Coming from Royce, that was saying something. He didn’t have a rude bone in his body.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“See that you do. Sheridan is a wonderful person. She doesn’t deserve how those twobruhastreat her.”
Wyatt raised an eyebrow. He knew his mother was really upset when she chose a word in Spanish rather than English. He leaned forward just a bit and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re a good woman, Delilah Cabot.” And then he patted Royce on the shoulder. “And you’re a good man. I’ll take care of it. Good night.”
He left them standing in the kitchen and went upstairs. He entered his bedroom to see the object of their conversation already dressed in her nightgown, standing in front of the mirror on the bureau, her gaze steady but unfocused, as if she wasn’t really seeing her reflection at all. Or perhaps she was and didn’t like what she was seeing.
He sat on the divan and pulled off his boots, but his gaze kept going back to her. “Are you all right?”
She shook her head but didn’t say a word. Instead, she picked up the brush from the bureau, and started brushing her long hair, the strokes not gentle and easy, but angry. He winced.
He rose from the divan and walked toward her, then took the brush from her hand. “Let me.”
He pulled the bristles through her golden locks, from the top of her head to the very ends, which were just about to the middle of her back, and kept doing it, stroke after stroke after stroke until the tension finally released from her shoulders and she let out a long sigh.
“Tell me. What happened?”
“They said I was just like my mother.” She pulled in a shuddering breath. “They said I wasn’t worthy of being loved, just like she wasn’t.”
What a hurtful thing to say to one’s own blood. He put down the brush, grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him, but she wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she focused on the buttons of his shirt. “Look at me.”
She lifted her head and it broke his heart to see the tears standing in her eyes, the lashes wet.
“They’re wrong, Sherry. You are.” He pulled her closer and dropped a kiss on her forehead, then pulled back so he could look in her eyes again. “You’re a beautiful, kind-hearted person. A good person despite them. Or maybe because of your grandmother and aunt. You see how they are and you don’t want to be like them.” He swiped the tear rolling down her cheek with his thumb. “You are worthy.”
“Show me.”
He stared into her eyes, watery with tears, the warm peridot color darkening, then slowly lowered his head and captured her lips with his. She sighed as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slowly caressing hers.
He pulled her closer, pressing her body against his, feeling her soft curves mold to him, reveling in her warmth. After sleeping beside her, willing himself not to touch her, drawing on every ounce of willpower he possessed and failing miserably, he was finally free to show her exactly how he felt and what he wanted.
He moved her toward the bed, his mouth still upon hers, drinking in her sweetness, dispelling her sadness, proving to her that she was indeed worthy of being adored, of being loved.
He laid her gently on the mattress, his mouth never leaving hers as he yanked on his shirt, sending the buttons flying. He didn’t care. He shrugged out of his shirt, then leaned forward and possessed her mouth once again, even as he shucked his trousers. Naked, as he wanted to be, he joined her on the bed, stretching out almost on top of her, but not quite. His mouth never left hers, filling himself with her essence.
He unbuttoned the fancy buttons that held her nightgown closed, then spread the edges, revealing her magnificent breasts to his eyes. And they were magnificent. Round. Pert. Heavy as he lifted one slightly.
“Blow out the lamps,” she begged.
He smiled instead and simply lowered his head to lick at her nipple, watching with amazement, and not a bit of dissatisfaction, as the pale pink nub tightened. And then he drew it into his mouth, sucking gently, his tongue smoothing over it, making it tighter and more sensitive, even while his hand squeezed her other breast lightly. He tasted the sweetness of her skin, the scent of her perfume, subtle but heady, familiar yet somehow, at this moment, exotic yet innocent.
A hiss escaped her and he couldn’t resist smiling as her hands held his head and her back arched, pushing her breasts closer to his face, silently asking for more. Much more.
And then he was kissing her belly through her nightgown, moving lower, pushing her nightgown higher to smooth his hands over her thighs, marveling at the softness of such delicate skin. He could smell her arousal, feel it building in the slight quivering of her body, hear it in the raggedness of her indrawn breath and deep sigh.
He pushed her nightgown up to her waist to expose her most vulnerable parts, the springy reddish blond hair at the juncture of her thighs calling to him, then settled himself between her legs.
She tried to close her legs, her velvety skin pressing against his ears. “No, don’t hide yourself from me. You’re beautiful. Even here.”
Sheridan squelched the scream that built in her throat, but she couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her as Wyatt gently spread her nether lips and licked her. And kept licking her, his tongue tracing over the delicate nub she had never known existed. Heat, white hot, consumed her, making it difficult to think, even as her hips rose closer to his mouth. Her hands clasped his head, keeping him in place, and all she knew at this moment was that she didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want these exquisite feelings to end, as his tongue and mouth pushed her toward something unknown, something just out of reach, something earth-shattering.
And then it started, whatever that unbearable feeling of lightness was. She couldn’t speak, could barely draw a breath as she came undone, her body pulsing around the fingers he had inserted into her. She heard him chuckle, but it seemed like it came from far away.
He moved, crawling up her body, kissing and licking at her overly sensitive skin, then settled himself between her thighs, his manhood poised at the opening to her body, even as his mouth joined to hers. She tasted herself on his lips. She should have been embarrassed, not only by what he’d done to her, but by how she reacted, and yet, she didn’t care.
It didn’t hurt. Not like she’d always heard it would. Instead, that raging cauldron of desire she didn’t quite understand, roared to life once more, as he entered her slowly, so slowly, letting her get accustomed to the width and girth of him, she thought she would die.
