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‘But—’
‘Yes, Kingsley.’ He kissed her, his mouth demanding her submission, his tongue circling and stroking. He raised his head, aware as well as she was that she was melting against him, her breasts swollen and her nipples hard and puckered against the rasp of his shirt. ‘Yes, Kingsley,’ he repeated again, the blue eyes holding hers.
‘Yes, Kingsley,’ she breathed against his mouth. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’
‘A quick wedding.’ He kissed her again. ‘Very quick. Yes?’
‘Yes.’ She was achingly aroused.
‘Mmm.’ He shifted position slightly, his own arousal rock-hard. ‘I’ve found the perfect method to get my own way.’
The rain was thundering down now, a virtual torrent, causing the taxi to crawl along, but Rosalie didn’t care. The storm had broken but she was safe. She would always be safe with Kingsley. He loved her and he understood h
er, and that was precious. So very precious. He had been worth waiting for.
‘Never doubt my love for a moment.’ His voice was thick with desire. ‘Never. All the doubts, all the fears, we’ll deal with them one at a time, together. You’re not alone, my love. Whilst I’ve breath in my body I’m yours.’
She clung to him, wishing they were alone rather than in a taxi in busy London streets. But there was all the future to be alone together; it stretched, bright and wonderful in front of her eyes, dazzling her.
She could give this man all the love she had stored up in her heart because he wouldn’t hurt her, they were bound by forces that had brought them together and would keep them together. One beating heart in two bodies.
EPILOGUE
IT WAS a simple wedding, but none the less perfect because of it.
The bride looked radiant in a pale silver dress created from chiffon and lace, and she carried a bouquet of delicate orchids, their fragile petals just touched with pink and threaded through with silver ribbons. Kingsley couldn’t take his eyes off her, the love shining out of his face making all the women cry, especially one or two who had harboured vain hopes in their voluptuous bosoms.
The September day was one of brilliant sunshine, and after the reception for family and friends at a lush London hotel there was dancing until late in the night under the stars on the landscaped lawns, the champagne continuing to flow until the last guest retired.
Kingsley had planned a three-month honeymoon in various exotic places, but that night, he’d said, they were going somewhere special. They left the last of their guests still dancing and slipped away together to the limousine Kingsley had waiting, the uniformed driver resplendent and the car seeming to stretch forever as they climbed inside, Rosalie giggling with excitement and champagne.
‘Where are we going?’ Rosalie felt as though she were in a dream, a dream she never wanted to wake up from.
‘Wait and see, Mrs Ward.’ Kingsley’s eyes were brilliant in the dim light. At some time during the night he had undone his bow-tie, which now hung either side of his unfastened collar, his jacket slung on the seat of the car. He looked hard and dangerous and breathtakingly handsome, and but for the driver she knew she would have ripped his clothes off on the spot.
She lay cradled in his arms in the car as they kissed, their breath intermingling, but when she asked him, plaintively, how long it was going to be before they were alone, he laughed and told her to be patient.
‘I can’t be.’ She turned her face up to him, rubbing her hand over his lower body beneath the concealing folds of her dress. ‘I want you.’
She felt his flesh leap and smiled into his eyes as his hand came out and caught hers. ‘Temptress,’ he muttered huskily. ‘Do you want me to take you right now in the back of the car?’
‘I wouldn’t mind.’
‘Well, I would. Our wedding night is going to be long and slow, and I’m going to spend all night showing you how much I love you, and in comfort. I want to touch and taste and explore over and over again.’
The throbbing ache in the core of her that his words had aroused was just penance for her earlier teasing.
When the car stopped Kingsley had been kissing her for a while, voluptuously enjoying her in the warm velvety darkness as he’d used her submissive mouth to slowly build them both to peaks of arousal, and so she glanced up in surprise, flushed and bright-eyed.
‘Kingsley, this is…’ Her voice trailed away as her eyes widened.
Beth and George had sold up and were due to leave for New Zealand the very next day after the wedding, and Rosalie had been sad at their going, part of her knowing she would miss the sanctuary of their exquisite old house as well as her aunt.
‘Yours.’ He finished her sentence, before opening the car door and pulling her out. After he’d dismissed the driver they walked to the front door through the perfumed darkness of the garden she had thought was lost to her for ever, and then he was opening the door and pulling her into the hall. ‘We wanted a house in England, so why not this one you love so much?’ he said softly. ‘It’s all empty for you to furnish as you like, except for the master bedroom, which I’ve furnished for us for tonight, but you can change it if you don’t like it.’
‘Oh, Kingsley…’ Words failed her. She wandered out into the sleeping garden at the back of the house before they went upstairs, the velvet sky overhead with myriad twinkling stars and the scents and smells of the wonderful old garden reminding her of the first time Kingsley had come here with her.
And then they went upstairs, and she gasped with delight at the bedroom as he opened the door. The bed was luscious and huge, a magnificent wicked piece of wantonness with soft, billowy covers and pillows galore, one third at the head of it surrounded by carpeted shelving for books or tapes or magazines. The colour scheme was gold and cream, the carpet thick enough to sink in, and the beautiful cream and gold drapes at the window drifted in the slight breeze from the sweet-smelling garden below.
