ou cannot possibly be serious.”
Simon stared at his fiery-haired wife and decided that, whilst she looked particularly exquisite in a brilliant-blue afternoon frock, her American sensibilities were rotting her brain. Exceptional ability as a poetess or not, she was fit for the madhouse. She appeared quite sincere, her violet eyes huge and bright, pinning him to the spot. From her elaborately styled curls to her silk shoes, she looked every inch the proper marchioness. He longed to muss her up, undo a few of her buttons, bend her over a settee and sink inside her hot, wet flesh. Devil take it. He shook the thought from his mind. He bloody well couldn’t always be making love to her. Could he?
“Of course I’m serious, Sandhurst.” She smiled and he wanted her all the more. “So are you. That’s the problem. It’s occurred to me that I’ve never even heard you laugh.”
Hadn’t she? He pondered her statement for a moment, supposing that he didn’t find much levity in the world. “Laughter is for fools,” he snapped, irritated. She had invaded his home, his thoughts and, dear God, nearly his heart. Why did she have to be so damn lovely, so sweet and kind? It would have been better had she been a shrew.
Maggie gave him a look that he fancied she saved for motherless kittens. “Laughter is for people who are happy.”
What was he to say to that? He frowned at her, thinking he should have acted on his instinct and ravished her. “What on earth has happiness to do with walking about in the rain?” he demanded, returning to her ridiculous idea that they go for a walk in the rainstorm that currently soaked the countryside. “I daresay drowning one’s self in thunderclouds and mud puddles isn’t going to incite either laughter or happiness.”
She had the cheek to whisk away his statement with a gesture of her small hand. “Nonsense. It’s not thundering and you’ve never lived until you’ve danced in the rain.”
“I suppose you’ve never contracted a lung disease either.” Christ, he was actually beginning to be charmed by her madness. Somehow, she was at her most fetching when she was smiling and daring him to step beyond the boundaries behind which he’d lived his entire life.
“Truly, Simon.” She pursed her luscious lips together in that way she had that made him want to crush her in his arms and kiss her. “What good is life without a spot of fun?”
He scowled, confounded by his intense reaction to her. It was mad. Ludicrous. There was no reason he should want this woman he’d sworn never to bed, fewer reasons to be enthralled by her odd sense of adventure. She was everything he was not. Young, idealistic, filled with laughter and hope and innocence. Ready to give in to her desires, to forget about the strictures of society that said a husband and a wife ought not to love each other. She cared for him despite his abandonment of her, despite his admittedly cool nature. She was the fire to his ice and, damn it, she was melting him. He had to take care or he’d be burned.
He forced his mind to focus. What had she said? Ah, yes. More mutton-headed prattling about fun, of all things. “That sounds as if it’s something Nell would say.”
Pink blossomed over her cheeks, telling him he’d trapped her in her own game. “She did say it. But she was utterly right.”
“If you want fun,” he rumbled, closing the distance between them and sliding his arms about her sweet wasp waist, “I’ve something else in mind. It doesn’t involve rain, but it does involve undoing all seven hundred of your buttons.”
Her eyes widened, darkening with the passion he’d come to recognize. She was not immune. He slid his palms over the silk of her back, moving up to her nape. Her hair was so damn soft and smelled of roses. His cock went painfully erect. To hell with rain and dancing. He wanted her on the carpet of the library, beneath him, his cock slipping deep inside the slippery pink depths of her cunny.
“I believe you’re making a jest, my lord,” Maggie said, sounding as breathless as he felt. “Your eyes are almost twinkling with merriment.”
Perhaps she made him maudlin. Perhaps he was just as touched as she was. Whatever the case, he rather found he didn’t mind. Desire slid through his body, mingling with anticipation. He gently tipped her head back. “Nonsense. You know very well I don’t jest, and if my eyes are shining, it’s merely because I’m imagining you in the nude.”
Her pretty lips parted. “You won’t have me nude until you’ve gone out in the rain with me.”
Again with the rain nonsense. Very well. She could have him standing in an icy rain for the rest of the afternoon, and he didn’t think it would cool the fervor roiling through his blood. He wanted to have her, and if it meant doing as she asked, he gladly would. Anything to ease the persistent ache in his trousers. “You win, my dear. I’ll venture into the weather with you.”
She clutched his arms in her excitement, apparently shocked that she’d managed his surrender. “You will?”
