Page 76 of A Daring Desire

“Very well,” she said easily. Too easily.

Ciarán turned, slanting a suspicious glance at her but she was sitting at her dressing table, brushing out her long hair. His heart ached as he turned to watch her. God, but she was lovely. The candlelight shone on her hair and it glinted gold, shimmering in a thick fall over her shoulders. He could only see her profile, her eyelashes cast down as she slid the brush through the heavy tresses. Perhaps she was counting the strokes. Unable to bear the distance between them a moment longer, he got to his feet and went to her.

“Let me,” he said, taking the brush from her hands.

She looked up at him and smiled, and there was no trace of reproach in her eyes for their disagreement, though he was not foolish enough as to think she had forgotten it.

He brushed her hair slowly, smiling as she closed her eyes and sighed. “Mama used to do this for me when I was a little girl and had been given a scolding. Which was often, I assure you,” she added with a soft laugh. “She never said anything, but it was reassuring knowing that even though she or Papa were angry with me, I was still loved.”

He set the heavy silver-backed brush down and crouched down before her, taking her hands. “If you think I could stop loving you, under any circumstances, let alone because of a foolish disagreement, you simply do not understand my feelings.”

She shook her head and pulled one of her hands free to stroke his hair, pushing it from his forehead. Ciarán leaned into her touch, the tension that had been singing through him dissipating. “I know that, and I love you, even though you are wrong,” she said with a quirk of her lips. “But we shan’t speak of that anymore now,” she added hastily, yet a devilish glint danced in her eyes he did not underestimate.

He groaned and put his head in her lap, closing his eyes and revelling in the feel of her hands stroking his hair and neck. The scent of her flooded his consciousness, the delicate floral perfume she always wore, and the warm, musky scent of a woman teasing him as desire coiled deep in his belly. He curved his hands about her slender ankles and moved them up and up. Ciarán lifted his head, pushing her knees wide as he moved between them, his hands skimming her thighs. Colour flooded her cheeks, a lovely pink flush that made him smile.

“I want you,” he murmured, his voice low, his smile widening as he felt a shiver run over her.

“That’s a coincidence,” she said, striving for nonchalance but betrayed by the nervous tremble in her voice.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he said, honestly bewildered by the change in his fortunes, by the fates which had been so cruel, only to pivot around and give him Catherine. It made him afraid, made him wonder if it was only a game, to give him a taste of happiness, and then take it away again.

She must have read something of his thoughts in his eyes, for she wrapped her arms about his neck. “You were kind to Louisa, you took care of your brothers and sisters. You keep those who depend on you because it is your duty, even though it pains you to do so.”

“Not well enough,” apparently, he replied darkly, not above reproaching her a little for her criticism.

“Do you wish to discuss that now?” she asked, quirking a blonde eyebrow at him.

He gave her a look but shook his head. “No,” he said, a little sullen. His wife was not to be trifled with, he realised, and in his current mood she might get around him by employing methods he had no defence against. No, that conversation was best had fully dressed and with furniture between them. Deciding he had better regain control of the situation, he stood, and then bent down, lifting Catherine into his arms and carrying her to the bed.

He sat her on the edge of the mattress and stripped off her chemise, leaving her naked.

“Lie down.”

She did as he asked and he stood for a moment, enjoying the picture she made before going back to the dressing table and investigating the selection of elegant glass bottles and pots of cream. She sat up on her elbows and he glanced at her in the mirror.

“What are you looking for?” she asked, but the item he sought had taken his attention and he smiled.

Ciarán set the bottle down while he stripped off the rest of his clothes, aware of his wife’s gaze upon him as he did so. He liked her watching, liked the approval he felt as a caress as her eyes darkened with desire. Taking the bottle, he moved back to the bed and knelt beside her.

“What have you got there?”

He said nothing, just tipped a little of the contents into his palm, then replaced the bottle and warmed the oil between his hands. Ciarán straddled her hips and placed his slick hands upon her shoulders and smoothed down, his touch firm but caressing, over her breasts to her belly. He slid them back up again, paying special attention to her breasts, which were deliciously soft, each with a taut little bud to tease as he caressed and petted, the oil making the way easy as his hands slid back and forth and around.

His wife sighed, an expression of bliss settling over her as he worked, moving down her body, adding more oil as he went. He made his way to her toes, working his fingers into the arch of her feet as she made little sounds of approval that had his cock twitching, then turned her over and started again. He paid special attention to her plump bottom, enjoying the feel of her soft skin beneath his hands as they glided over the generous mounds.

“Are you asleep?” he asked in amusement.

Her eyelids flickered, and she gave an incoherent murmur of content, almost like a purr. He chuckled, stretching his body out over her and giving her earlobe a little nip.

“Then I had best wake you up,” he told her, settling his cock into the slick cleft of her bottom as his hand slid beneath her. She gasped as he found the delicate nub of flesh and caressed and his own breath caught as she writhed under his touch, pressing back against him. His free hand came up to cup her breast, and she gave a soft cry, arching into his touch. “Yes, like that,” he praised her, turning onto his side and taking her with him. The oil made her deliciously slippery as he rubbed his aching arousal against her bottom, still circling the hidden place between her thighs with firm caresses that made her breath catch. She squirmed in his embrace, crying out as he lightly pinched her nipple.

“Say my name,” he commanded her, knowing she was close and needing to hear it, needing to know she saw him, wanted him, not Kilbane, not the man who squandered so much of his life in meaningless sex because he was lost and alone… until she had found him.

“Ciarán,” she whispered, her breathing becoming increasingly erratic.

“Again,” he told her, firming his touch as she gasped, bucking against him.

“C-Ciarán.”