“I know. I never asked you to marry me, Peter,” she murmured. And then, her voice dropping to a strained whisper, “I wasn’t meant to be happily married anyway.”
Was she thinking of Hillram? He expected jealousy to once more rear its ugly head. Instead he found only a deep grief, that she should have lost so much so young.
And that he had not been there first.
But if he’d kept his promise to his mother and stayed with Lady Tesh, he might have been. He sucked in his breath, regret such as he had never known crashing over his head. He would have been around for those summers she spent on the Isle as a young girl, might have been the one she fell in love with instead of his cousin.
Her fingers tightened in his hair, dragging him from the hopelessness of could-have-beens. “But I’ll have tonight at least,” she whispered fiercely.
He swallowed hard and pulled back to look down at her, his heart aching at the determined light in her eyes. “I can’t give you what you need, can’t give you what you deserve.”
She took his face in her hands, brought it down to hers. “Right now, all I need is you. In this moment, right now. Nothing else matters.”
He should fight it, walk away. But then her lips were on his, and every care and worry, every doubt and fear, faded.
***
Lenora clung tight as Peter lifted her in his arms. He carried her with tender care, as if she were a treasure beyond worth.
Yet his lips were hungry, plundering her mouth with feverish intent. And when he lowered her to the mattress, laying her down amid the rumpled sheets, his body quickly followed.
He was everywhere, his hard weight pressing into her, the spicy scent of him filling her senses, the taste of his tongue and the rasp of his whiskers on her skin driving her nearly senseless with desire. She grasped him tighter, needing more.
“I won’t ruin you,” he vowed, the words hot as he moved his mouth down the column of her throat.
“I don’t care,” she panted.
“I do.” He rose up on one elbow, stared down into her face, his gaze caressing her with infinite tenderness. “You’re far too precious. And I won’t leave you disgraced.”
But she couldn’t think of him leaving. There was only here and now. “I’ll take whatever I can of you, Peter,” she breathed, dragging his head down to hers.
He groaned, the tension transforming in an instant to a wild desperation. It mirrored her own, a silent acknowledgment of how fleeting this moment was.
He lifted his head from hers, and she cried out from the loss of him. But he didn’t go far. His lips found the straining tip of her breast. Soon his mouth was open and hot over it, wetting the fabric that stood between them. His hand went to the hem of her nightgown, dragging it up her body, exposing her to the cool night.
This was no slow undressing. And she was glad of it, for she thought she might scream if he drew it out. All she wanted was his hands and lips on her. Finally her clothing was sailing through the air, his soon following. Then he was stretched over her and there was nothing between them.
He gave a low hiss of pleasure and buried his face in her neck. “My God, you’re heaven,” he whispered.
The words sent a shiver through her. She pressed her lips to the smooth skin of his shoulder, ran her palms over the muscles of his back. They bunched and shuddered under her touch.
Peter was the largest, strongest man she had ever known. Everything about him screamed power, competence. But hadn’t she seen in the past fortnight that he was not as immune as he would like others to believe? Hadn’t she seen the vulnerability in him, time and again? And now this, physical proof that just her touch had the power to render him helpless.
But in the next moment, he proved that his own touch on her was just as powerful. He began a slow slide down, his mouth and lips and teeth worshipping her skin. She gasped, arched up into him, as he showered kisses over her neck, her breasts, her quivering stomach. His hands followed, large and rough and calloused. They had seen grief and want, hard work and determination. They skimmed her skin, massaged into straining muscles, caressed with infinite care, bringing her to greater heights of pleasure.
When he reached the thatch of curls at the very apex of her, however, she froze. Margery had told her some of the mechanics of lovemaking, enough to whet her interest in what else could be involved. But Lenora had never in her wildest imaginings expected this.
“Peter?” Her voice warbled with uncertainty.
“Let me taste you,” he breathed. His breath stirred the hair there, brushing what was hidden within. She shuddered.
“Please.”
She would have given anything to him, such was the power of that one word from his lips.
“Yes,” she whispered, letting her legs fall open to him.
And then his mouth was there, at the center of her. And nothing else mattered.