“I will.” He dropped a quick kiss on her mouth, unable to help himself. But with one kiss, he inevitably wanted more. “Only for a moment, you outlandish woman.” He couldn’t resist another kiss, this one lingering longer than the first. She opened to him and his tongue swept inside, tasting her, claiming her. She was his, by God. His senses were filled with her, the sweet scent of her perfume, the softness of her lips, her breathy sigh filling his ears, the sensation of her hands finding their way to his chest. Dear God. Perhaps the rain would dampen his ardor. He certainly hoped so, for she was growing more necessary to him than air, and it scared him like the devil. With great reluctance, he broke off their kiss, even if he suspected she would have allowed him to prolong the interlude.
He looked down upon her, his odd little wife who had come to mean so much to him in such a short amount of time. The wife he hadn’t bothered to see in over a year. It seemed impossible now as he gazed at her brazen beauty. She looked back at him, mutual passion reflected in her glazed eyes. She caught her full lower lip between her teeth, almost as if she were struggling to compose her thoughts.
“Shall we?” he asked, wanting to get her peculiar request out of the way as soon as possible to make way for more pleasant pursuits.
She blinked. “Truly?”
Did she think him that much of an arse? He supposed he couldn’t blame her. He had not been kind to her for most of their marriage. In truth, he wasn’t sure he could be kind. Part of him couldn’t believe he was deigning to indulge her silly fancies.
He cleared his throat, his insides all bollixed up. “Truly.”
“You won’t be sorry,” she promised, even though he was altogether certain he would.
But somehow, none of his reservations mattered. “Let us be done with it,” he said solemnly, not wanting to allow her to see just how deeply she affected him.
She wriggled free of his grasp, much to his dismay, appearing suddenly like a fairy. Her entire face brightened, becoming even lovelier, if at all possible. She grabbed his hands, tugging him in her wake. “Come along,” she tossed over her shoulder as she headed for the double glass doors at the end of the library that led into Denver House’s extensive gardens. “If you tarry any longer, I fear the rain will stop.”
“That would be the greatest shame,” he said dryly, allowing her to pull him as if she were a horse and he the carriage. He wasn’t accustomed to following anyone, to bending to another’s whims. In the past, even with Eleanor, he had always had his way. She had deferred to him in all matters. Indeed, now that he thought on it, Eleanor hadn’t seemed to have any whims of her own. She had wanted to please him, but in a completely different way. Maggie wanted to see him happy. By God, she wanted to make him laugh, of all things, and she thought to accomplish it with raindrops. But as harebrained as her idea seemed, what warmed his cold heart was that she cared.
“Don’t be a milksop, Simon.” Maggie tugged him to the door before stopping and glancing back his way, looking almost shy now that she was about to have her way. “Are you ready?”
He trusted she wasn’t looking to his trousers, for if she was, she wouldn’t have asked. He raised a brow. “Ready as ever.”
“We must dance,” she informed him. “Those are the rules.”
“Ah, now we’ve rules?”
“Every good game requires rules.” She threw open one of the doors and hauled him over the threshold in her wake.
The rain was as unrelenting as it was cold, but he dutifully followed Maggie as she led him a few steps away from the house to the gravel path leading into the manicured gardens. She stopped and turned into his arms, looking up at him as water slicked her face and flattened her glorious curls. She was even lovelier in the rain than she’d been in the dry confines of the library. There was something freeing, something ridiculously rebellious about being in the midst of a thorough soaking with her. Before he knew it, he was smiling at her. He couldn’t help it. Her good cheer was infectious.
“Now we must waltz.” She smiled again, and it was transformative. “But take care, my lord. You almost appear as if you’re enjoying yourself.”
He laughed at that. He couldn’t help it, and he had to admit, even if only to himself, that it was truly the first time he’d laughed in earnest in as long as he could recall. She was wild, his little wife. And he wanted more. “You’re making me as mad as you,” he said at last, still grinning like a fool.
“You laughed.” She cupped his jaw.
The touch was so gentle and yet so arousing that he grew rigid again despite the chill and the moisture. His cock was hard as marble, aching for release that he could only find in her voluptuous body. His hair plastered itself to his forehead and he was sure he looked as if he’d escaped from an asylum for the frail-minded. But he didn’t care.
“I believe you requested a waltz, my lady,” he told her instead, enjoying every moment of their impromptu embrace in the rain. And with that, he began humming, leading them into a proper dance that would have done any ballroom shame.
