Page 79 of Ravishing Camille
“For us both.” He pushed a lock of her hair from her cheek. “Let’s go to the curtain wall, shall we? I want to climb up and see the line of the river flowing past.”
When they returned to the chateau, aperitifs had been laid out for them. Cheeses and breads and wine. But Camille was hungry for him. Only him.
She excused herself when they arrived and ran upstairs. Quickly, she drew a bath and afterward, donned her dressing gown and nothing else. Then she went downstairs.
He was standing on the patio, quite still, gazing at the garden and drinking wine.
When she drew his attention, she smiled. “Come inside. I need you,” she whispered.
And he followed.
She led him toward the chaise longue where first they had made love.
A quizzical look on his face, he sat down and she crawled up over him, her legs spanning his. She was brazen, outrageous to do this, but she wanted to lead today. Needed to lead. She bent and kissed him.
He caught his breath. “When we go home, I want to change so much, Camille. I’ve too much to order. So much to correct. I’ve lived trying to control too much. I fear I’ve made mistakes.”
Alarm ran through her like ice. He couldn’t mean this was a mistake, could he? Did not these days together convince him of the rightness of what they were together? She put two fingers to his lips. “No words of parting, please.”
He kissed her fingertips. “None. Ever.”
Whatever he decided, whatever she decided she wanted for a full life, even if they broke apart now, to one extent or another, they’d always be a part of each other’s lives. The family would meet and strive and celebrate together for decades to come. It was what they were together, what they valued when apart. Pierce and she were as much participants in that family as any of the others. “I want to remember you as you are now.”
“Do you? As do I.” His silver eyes burned with fond desire. “I will remember each sigh, each laugh, each exquisite arch. The geography of you.” He put the flat of his palm to her breastbone and slid it down to her waist. “I love the valleys of you as much as the heights.”
She grinned, wiggled at his touch and arched her neck.
“You are fine and lovely country, my darling. This valley here.” He slid his palm up between her breasts to her throat and on to the hollow behind her ears. “The delicate one here…and here.” His hand lifted one aching breast. “And this.” He dipped his finger in her belly button. “Here is a lovely valley.” The crook of her knee he caressed and she sighed. “And this.” He smoothed his hand to her core, fingered one frilly fold and made her grab breath. “And this one.” He slid his fingertip along the length of another. “But this one…” He sank two fingers inside her and she heard the succulent parting of one fold from another as he slid up and circled the button that brought her so much delight. “This one is my favorite valley.”
A second later he brought her the release she sought and minutes later, she fell against him. He turned her, taking her beneath him and opening the placket of his trousers. “But I love the peaks of your lovely landscape too, my girl. And how you climb them with me.” At that he sank his penis inside her and she undulated beneath him. “I want you, sweetheart. All the time. Each day. Each night.”
He proved it to her then. A glorious culmination of all he’d shown her was hers in that one moment of love.
Minutes later, he brushed her hair from her cheeks and peered at her. “I want more than this, Camille. I want more than five days with you.”
Her heart beating like a drum, she caught her reason. Was this what she’d waited for from him?
He threaded his fingers through her hair. “I hate that I have things I must settle. With my French colleagues. With Victor. With my father.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“Give me some time. I cannot properly do right by you until I can take good care of my businesses. Give me time.”
Her disappointment was tempered by his bargain. She could not wait for months or years. She’d already waited much of her lifetime for him. “How much? How long?”
He shook his head. “A week. Two. Three, most likely. I must talk with Victor.”
“You’ll go to Brighton?”
“I must.”
She looked away but tears stung her eyelids.
“Don’t cry, my darling. I never want you to cry.”
“Can you…will you tell me what you discuss?”
“I can.” He got up, offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet. “I think we need our clothes for it, though.”
