Page 70 of Marry in Secret
“What do you think?”
He nodded his approval, then looked at the bed and considered it thoughtfully. “It looks different.”
“Yes, it has a new feather mattress and new covers. And new curtains, of course.”
“That might explain it.” But his frown didn’t lift.
“Is there something wrong?”
“I’m not sure.” He seemed very serious. “You know my attitude toward beds.”
For a moment she couldn’t think. Then she laughed. “Oh, you mean, it depends on who’s in them?”
“Indeed. Shall we?” He held out his hand as if inviting her to a waltz and led her to the bed. It was exactly the reaction she’d hoped for.
There was none of the frenzied desperation of last time. He undressed her himself, taking his time, lavishing her with his attention, slow, intense and deeply thrilling.
One by one her garments came off. He tossed them carelessly aside, his intent gaze never lifting from her. She felt it like a caress.
And when finally she stood there naked before him, his eyes burning into her with such heated concentration, she had never felt so beautiful.
Outside the sun was setting, the last golden rays piercing the clouds, staining them crimson and silver and purple. It bathed the interior of the room with a pearly light. Thomas was a dark silhouette against it, solid, mysterious, enticing.
He reached for her, and she smiled and held him back with one finger. “My turn now.” His skin was firm. Heat poured from him. She reached for his buttons.
His coat, waistcoat, neckcloth and shirt went first, the same slow, teasing process that she had endured. He hurled his own clothes aside with a little more impatience than he’d shown with hers. She had him remove his boots next. He yanked them and his stockings off, tossed them aside and reached for her.
“Not yet.” She gazed at the smooth planes of his chest, marked in places with fading bruises and a few silvery old scars, the cause of which she didn’t want to think about. Scarred or not, he was beautiful. She shivered in anticipation.
“Are you cold? I could—”
She laughed softly. “I’m not the least bit cold.”
“Really?” She felt his dark gaze shift to her nipples thrusting hard and aching toward him.
She stroked them lightly and her mouth curled in a slow smile as his whole body stiffened. “They’re not cold.”
His fingers opened and closed, but he clamped them to his side and stood like a soldier, waiting to be called for action.
She unfastened the fall of his breeches and pushed them down his legs. He breathed a gusty sigh of relief, kicked them away and drew her against him.
“And now, my beautiful, teasing witch...”
He was fully aroused and she was ready, more than ready for him. She twined her arms around his neck and pulled him down onto the bed.
He bent and kissed her nipple. “You’re right, it’s not cold at all,” he murmured in mock surprise. He traced his tongue around it in lazy, leisured circles, teasing and arousing until she was trembling with need.
She’d forgotten, all the time he’d been lost to her, what it was like to lie with Thomas, the intensity and focus he brought to it—or perhaps he hadn’t, back then. He might have been more spontaneous. And she’d been so innocent. Anything he did back then—everything he did—was new and exciting.
Now, it was different, he was different—and ohhh!
“Thomas!” His mouth closed over her breast, and she clutched at his shoulders, his hair, his back as she arched and trembled.
His mouth was hot and demanding. His hands were everywhere, those big gentle, hard-skinned hands, caressing her breasts, slipping between her thighs, curving around her hip, her belly, her buttocks. Urgency followed their path, welling up from deep within her. She writhed with pleasure, hunger, need.
Her breath caught on a series of jagged, rising peaks. Heat poured through her and her thoughts fragmented under his ravenous sensual assault. Wave after wave of sensation, she let herself float, responding helplessly to the wordless, insistent demand of her body, the relentless passionate drive of his.
She was beyond thought, beyond speech. Finally, gratefully, he was positioned over her, his heavy maleness pressed against her entrance.
