Julia turned in his arms. If she was doing this, she needed to see his eyes. “Why are we here?”
He glanced away. “You know I—”
Julia closed the faucet. “I’m going back to Vesuvio. You can spend Christmas here if you wish.”
“Leave? Are all Portuguese women mad? What bit into you?”
“I will tell you what—Boyd wants to marry Beth. And you are jealous.” Her chin trembled so much that she had difficulty intoning the words. But she said them, didn’t she? Now, it was out in the open, like a ruined vintage, tainting the floor.
He stilled. “What did you just say?”
She pushed past him and into the bedroom and started flinging her things into a bag. Flor could take the rest later. “Do you regret it? Having ended the engagement with Beth Croft? You can be honest. We are adults, and our bodies and minds are sometimes beyond our control.”
“That is the point. Boyd doesn’t want to marry Beth. He hates Croft even more than you do. As a gentleman, I cannot allow him to toy with Miss Croft. I feel responsible for her after I—”
“After what? You met me? Do you wish you hadn’t?”
“What? I didn’t know Portuguese women were so jealous.” He took the bag from her.
His voice, even his teasing tone, were so dear to her, she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.
“Please, don’t—”
He pulled her into the cradle of his chest. She brushed her wet cheeks against his shirt. His arms around her felt so precious, the first blush of summer, the first tiny flower of a vine.
He exhaled against her hair. “I love you more than I love my life. You are my soul wine. Forgive me if I don’t show you enough.”
Julia’s breath hitched, and she felt the pulse in her throat, a heartbeat so intense it almost hurt. His words lingered, perfuming the air like a precious vintage.
“You show me, it’s just—” Her voice wavered, the words catching like silk on a thorn. “My heart wilted when I saw you fighting with him over her.”
Griffin’s eyes softened, like embers calming to a glow, and she felt a tension in herself release, an invisible knot coming undone.
He stepped closer, his face leaning in, his mouth meeting hers in a kiss that was at once tender and fierce. She melted into it, tasting the faint hint of wine on his lips, breathing him in as if to press him into every corner of herself.
Cradling his face, she kissed him back with a longing that felt as vital as air. She held him tight because this was her Englishman, and he might be irascible and unreasonable, but he was thoroughly hers.
They never made it to the bed. The armchair was closer, sturdy, and inviting in the dim light. Julia’s fingers trembled as she helped him loosen his trousers, the heat between them building with each brush of skin, each small, urgent movement. When she lowered herself onto his erection, a shiver traveled up her spine, and her eyes fluttered shut, her head tilting back, offering herself completely. They groaned in unison, the sound of surrender, of home.
They lingered there, bodies entwined, savoring the closeness. They had the luxury of familiarity, of knowing just how to hold back, letting each sensation bloom and ripple.
Julia traced his jaw, his nose, his eyes, then lowered her hands to his chest, feeling the tautness in his muscles, the subtle tremor of restraint that only heightened her desire. She opened her eyes to find his face inches from hers, and their gazes locked, foreheads pressed together, the world narrowing to this moment, to him.
Time had not oxidized her responses to him. They had made love many times now, to celebrate successes and to soothe life’s little grievances, and each time was special in its own way, as iftheir lovemaking lived in a bottle and they could savor it at will, finding new nuances. Movement didn’t come for a long time. There was no need to rush. They let their love decanter, breathe, flaring its notes and aromas.
Her hand slipped up, tangling in his hair, and she tugged him closer, capturing his mouth in a kiss, her teeth grazing his lip. When she moved, rocking her hips against him, his hands tightened on her waist, grounding them both in the exquisite, slow-burning ache that only they knew.
Her eyes closed, her head falling back against his shoulder.
“You are mine,” he licked her cheek, his voice rough with need, his hands gripping her waist as if she might disappear. “I won’t allow you to think otherwise, Julia.”
“Make me yours,” she breathed. “I love you.”
She tightened around him, and he groaned, his hips jerking up in response. Leaning back into the chair, he cupped her breast in his hand, his mouth closing around her, tasting her, drawing a soft cry from her lips. His erection stirred inside her, his hips lifting to meet hers, a powerful rhythm that made her gasp.
“You are wrong about Boyd.” She took his earlobe between her teeth, hearing his sharp intake of breath as he filled her even more deeply.
He gasped, his grip tightening on her waist. “Englishmen are never wrong,” he growled.