She followed, grinning up at him and blinking through the raindrops that continued to inundate them. “I did indeed, my lord.”
It wasn’t long before she’d trounced on his toes. She was an abysmal dancer, he discovered, almost gratified to find something at which she did not excel. For it surely seemed to him that in most ways, his wife was perfection. She laughed up at him, the happiest he’d seen her, and it struck him that this was what she’d meant. Unabashed, raw happiness. Her cheeks were flushed, her coiffure hopelessly defeated, the silk of her blue gown perhaps ruined forever, and yet she was glowing, tilting her head back to laugh as if she didn’t care who heard her. It was infectious, and soon he was laughing along with her as they twirled and she trod on his instep.
“Devil take it, you’re a horrid dancer,” he told her as she laughed at another misstep.
“I am,” she admitted easily. “A proper gentleman would keep that observation to himself.”
“I begin to think I’m not a proper gentleman.” He stopped them and yanked her into his body, tipping up her wet chin with his fingers. “After all, a proper gentleman wouldn’t do this.”
He kissed her, through the rain and the cold and the fear that he was falling under the spell of the tiny American in his arms. Her hands flitted to his shoulders, her mouth opening to him. Their tongues tangled. He relished the crush of her breasts against his chest, the heavy weight of her skirts against his painfully hard cock. She smelled of roses and autumn.
He wasn’t going to last much longer. He had to have her. He wanted to strip the wet silk from her, reveal pale curves layer by mouthwatering layer, lay her on the library floor and press his rain-slicked body into hers. He wanted to lick her sweet cunny, make her come on his tongue. God, how he wanted.
When he broke their kiss to gaze down at her, the laughter had fled from her beautiful face as well. He recognized the same passion claiming her that raged through him, the need to be one. Her breathing was heavy, her mouth open. Her eyes were the deepest violet he’d ever seen them.
“My God, Maggie,” he rasped. “I need you desperately.”
“Yes,” she said, gripping his hand once more. “Come.”
Once more, he allowed himself to be pulled back across the gravel path, through the torrent of rainfall to the library doors. He didn’t know what had gotten into him. She’d done something to him, something irreversible, and it had nothing to do with dancing in the rain and everything to do with her. If he wasn’t careful, he could love her.
Dear God. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. Couldn’t allow that to happen. Besides, he didn’t even know what love was any longer. Perhaps it was a fiction that didn’t exist. As they reached the dry sanctuary of the library once more, he turned his mind to the task at hand. Getting his wife naked.
He kissed her again, then began working on her buttons. The limpness of the wet silk didn’t wish to cooperate, and his progress was slow. Too slow. He’d ruined her train once, he reasoned. To hell with it. Grasping each side of her bodice in his hands, he tore with all his strength. Buttons fell to the carpet.
“Simon,” she gasped, sounding shocked.
“I’ll buy you a new bloody dress.” He yanked again until her bodice fell open to her waist. “One without any damn buttons.”
She smiled, sending a foreign emotion slicing through him, and helped him to remove her arms from her sleeves. “I should like to see such a dress.”
“Better still, I shall keep you nude for the rest of your days.” He gave her a wicked smile of his own, liking his idea immensely. “To hell with dresses.”
She shivered as she opened the hidden placket on her skirts, dropping them to the floor. She stood before him in her undergarments, her breasts a creamy swell of temptation. He passed his still-wet hands over her smooth shoulders, wanting her with an intensity that frightened him. “Are you cold, darling?”
“No,” she whispered, and he knew then that it was the same for her.
He pulled away the strings of her bustle and helped Maggie to shuck her corset cover. “Turn,” he told her, wanting to undo the laces of her corset.
She spun as he commanded, giving him her back. Her curls sagged under the weight of the rain, but her hair was still impossibly vibrant and beautiful. Even her shoulders were sheer perfection. He pressed a kiss to her neck as he settled his hands on her nipped waist. So tiny, such a delicious contrast to the lush curves of her bosom. When she tilted her head to the side, allowing him greater access, he kissed a path to her jaw. His fingers unerringly found the knot her indefatigable lady’s maid had tied in her corset and began undoing it. With great care, willing himself to go slowly, he kissed the rim of her ear. When she shivered again, he took her earlobe between his teeth and gently tugged, earning a soft moan from her.
Ah, hell. Just the sound was enough to make him thrust into her, pressing his cock into the ample curves of her bottom. She arched back into him, making him groan as he met with her softness. He kissed the patch of skin just beneath her ear, tasting her, licking the rain from her.
