Page 49 of Things We Do for Love and Science
She closed her eyes for a moment, brushed a hand over her forehead and asked, “Gabriel, why don’t we have sex?”
The air rushed from his lungs, and he blinked at her until his brain caught up and parsed the meaning of her words. He’d thought about it, plenty of times. But she’d always insisted relationships weren’t for her, and sleeping with someone without any emotional connection had never been his modus operandi. Until now, it seemed, because he couldn’t turn her down. That kind of fortitude was beyond him where she was concerned.
She blushed. “I mean, only if you wanted to...”
He covered the distance between them in two strides, gripped her hips and pulled her to him. His body was lit by a shower of sparks, and his breath became shallow. “Will we make it to the gatehouse?”
She shook her head on a shaky exhale. He savored her nearness and the flutter of excitement. This was a mutual fire, and he was ready to burn. He cupped her face and kissed her. Those soft, warm lips returned the pressure of his, and he angled his head to deepen his exploration.
Still connected by a passionate kiss, she dragged him backward to the sofa since the bed was covered in ancient dresses.
He regarded the woman before him. Not once had he dared to hope she’d give up her careful attitude of platonic friendship toward him. He’d observed her body for hours, meticulously transferring her shape onto canvas. Concentration on the task had saved him then; he was defenseless now.
She lifted her T-shirt over her head and discarded it. Her every movement mesmerized him, and he was half-aware that he might be sailing into dangerous waters. His rapid heartbeat pounded through him, and his breath hitched.Delia, my God. She reached behind her back to open the bra, and his gaze tracked her every movement. He brought his face to hers and placed a gentle kiss on her jaw, moving his lips down her neck along the path of her racing pulse. The dip between her collarbones invited another kiss. He was taking it slow, savoring her. For all he knew, this might well be the only time she’d let her guard down and allow sensuality to take over. Although how he was ever to see her and not want her was a mystery. She let down her hair, freeing the scent of rose and bergamot from its silky strands as it fell loose over her shoulders. Tracking the slope of her shoulder with one finger he inhaled deeply to savor her perfume.
He touched her velvety skin, explored each curve of her form; every one of her breathy moans an encouragement to fall further and deeper. She rid herself of her remaining clothes, revealing all of her beauty, and he followed her lead.
Then she looked at him, her green eyes darkened by dilated pupils. “Kiss me again.”
He brushed his lips over hers in a movement that quickly became hunger, searching for her tongue with his and finding an equal measure of want. She softened in his embrace.
Rejoicing in her gasps, he stroked her breasts then traveled slowly up the inside of her thigh to where she needed him, carefully establishing an acquaintance with her body. Growing ever more confident, he caressed her until she arched her back and cried out in pleasure.
There was no Renwood Hall, no crushing debt, no death, only the exhilaration of being with her. His blood caught fire as she mapped every plane of his body. Her rapid breathing, her reddened cheeks, and the tilt of her pelvis, implored all his senses to do what she asked of him.
So he did.
~ * ~
Delia examined thehigh, corniced ceiling and smiled. How arrogant she had been, to fear Gabriel would fall for her if they slept together. He was an adult and able to handle a bit of casual procreative sex.
Sated and content, she snuggled into him, clinging to his naked body on the narrow sofa. He rested his hand on her hip, securing her.
She walked her fingers down the arm that held her. “This was much more fun than insemination via plastic syringe.”
“I should hope so.” He turned slightly, and his breath bushed over her hair. “You know, instead of messing around with jars and syringes, we could try to get you pregnant the conventional way.”
She pressed her skin to his. “You’ve certainly made a convincing case for that approach just now. But let’s take care not to get sentimental. Once I’m pregnant, we’ll revert to a strictly platonic friendship.” Always a good idea to set the ground rules early on, right?
There was amusement in his voice. “Yes, but in the meantime, we can have some fun.”
She agreed. After two months of squirting his sperm up her vagina with a syringe she was more than ready to take this lovely man to bed and try to get pregnant the time-honored way. She would, of course, set him free for whatever romantic entanglements he intended to pursue with another woman, but until then, having sex would do no harm.
“Are you happy to do this each month for the days around my ovulation?”
“Do we have to be so methodical about it?” His hand moved along her side. “I read somewhere that couples are more likely to conceive if they are less focused on the outcome.”
She patted his bare chest. “You just fancy a regular shag.”
“Yes, there’s that,” he replied.
Low laughter rolled at the back of her throat. “You greedy man.” She got off the sofa and bent to retrieve her underwear. “In that case, why don’t you come to my flat tomorrow night at eight? I have a nice, cozy double bed,” she said with a nod toward the narrow piece of furniture he still occupied.
He leaned back on his elbows and watched her dress. “I have a bed too, you know, in the gatehouse.”
“Mm, you can show it to me some time.” She put on her bra and then her T-shirt. “But I bet I have the better mattress.”
“That remains to be seen. Also, the gatehouse is detached, surrounded only by parkland.”
