Page 51 of Four Promises to Love

“You are handsome,” she insisted. “I could gaze at you all day.”

“As to that.” He traced a finger over the curve of her cheek, his touch making her tremble with yearning. “I was hoping you might be amenable to more than gazing.”

Oh, how she adored it when her gentleman turned lusty. He lowered his mouth as she raised hers. Their kiss was a tender collision that ignited desire in every part of her. Her blood rushed hotly beneath her skin. The tips of her breasts stiffened, tingling against his hard, hairy chest. Between her thighs, she was wet and wanting—aching with need.

“Come inside me, darling,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened with hunger, and in the next heartbeat he was pushing inside her. Big and hard, filling her with his love. He stretched her, opening her with steady thrusts, and she urged him on by scraping her fingernails over his back and spreading her legs wider. All her life, she’d been called wild, and now she didn’t care.

Because she was wild—for him. As wild as he was for her.

“Bloody hell, I love being inside you,” he growled.

“Then take me,” she gasped. “I am yours.”

His eyes flared, and his thrusts turned savage. Her back thumped against the bed of petals, the scent of crushed roses filling the air. Pleasure mounted as they chased the plateau; she got there first, soaring over on wings of bliss.

“You are so beautiful,” he said in guttural tones. “Now it is my turn.”

When he pulled out of her, she whimpered at the loss. But he turned her over onto her hands and knees, pushing a moan out of her as he hilted himself with a powerful thrust. His ferocious plowing rekindled her spent nerves, the fire in her belly. He closed his hand in her hair, turning her head so that their gazes locked.

“With these roses as my witness, you are mine, and I am yours,” he said.

His declaration was fierce, his touch gentle, and the answer surfaced from her heart the way it had since the first time.

“Not only for ease, but for every trial,” she said.

He smiled. “This is the way of love.”

As if to seal their vow, petals fluttered from above.

When he came, she did too, filled with him and the scent of roses.

Finn opened her eyes, panting.

It took several breaths for the bed of petals to melt away. Several more for her to register that she was in her bedchamber at Pell House, the dawn’s light leaking through a slit in the drapes. Even as she recognized that she’d been having a dream, she smelled roses.

Was that a dream—or something else?

She scrubbed her hands over her damp face. Perhaps playing the role of Madame Seraphina was preying upon her sanity. First the woman in the woods, then the sense of déjà vu in the rose garden, and now this. This dream that felt like a memory.

Yet it couldn’t be a memory…because the events had never happened. While she and Owen had kissed in the rose garden, they hadn’t made love there. She knitted her brows, suddenly confused about the identity of the lover in the dream. Had it been Owen? The details of the dream slipped like water through her fingers; she couldn’t picture the man’s face. She had only impressions of him—of his devoted love and raw passion. Likewise, she didn’t know if she’d been herself in the dream…or someone else.

You are mine, and I am yours. Not only for ease, but for every trial. This is the way of love.

Finn groaned, flinging an arm over her eyes. “I do have bats in the belfry.”

She shut out the ghostly vow and tried to gather herself. It wasn’t easy because her body was humming, and her skin itched with need. How she wished Owen was here—but he wouldn’t be back in Chuddums for another three days.

Not that she was counting. Or thinking about him. Or missing him.

“Blooming hell, Seraphina Kidd,” she muttered. “Pull yourself together.”

Throwing the covers back, she stomped to the washstand to get ready for the day.

A productive morning improved Finn’s mood.

She had several sittings, and with the help of the Hawks, they went off without a hitch. Amongst the satisfied patrons was Mrs. Thornton. After several appointments, Finn knew what the good lady desired: to make peace with her older sister. Apparently, the two had been the best of friends until they both set eyes on the same fellow. Mrs. Thornton won the bloke but lost her sister Imelda. Unfortunately, Imelda passed before the two could reconcile.