This kiss was what she had dreamed all kisses with him to be. A slow, achingly slumberous heat, with those threads she imagined tethering him to her, weaving throughout her, making some pattern she didn’t recognise, but followed.
Followed the stroke of his hands, the tilt of his head as he kissed along the curve of her jaw, along the downward slope of her neck until he reached the restrictions of her gown.
But he wasn’t deterred. He loosened his hold on her, and she slid slowly down. So similar to that day at Court. When in her hurry, in her fear, she had slammed into him. But this time she wasn’t buried under acres of courtly dress. He wasn’t covered in lethal chainmail.
It was only him, Hugh, who kept his grip against her skirt as she slid, and rucked it to her hips. She felt the cool air, the heat of his hands on her outer thighs.
‘Lean against me,’ he said, his voice roughened.
It sent shivers through her just as much as his bare hands on her thighs.
Holding her still, he let the heat and something else soak deep within her. Something much warmer that spun fast through her body.
Desire. Need. Want.
She leaned against him, his body and his arms fully supporting her. His hands raised her skirts a little more as she dropped and his fingers spread, his hands encircling the backs of her thighs.
He stroked her until she entwined her hands around his neck and he carried her to the bed.
She lay there while he stood. He wasn’t leaving, but he wasn’t satisfied either.
‘Hugh...?’
‘You might not mind the dark any more, but I can barely see you.’
So stubborn. So relentless. But that was what drew her to him. ‘Light a candle, then.’
A low chuckle. ‘It’s dark! And, as much as I have dreamed of being in this room, I don’t know it.’
‘On the table there.’ She pointed.
He turned then, lit the candle. Walked to the fire to increase that as well, until the flames danced light into the room.
Then he stood there, with the fire illuminating him. An errant lock of blond hair across his forehead, his blue eyes dark.
‘You’re still dressed,’ he said.
‘You laid me on this bed fully clothed.’ She threw her hands over her head, watched his body go rigid.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he said, and there was a light in his voice to match the flames behind him.
‘Does this have to do with the room being well lit?’
‘Not lit enough; I need to see more.’ He crossed his arms, leaned a shoulder against the wall. ‘Take off your clothes.’
An order. There was a lightness to his tone, but his voice was low, raspy, as if the very idea of what he’d said burned through him.
It did burn through her. In all the times she had imagined this, she had never imagined them like this. Because being apart meant they’d changed. Grown stronger.
Sitting up, she leaned her weight on one arm and dangled her feet over the edge of the bed.
Like this, she could see the frayed threads in his composure. His need just underneath. From the way each breath looked purposefully drawn to his unflinching gaze as if he’d forgotten to blink.
‘Alice? Your clothes.’
‘I will, if you take yours off as well.’
He arched a brow, as if he was amused, but his fingers flexing restlessly along his crossed arms told another story.
