“My mother loved roses.” The words were so soft they faded against the thrum of rain on the roof.

“I love them too,” Steven said, drawing her close.

Her back was warm, smooth, her br**sts fine against his bare chest. Rose lifted into the next kiss, her movements fluid. She was good at kissing—her lips fitted smoothly to his, their tongues meeting, no awkwardness.

As though realizing she was enjoying it too much, Rose pulled back. “Steven, what did you mean . . .”

“Shh.” Steven quieted her with another kiss. He didn’t know what she was asking and he didn’t care. Some things could be destroyed with too any words.

He loosened her skirt and the petticoat beneath it, stripping off her mourning. Steven liked to think he was peeling back a cocoon, setting Rose free from the confinement of her grief.

Rose’s black skirts dropped away, and Steven unhooked her bustle. Rose said nothing about him knowing how the fastenings worked, but she’d understood him from the beginning. She’d had no illusions about Steven.

With her confining clothes joining his on the bed, Rose was beautiful in nothing but the lower part of her combinations and her stockings. Stimulating as well. Steven’s body urged him to take her now, or he’d make a fool of himself.

She looked best against the whitewashed wall. There, all her color came to life, the bloom in her cheeks, the gold of her falling hair. Steven unbuttoned and pushed down her combinations, helping her from them. Setting her free.

Rose na**d was a glorious sight, and Steven was on fire. Her soft hands went to his shoulders, she having no doubt about what they were going to do. She wasn’t a trembling virgin—she was a woman who knew she liked the touch of a man, and wanted it now.

Steven undid his kilt’s clasp and pin and unwound the plaid from his waist. The kilt landed on top of their clothes on the bed, as did the rest of his underwear.

Rose’s gaze went to his cock, hard and tight for her, and her flush deepened. But she didn’t look away. She wasn’t afraid of this part of a man.

Steven couldn’t stay from her long. He pushed her to the wall near the window, close enough to the chimney for its warmth. Warmer here than on the bed, well he knew.

His body told him to hurry, but Steven wanted to savor her. He might never have another chance.

Rose drew a sharp breath as Steven leaned and licked between her br**sts. Her hands went to his hair, caressing, drawing warmth. He kissed her skin once more then took one of her full br**sts in his mouth, curling his tongue around her nipple.

Another quick breath from Rose, this one lifting her further into his mouth. Steven suckled and nibbled her, memorizing her dusky taste, one he’d recall in lonely evenings to come.

There was more of her body to enjoy. Steven licked between her br**sts again, then kissed his way down to her abdomen. He sank to his knees as he went, touching a kiss to her firm belly. The tight lines of it told him Rose had never borne a child, which accounted for some of the sadness in her eyes. Her marriage should have given her that gift.

Steven teased her navel with his tongue, and Rose laughed. She didn’t ask what he was doing, didn’t try to push him away. She only ran a hand over his head and took another breath as he kissed the swirl of hair between her thighs.

Golden and beautiful. Rose made a faint noise in her throat as Steven leaned forward, nudged her thighs apart a little, and closed his mouth over her opening.

With my body, I thee worship. Steven had always liked the titillating words of the marriage ceremony. I worship you, Rose. I treasure you.

He slid his tongue into her, tasting her delights, wondering that he’d waited so long. He’d wanted to fall upon her the very night he’d . . . well, fallen upon her. Or that morning, when he’d lain in this very room, unclothed, and she’d leaned over him to gather up his breakfast tray . . .

As Steven rested his fingertips on her thighs and drank her in, he let himself imagine how that would have gone. The tray on the floor, the dishes smashing. Rose on his bed, clothes coming away. The covers pushed aside, she straddling him. Her head back, her br**sts moving softly in the rhythm of what they did.

Steven closed hands on her, his tongue doing what he’d wanted to that first morning. Rose made sounds of feminine pleasure, her fingers gripping his hair, but he didn’t mind the pain. Steven flicked his tongue over the tight part of her, smiling as she started, her body meeting the wall with a quiet slap.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Steven gave her one final lick, then he rose up the length of her, in contact with her all the way, his skin already slick with sweat in spite of the cold.

Rose started to laugh as Steven lifted her, giving him a look of surprise from her languid eyes that he wasn’t carrying her to the bed. But Steven was in too much of a hurry for something so tame.

Her laughter changed to a gasp when Steven parted her legs and slid straight up into her.

***

Rose clutched at Steven as he pressed her open, filling her, finding spaces inside her she didn’t know existed. He was hard and hot, and she was wet from what he’d done with his mouth and hands. No man had ever touched her as Steven had today—she hadn’t even realized men and women did such things.

But his mouth on her had wiped away all rational thought, erasing propriety and the need for self-control. Rose had fallen against the wall, her legs parting for him, the fires he’d started when he’d drunk her incinerating her from the inside out.

Just when she thought she’d roll away on a wave of incoherence, Steven had risen, the look in his gray eyes intense, and had lifted her into his strong arms.