“Oh,” she cried out, turning her head to nuzzle his. “Oh Simon.”
His fingers at last met with success, opening the knot on her corset ties. He moved between the crisscrossing laces, pulling them apart, intent on his quest to have her gloriously nude.
“Darling.” He nipped at her skin enough to make her shiver but not hard enough to leave a mark. “I can’t wait to have your beautiful breasts in my hands, to take your nipples in my mouth and suck them until they’re hard.”
“Yes.” She turned her head and kissed him, open-mouthed and hungry. “Please.”
Enough. He couldn’t wait a moment longer. He pulled away and spun her to face him. If this was what she’d had in mind from the start, he’d dance in the rain with her every bloody day. He was ravenous for her. He removed her corset cover and then pulled her corset open and flung it away, intent on revealing her gorgeous body. Only a chemise separated him from what he wanted.
His breath caught as he gazed down at her. She was soaked, her skin glistening with moisture, the linen of her shift clinging to her breasts so that her sweetly pink nipples were visible through the fabric. They were already stiff, calling to him. He pulled her against him, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her again, unable to help himself.
She kissed him back, and when he felt her fingers on the buttons of his shirt, he groaned. She was a wanton, his Maggie, and he couldn’t be more pleased. He nipped at her lower lip, wringing an answering moan from her. She liked when he was a little wild, a little rough. The knowledge only heightened his desire.
Simon shrugged out of his jacket, allowing it to fall unheeded to the floor. The last button on his shirt popped open, aided by Maggie, and he tossed that garment away as well. Then, her hands were on his chest, caressing a path of fire that led straight to his cock. When she cupped him through his trousers, he couldn’t keep himself from surging into her, wanting her touch, wanting to be inside her. Christ, she made him mad. He had to have her. Right bloody now.
He tossed a look around the library, having second thoughts about the wool of the carpets on her delicate skin. His eyes landed upon an oversize settee and a wicked idea formed in his debauched mind.
“Come, my love.” He led her to the settee, their embrace never breaking. He backed her to the cushioned edge before stopping to draw her final garment up over her head. She was nude before him, her breasts a round and full temptation, her curves lush. His gaze dipped lower, to her cunny.
He knew what he wanted. “Sit.”
“What in heaven’s name?” Maggie blinked at him, dredged from the depths of her passion by his request. Of course she would question him. “Why?”
“Hush.” He pressed a finger to her rose-pink lips that were swollen with his kisses. “No more talking.”
“But,” she began, attempting to speak past his finger until he interrupted her.
“Do you trust me, Maggie?”
Her violet eyes were huge, piercing through to his very soul. She pressed a kiss to his finger before tipping her head back so that she could speak. “Yes.”
Something inside him shifted, sending a warmth through him that had little to do with desire and everything to do with the emotions she stirred within him. She trusted him. She trusted the man who had left her while he spent an entire year with his mistress. He could admit it now, for if he hadn’t a conscience before, he bloody well did now. Maggie had done that for him. She’d changed everything.
He gently guided her into a sitting position, needing to show her with his actions what he could not reveal in words. She was his. He was hers. And he wanted to make her scream. He wanted more than just a goddamn month. He sank to his knees.
She watched him, holding her hands over her breasts as she sat awkwardly. She looked dreadfully uncomfortable. He placed his palms on each of her bare knees, hungering to go higher and sweep over her luscious thighs but restraining himself.
“Have you ever sat naked on a settee before?” he asked her.
“You know I haven’t.”
“Another day of firsts for us. I danced in the rain for you.” He bowed his head and pressed a kiss to first her left knee, then her right. Something occurred to him then. “You weren’t wearing drawers.”
A rosy flush crept over her cheeks. “It often seems I don’t require them when you’re about.”
“A lady who plans ahead.” He winked at her, showing her the lightness of heart she’d accused him of not possessing. He had it, by God. There merely hadn’t been need of it before. No other woman had longed to hear his laughter. “I am once again in awe of you.”
“What are you doing?” she asked again, her voice breathy. Not precisely concerned, but nevertheless a trifle on edge.
“Making love to my wife.” He relished the word on his tongue for the first time ever. He skimmed his hands up her thighs ever so slowly, kissing the insides of her knees as he did so. “My turn for a question. Why are you hiding your lovely breasts from me?”
He glanced up at her to find her still flushed, watching him with an expression he’d never seen from her. “Would you prefer to see them?”
