed a delicious challenge. What he wouldn’t give to bring her pleasure, to take her to the very edge of reason. And beyond.
