Devil in Spring

Fuming, Pandora looked down at the slip of paper.

Take one overwrought husband and administer compulsory bed rest. Apply as many embraces and kisses as necessary until symptoms are relieved. Repeat as needed.

“You can’t be serious,” Pandora said, looking up at Garrett Gibson’s composed face.

“I suggest you follow it to the letter.”

Pandora scowled. “I’d rather have an enema.”

The doctor turned away, but not before Pandora saw the flash of a grin. “I’ll stop by tomorrow, as usual.”

Both husband and wife remained silent until Garrett Gibson left the room and closed the door.

“Hand me the prescription,” Gabriel said curtly. “I’ll have Dragon take it to the apothecary.”

“I’ll tell him,” Pandora replied through gritted teeth.

“Fine.” He went to straighten the haphazard collection of items on the table near the bed, cups and tumblers, books, letters, pencils and blank paper, playing cards, and a little hand-bell that Pandora had yet to use because she was never left alone long enough to need someone.

She slanted a mutinous glance up at her husband. He wasn’t overwrought, he was overbearing. But as she stared more closely at him, she saw the smudges of shadows beneath his eyes, and the lines of strain, and the tense set of his mouth. Gabriel looked tired and grim, restless beneath the surface. It occurred to her that, along with his constant worrying over her, two weeks of celibacy had not brought out the best in his character.

She thought of those brief, dry kisses he’d been giving her. How nice it would feel if he held her, really held her, and kissed her the way he used to. As if he loved her.

Love . . . he often used the word as an endearment. He’d demonstrated his feelings a thousand ways, but he’d never actually said those three simple words. As for her . . . she was the wallflower who’d somehow caught the handsomest man at the ball, the man everyone wanted. Obviously it wasn’t fair for her to be the one to take the risk.

But someone had to.

As she watched while Gabriel sorted through the medicine spoons, she decided to take the bull by the horns. “You probably already know this,” she said bluntly, “but I love you. In fact, I love you so much that I don’t mind your monotonous handsomeness, your prejudice against certain root vegetables, or your strange preoccupation with spoon-feeding me. I’m never going to obey you. But I’m always going to love you.”

The declaration wasn’t exactly poetic, but it seemed to be what he’d needed to hear.

The spoons clattered on the table. In the next moment, he sat on the bed and gathered her against his chest. “Pandora,” he said huskily, holding her against his violently thumping heart. “I love you more than I can bear. You’re everything to me. You’re the reason the earth turns and morning follows night. You’re the meaning of primroses and why kissing was invented. You’re the reason my heart beats. God help me, I’m not strong enough to survive without you. I need you too much . . . I need you . . .”

She turned her face to his. Here at last was her familiar husband, his mouth hot and hungering. The feel of his solid chest against hers brought the tips of her breasts to throbbing points. She tilted her head back luxuriously, and he feasted on the tender side of her neck, using his tongue, grazing with the edge of his teeth until she shivered with pleasure.

Breathing heavily, Gabriel lifted his head and held her, rocking her slightly. She could feel the struggle inside him, the violent longing and forced restraint.

As he moved to set her away from him, her arms tightened around his neck. “Stay in bed with me.”

He swallowed audibly. “I can’t, or I’ll devour you whole. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“The doctor said it’s all right.”

“I can’t risk hurting you.”

“Gabriel,” she told him seriously, “if you don’t make love to me, I’m going to run up and down the stairs while singing ‘Sally In Our Alley’ at the top of my lungs.”

His eyes narrowed. “Try that, and I’ll tie you to the bed.”

Pandora smiled and nipped his chin, loving the slight scratchiness of his face. “Yes . . . let’s do that.”

Groaning, he began to pull away, but at that point she’d managed to slip a hand inside his trousers. They grappled, but it wasn’t at all a fair fight because he was terrified of hurting her, and he was too wildly aroused to think straight.

“You’ll be gentle,” Pandora coaxed, unfastening buttons, pushing her hands inside his clothes. “You do everything, and I’ll lie still. You won’t hurt me. You see, this is the perfect way to keep me in bed.”

He swore, desperately trying to restrain himself, but she could feel the heat rising in him, his resistance crumbling. She moved lower on the bed, her limbs sliding beneath his, and he gasped. With a primitive sound, he gripped the bodice of her nightdress and ripped it down the front. His head lowered over her breasts, his mouth closing over a nipple and pulling it inside, his tongue stroking and circling. Dreamily she lifted her hands to his head and slid them into his beautiful hair, sifting gold and amber through her fingers. He moved to her other breast, tugging rhythmically while his hands coasted over her body.

Oh, he was good at this, his touch sensitive and knowing, spreading thrills across her skin like a net of sparks. He touched between her legs, playing sweetly, his fingers sliding in with such teasing slowness that she moaned and arched in demand. The exquisite deep caress withdrew. He worked his hands beneath her bottom and tilted her upward, holding her like a chalice as he searched with his mouth. She sobbed, writhing softly as he lavished her with textures of silk, velvet, liquid fire, and gently rasping bristle. The muscles of her thighs contracted and relaxed helplessly, her body straining to take in sensation, while heat danced in her stomach and groin. She felt the tip of his tongue against the agonizingly sensitive peak of her sex, darting, tickling, bringing the rising pleasure to the edge of culmination.