Ah, she was back to the teasing wanton once more. His cock was hard as stone, pressing against his trousers despite the cold, damp fabric. “I would.”
Meeting his gaze, she removed her arms. Her breasts were perfection. “There you are.” Her air was as breezy as if she complimented the fabric of the curtains across the room.
She had courage, his Maggie, a backbone as rigid as a brick wall. “I love your breasts.” His hands slid ever higher until he reached her upper thighs. “Will you open your legs for me, darling? I want to pleasure you so very badly.”
Wordlessly, she allowed her knees to fall apart, opening herself to him. No hesitation. She was a match for him in every way. His eyes devoured each inch of creamy skin revealed to him, lingering on the folds of her cunny. He could already smell her sweet, earthy scent. She was aroused, her cunny pink and glistening, ready for him.
Yes, this was what he wanted. He struggled to rein in the desire careening through him. He wanted to go slowly, to torture them both with anticipation, with pleasure. He ran his hands back down her voluptuous legs, loving the feel of them, the freedom of touching her as he pleased.
“Put your legs over me,” he directed her quietly, showing her where he wanted her at the same time.
She did as he asked without further question, allowing him to place her legs as he wished so that the backs of her knees rested upon his shoulders. Bloody hell, yes. He grabbed her rump next, scooting her to the edge of the settee until her cunny nearly touched the bright gilding holding the upholstery in place. He hoped she soaked the damn settee so much that he needed to replace it.
Looking up at her, he placed a kiss on the inside of each thigh. She watched him, her lip caught between her teeth. Her violet eyes were dreamy, half-closed. She wanted this every bit as much as he did. Still keeping her gaze trapped by his, he at last lowered his head to the prize he sought. He gently pulled back her mound until the plump bud he wanted jutted proudly forward. And then he took her in his mouth, sucking.
She moaned above him, her fingers sinking into his hair, running over his scalp. A hot surge of lust went directly to his cock. He loved the way she tasted, of muskiness and something innately hers. Delicious. His tongue flicked over her, up and down, side to side, before he sucked her again. She bucked against him, pressing her wet cunny into his face. Perfect. God. He was going to lose himself in her and he didn’t give a damn.
With a growl against her eager flesh, he pulled back, glancing up at Maggie to find she’d closed her eyes, her mouth open. Her breasts were erotic as hell. She was a Venus on display. His. He wanted to fuck her with his tongue first and then with his cock.
He lowered his head and sank his tongue into her slippery cunny, again and again. She cried out, twisting against him, and he knew she was nearing her climax. He wanted to make her come as she’d never come before. He reached up, pressing a hand against her belly and slipping his thumb back to her pearl. He worked it back and forth, exerting as much pressure as he dared, as much as he knew made her writhe even more beneath him, all the while plunging his tongue deep inside her.
She shook and he felt a rush of wetness on his mouth. Ah, yes. She cried out his name, nearly sobbing with the power of her release. Now he was going to fuck her again. Fuck her until she came all over him once more. She was so wet. He couldn’t wait to be inside her. Not another breath. He fumbled for his shirt, opening it over the carpet.
“Here, darling.” Simon took her small hand in his. She was still dazed, the perfect picture of a wanton with her mussed hair, slack mouth and shining eyes. He pulled her to her knees, helping her to arrange herself on the softer fabric of his shirt. “I want you desperately.”
She opened for him, holding her arms out. “I want you too.”
Her words sent a new arrow of heat searing through him, the kind that pierced his heart. Damn it. He tore open the fastening of his trousers, releasing his rigid cock. In the next instant, he was inside her with one long thrust. She was hot and slippery and tight. Heaven. When she wrapped her arms around his waist and drew him even deeper, he was lost. He pumped into her, again and again. Out, then in, a delicious rhythm designed to make them both mad. At last, she constricted on him, her cunny wringing the last bit of sanity from him. He lost himself, spending so hard his heart nearly leapt from his chest.
Dear sweet Christ. Panting as if he’d just run for his life, he collapsed against her, pressing a kiss to her perfect lips. He touched his forehead to hers, completely bemused by what she’d done to him.
She framed his face with her hands, her eyes twinkling up at him, an impish smile on her mouth. “Perhaps next time you won’t be so disagreeable about taking a walk in the rain.”
He couldn’t help himself. He threw back his head and laughed. Bloody hell. She was right.
