Page 72 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
His chuckle was low and filled with heated carnality. His fingers tightening on her nipples, he reconciled his hips and shoved his cock deep inside her, ripping a wild cry from Jules. Each penetrating stroke filled her with pressure and such pleasure that Jules sobbed. Ecstasy built in delicious, wicked spikes until she shattered, and with a ragged groan he chased his own pleasure, pulling from her body to release.
They stood there, breathing harshly for several moments. She laughed, the sound shaky when he reached down and pulled up her trousers, helping her to fix herself. Jules felt so weakened by their passionate encounter that she lowered herself to the thick grass, staring up at the foliage and the towering trees. James reposed beside her, and she shifted until her head was touching his shoulder. Somehow she knew when their affair ended, a place inside her would be devastated. A tight feeling entered her chest, and she took a deep breath to steady herself against it.
“The death anniversary of my father approaches,” he said.
Jules shifted, slanting so she could peer at his expression. James was carefully composed, and that informed her that he perhaps felt much. Sensing her probing regard, he gave a grim, humorless tug of his mouth. That small smile was more of a warning, and she laced her fingers through his. “How long has it been since he died?”
The duke was silent for a long time, and despite their intimacy and friendship, Jules knew he was not a man given to easy sharing of his past and thoughts.
“Six years,” he said gruffly. “I overheard the duchess speaking to him in the gardens…as if he lived still. She told him of her joy to have me back and how much I resembled him.”
“How did you feel hearing her?”
“Empty.”
Her fingers tightened on his and a quiet fell between them.
“She had not known of my presence, and I left before she discovered me there. The duchess tried speaking about my father this morning and I…I had nothing to offer.”
“Do you think of him often?”
“He is gone,” he said, an echo of an indefinable emotion in his tone. “There are other times I feel something wanting to delve through this crack in me, but I close it down, not liking it. Though in the quiet of the night I do find myself sometimes wondering what it is.”
Jules thought about the will it must have taken to survive his ordeal. “Isolating oneself from emotions, from feeling anything too deeply is a defense mechanism to protect yourself from pain and torment. You severed that link, James, and it is natural for you to lack pain and guilt or even grief. Remember, I told you that feelings will come back as you allow yourself to open up again.”
There was a contemplative beat.
“I feel, Wildflower.”
The way he said this rumbled through her.
“Do you?” Her heart started to pound as she awaited his answer.
He rolled his body over hers, the power and strength in him equally comforting and intimidating. James threaded his fingers into the side of her hair, his hand cupping her head, holding her in place.
“All of it seems centered on you.”
Jules’s heart pounded. James held her gaze for long, silent moments. His gaze moved over her slowly, his expression shifting, his eyes darkening.
“Stay with me tonight in the woods.”
“Yes.”
He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Good.”
It felt perfectly wonderful to simply lie there on the thick, verdant grass, the sun peeking from behind bloated clouds down at them, and talk about their shared experiences, even as Jules realized they deliberately made no mention of the hopes for their future or any friendship beyond her stay at Longbourn Park.
…
James found his mother on the eastern lawns, sitting on a swing hanging from a large, majestic oak. He remembered being on this swing with her and his father as a lad, and even recalled teaching Felicity how to dig her toes into the earth to propel herself forward.
The duchess’s lovely face held a faraway expression, and he suspected she was lost in the memories of his father. James allowed his bare feet to crunch over the leaves on the ground and she snapped her regard to him.
“James!”
A frown creased her forehead when she noted his casual mode of dress and his feet bare of shoes and stockings. Her sigh was filled with censure. He sat on the second swing, glancing up to the half-moon painting the sky.
“I leave for town in a couple of hours.”
