She shook her head. Silly man. “Promise me pleasure then, Jack. Promise me ecstasy, show me–”
“I am not the man you think me,” he rasped.
Oh yes he was. That and more. She hoped one day he would realise it for himself.
“You are everything I want, Jack,” she whispered. “For so long, I have been afraid. Afraid to live. Waiting. Wondering. No longer will I wait. Help me live, Jack. Show me life.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Seasons collide.
Jack had never…
He floundered. None of his normal expressions for amorous congress felt right.
Not for Tamsyn.
“I’ve never…made love to an innocent.”
He ought to resist those tremulous lips and misty eyes, her lithe naked body and wandering hands. The thunder had now dwindled and instead gently rolled from the distant heavens but in fury or approval, he couldn’t be sure.
“I want you to, Jack. I want you to make love to me.” Slender fingers brushed his nape.
And he was lost.
All his vows abandoned, his rules undone, beneath her delicate touch and breathy plea.
He drew back and she shivered, bringing her hands up to cover herself, but he grasped her wrists and held her gaze to his own.
Candlelight played in her eyes, but for all her spirit, he could see deep-rooted anguish, trepidation.
And so he leaned close, pulled her wrists away and kissed her scars.
“You are beautiful, Tamsyn.” And he placed arms beneath her, lifting her from the tub.
After letting her feet rest upon the plush rug, he tenderly dried her with the towel, brushed his palm across her skin. Supposedly, he was a master of seduction and yet his hands trembled. Indeed he knew a hundred ardent tricks, and they’d be expected from a rogue, but with Tam, his skills were for naught. She needed candour and…care.
Soft as a cloud, their lips met, learning, seeking and finding. He trailed kisses down her throat, collarbone and the swell of her breasts, delighting in the silk, the almond, tasting the droplets of water that dripped from her wet hair.
Candlelight flickered over her skin, the scars stark, and he kissed them once more, tried to convey everything he felt, unable to voice feelings he couldn’t fathom.
He paused to caress her face, had to slow, not frighten her with carnal demands and hurried touch.
But Tamsyn’s fingers took their chance to explore, skimmed his spine, grabbed his arse.
Impatient woman.
Her lips met the soft of his nape as he bent to her bare breasts – a curvy, tempting handful of pink and white. Drawing the peak into his mouth, he laved and flicked until he heard her moan, felt her nails dig, suffered his own maddening hunger.
Tonight, he would make passionate love. No rules.
Tamsyn’s meandering fingers were wrenched away, and she was hauled up into Jack’s arms before he strode to the sea-blue bed and gently laid her upon the coverlet.
Candlelight still lent some modesty, but no longer did she feel ugly or flawed because her honest rogue thought her beautiful. All the same, she ducked beneath the coverlet and watched whilst Jack proceeded to peel off his breeches.
Gosh.
Never had she ever seen anything so exotic, erotic, scary or downright magnificent as a naked Jack Winterbourne.