“Tell me, what is your favorite poem?”
Maggie leaned back on the coverlet Simon had spread across the grass for their impromptu picnic and considered him. He watched her with an open expression as he nibbled on a sandwich prepared for them by his redoubtable cook Mrs. Gaston. She still couldn’t believe she’d managed to convince him to join her for a picnic luncheon so easily. She knew it was often de rigueur at country house parties, but Simon always seemed so staid, so fussy and incapable of levity. He had changed. He’d opened himself to her.
“You’re staring at me,” he observed, frowning. “Have I asked such an odd question?”
Oh dear. She was mooning over him, and she’d quite forgotten what he’d asked. She thought for a moment, trying her best not to look like a silly miss. Ah, yes. Poetry. She found their common interest heartening. It was one more thing that drew them together whereas before, one rather large and unfortunate thing had drawn them apart.
“How can I choose just one?” she asked him. “Perhaps you have a favorite?”
His eyes darkened. “I find that I prefer the poetry written by my wife.”
She flushed, unable to fight back a smile. He certainly knew how to charm her. “Thank you, Simon, but I fear you’re merely trying to woo me.”
He raised a brow. “I didn’t know I needed to woo you. I’ve already won you, after all.”
But his actions had belied his words. Unless she was mistaken, he had begun doing his best to win her. “I’m beginning to think perhaps you already have.”
A slow, knowing grin curved his sensual lips. “The sentiment is mutual, my dear.”
Dear heavens. He was certainly charming when he wished to be after all. She found she had a difficult time resisting him. In fact, she didn’t want to resist him, truth be told. “I’m glad. I hope you’re finding marriage to me isn’t as horrid as you once supposed.”
“Do you truly care?” He cocked his head to the side, considering her in that intense way he had that made her feel as if he could see all the corners of herself she’d prefer to keep hidden. “I rather fancy you ought to loathe me. I wouldn’t blame you, truly, and yet you’re so bloody sweet to me.”
His insight startled her. He’d gradually begun to open himself to her, and she had discovered a great many things about her husband thus far. One of them was that he had been searching for a family to belong to ever since his boyhood. She suspected he didn’t realize it himself, but she fancied it was why he’d been so ensnared by Lady Billingsley.
But now that Maggie was a true part of his life and not a faraway dust mote occasionally flitting through his conscience, she hoped she could give him the family he’d been seeking. It was a frightening realization for her, just how connected she’d become to him. She didn’t just want to settle for a month and then return to New York. Not any longer. She’d changed. He’d changed. Together.
“I’ve told you before I’m not the angel you think me.” She thought of all the moments in her life where she had been unkind, had made mistakes. She thought of Richard, of how she had left him devastated when she had broken off their romance to leave for England. No indeed, she was altogether not an angel.
He shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”
She smiled sadly at his insistence. “I wish I were perfect.”
“You already are perfect, Maggie.” He picked up a dark-red hothouse strawberry, held it to his lips and took a bite. She watched, entranced. “And you make me perfectly mad with wanting you every time I so much as think your name.”
Desire unwound within her. She liked that she at least possessed the power to make him long for her. It was something, a small battle won in the war she hadn’t realized she’d wanted to wage. She wanted to win not just his passion, his kisses, his admiration, but also his heart. There it was, with such awful clarity it made her throat nearly close. She was going to pry it from Lady Billingsley’s inglorious clutches. If she hadn’t already done so. Maggie had to wonder as she watched him slowly devour his strawberry, making a burn start deep inside her.
“But you dislike me.” She licked her lower lip, a force of habit.
“I disliked the notion of you, yes,” he said agreeably. “As I daresay you did me. For me, however, that dislike has changed immensely.”
“How has it changed?” she dared to ask him.
He sent her a wicked grin. “Shall I show you?”
Oh dear. He was such a tempting man. It was the midst of the day and they were in the open air. Anyone could happen upon them at any moment. Surely it would be foolish to indulge in the wickedness he promised. She ought to tell him no.
She caught herself grinning back at him. “Yes.”
He was on her in an instant, pressing her all the way to the coverlet with his muscled body. He kissed her as if he’d been starving for it, long and passion-fueled. Her hands went into his hair, knocking his hat from his head. Her jaunty headpiece too fell to the wayside, half crushed beneath her back. She didn’t care.
The day was alive with sunshine, singing birds, and endless possibility. It was a feeling she could get lost in forever. A feeling she never wanted to end.