Page 48 of The Mister I Married

Chapter Thirteen

Her husband was an exceptionally handsome man.

Emmy was always aware of Alex’s good looks, but as she laid in bed watching him sleep, his dark hair rumpled, his expression boyishly peaceful as the early morning sun warmed his naked shoulders…well, the evidence was more than clear.

Yes, he was an exceptionally handsome man.

Exceptionally considerate, too, she thought, as memories flashed, images and sensations from last night flooding her mind and body.

She could not have asked for a better consummation. Alex had treated her with such care and patience that consummation seemed too cold a word to describe it. There had been nothing cold about what had happened between them last night.

She reached a hand out, wanting to touch him, to stroke his hair, but something held her back. She stilled, lowering her arm.

Her husband might be a handsome man and a considerate lover, but she could not let it go to her head. There was no room for tenderness in their marriage.

Consideration, yes. Passion, certainly. But tenderness? No. Tender feelings would lead nowhere good.

This was a marriage of convenience and that was what it would stay. That she had enjoyed their sexual congress as much as she had was a welcome surprise, and one she would not take for granted, but she could not allow herself to lose her head.

Developing tender feelings for her husband would only complicate their perfectly simple arrangement, and potentially threaten her plans for the future, and the freedoms that awaited her there. She could not—would not—do anything to jeopardize that.

Slowly and as silently as possible, Emmy began sidling toward the edge of the bed, attempting not to wake Alex, when an arm snaked around her waist and startled a squeak from her throat.

“And just where are you sneaking off to, my lady?” Alex asked, his voice low and rough, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

“I must dress,” she said, clutching the bedsheet to her bare breasts. “I have a busy day ahead of me.”

He propped himself up on one arm, the other still draped loosely around her waist. “Do you? Doing what?”

His naked torso was far too distracting for conversation, so she turned her gaze up to the ceiling, and said, “I must familiarize myself with my new home and all my new responsibilities as the lady of the house.”

“I think a new bride’s responsibilities might wait a day or two.” His voice held a smile.

“Perhaps so,” she said with a shrug, still gripping the sheet. “But I see no reason to put it off.”

“Do you not?” He tugged her to him and began nuzzling her neck. “I can think of at least one.”

Emmy squirmed as his teeth grazed her earlobe, the press of his warm, naked body against her own an exquisite enticement.

“Alex…” The word emerged more plea than protestation, though whether she wanted him to stop or stay even she did not know. Perhaps it was both.

“You are a siren, Emmy—a goddess,” he murmured, his lips brushing her collarbone. “I could indulge in your body for days and still it would not be enough.”

He gave the bedsheet a soft tug, but she held on, clinging to her last defense against him and his potent words and hypnotic hands.

Boundaries. There must be boundaries.

“Let me up, Alex, please,” she said, her tone crisp. Well, mostly crisp, but with a dash of breathlessness. “I must ring for my maid and get dressed.”

He fell back against his pillow with a sigh as Emmy scrambled out of bed and drew on her wrapper.

“As you wish,” he murmured, watching her as she gave the bell pull a tug, his eyes a mix of good humor and exasperation.

“Don’t you think you should return to your own bedchamber?” she asked, trying not to gawp at him as he reclined on the bed like a figure from a Michelangelo painting. “My maid will be here soon, and you are…not clothed.”

A smile teased his lips. “As you wish,” he repeated, tossing back the bedsheet. He climbed out of bed and crossed the room to retrieve his dressing gown from the escritoire, displaying not a hint of shyness.

Emmy could do nothing but stare, catching a regretfully brief glimpse of his naked bottom before he slipped on his dressing gown and knotted the sash.