Oh God, she did.
“I’m sorry.” What else could he say? Might as well admit it. Boners happen.
“I perceive your body’s tension. You needn’t worry. I shall refrain from any physical contact,” she reassured him in a calm, composed manner.
Relief mingled with confusion as the realization dawned. Lizzy wasn’t talking about his hard-on at all. He gave himself a mental shake.
“That’s a relief,” he muttered, his shoulders relaxing as the adrenaline rush wore off. “I was worried about my honor.”
“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?” Sleepy amusement threaded her words.
“Lizzy.” His tone grew serious, his gaze intense despite the darkness. He didn’t care. He needed her to know he meant this. “You don’t ever have to worry about me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lizzy’s eyelids felt heavy, and she blinked a few times to shake away the lingering haze of sleep. When exactly had she drifted off? She couldn’t remember. Hadn’t she decided to stay awake all night, hyperaware of the presence lying next to her, warm and undeniably masculine? She risked a glance toward Tuck, but he didn’t stir, the strong lines of his face softened by the peacefulness of sleep. The steady rise and fall of his chest mesmerized her, and she found herself matching her breathing to his. So, this was what couples did. They crawled into bed together, their bodies casually close, and surrendered to this drowsy intimacy.
No, surely they engaged in far more vigorous activities, and with fewer layers of clothing. An image of tangled limbs and bare skin pressed together sent a shiver racing through her as she became acutely aware of her position, nestled securely against Tuck’s solid form, his arm draped possessively over her, holding her close, his warm exhalations whispering through her hair. How had she ended up like this? She attempted to inch away, but he made a low groan as he tugged her back, unwilling to relinquish his hold.
Suddenly, she became aware of a firm pressure against theside of her leg, insistently pushing into her upper thigh. Her cheeks flushed with sudden heat. It was... well, him.
She understood the basics of how sexual congress occurred between a man and a woman. She’d seen livestock breed in the country. And at balls and various social events, newly married friends would be teased, or, in their new pride, drop hints. At nineteen, armed with a list of rumors, she had approached Georgie, who’d laid out the entire process of fornication in plain terms. It had sounded embarrassing, sticky, and invasive.
But this?
Lizzy held herself perfectly still. This felt like none of those things. Not even embarrassing, which was a surprise, and she had an unexpected yearning to explore further, to delve into the unknown. What if his hands were to wander to other parts of her body? What if he traced the contours of her rib cage, caressing her breasts with his big rough hands?
Her nipples tightened at the thought. Would he tease them with his thumb, tracing circles around each one before applying gentle pressure to the tips, much like she sometimes did in the bath when she luxuriated in the warmth and liquid ease? She paused, still waiting for embarrassment to catch up and find her.
Or worry.
This whole affair could ruin her.
And yet nothing came.
If this was the natural way of men and women who were allowed to share a bed, then she was willing to entertain such intimacies—but only if the man in question was Tucker Taylor.
As if on cue, he shifted his weight. Before she could stop it, he’d half rolled her with him. Glancing down, her hair formed a curtain framing their faces. His initially drowsy eyes snapped into sharp focus, their sudden intensity striking her like a physical blow. Three realizations dawned simultaneously. One was that Tuck had a small mole to the left of one eye, a little punctuation mark to his gaze. Second, she had a sudden and indescribable urge to kiss it. Third, those big rough hands were gripping her backside, holding her firm against him. And the hint of hardness she’d felt earlier? Now was front and center, pushing right into the softness between her thighs.
“What’s going on?” he said roughly. “Where’dyoucome from?”
She tried to wriggle free, or at least get her breasts off his chest, and only succeeded in nestling herself more firmly in place, because he wasn’t releasing his grip.
“I came frommyside of the bed,” she ground out, realizing that the more she moved, the more she rocked against his... his... excitement. “I woke up and you were grabbing me and before my next conscious thought, you hauled me on top of you.”
“A likely story.” He had a half grin, but his eyes were serious. “Except for one critical fact. I’m not the cuddling type.”
“Ha! Tell that to your octopus arms.”
“I’m serious. I’ve had old girlfriends complain that I don’t hold them enough.”
She didn’t want to hear a word about former lovers. The idea felt like rolling in a field of nettles. And she wasn’t going to have him pretend that she was the reason they were currently in such a compromising position.
“Let go of me.” She shoved, but he’d immediately released her when she spoke. This meant that she flew off with more force than intended, tumbling from the side of the bed and landing on the floorboards with a forlorn thud.
Wonderful. Now people in the rooms below would think she was the type to have amorous congress in an unclean Bristol inn.
“Jesus, Lizzy. Are you okay?” He was at her side in a moment and it took all her strength not to pinch his nose.
