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“Sapphire, Sapphire,” Blake whispered, holding her so tightly that she could barely breathe. “God, I’ve missed you.”
She clung to him, kissing him until she had to tear her mouth from his to get a breath of air. He slid her coat off and let it fall to the floor, and his followed. Desperate to touch him, to feel him, she pulled his shirt from the waistband of his trousers and slid her hands under the hem, running her fingers over his flat stomach, over his chest. Their mouths twisting, she kicked off her polished boots and he slid her black trousers over her hips. She trembled at his touch. It had been so long, too long.
With Blake’s aid, she stepped out of her trousers revealing a hint of the red triangle of hair between her thighs as the shirt rode up and then fell. He reached beneath the shirt.
“Take this off,” he murmured in her ear, tugging on the cotton fabric she used to bind her breasts. Gazing into his eyes, she found the end of the fabric, untucked it and began to unwrap it, letting the material trail to the floor. At last her breasts were free of the confining material and she threw her head back, sucking in her breath as his hands found her breasts, his thumb brushing her swollen nipples.
When Blake lifted her into his arms and carried her to the huge bed in the center of the room, she put up no resistance. She wanted to make love with him one last time, to feel his mouth on hers, to feel him deep inside her.
When he lowered her to the bed, her legs dangled over the side, and when he leaned forward, he pushed her shirt up, and she caught the hem of his, pulled it over his head and flung it.
With a growl of lust deep in his throat, Blake lowered his head over her breast and flicked his tongue around her areole, drawing groans of pleasure from her. When he caught her nipple between his lips and sucked gently, she arched her back, grasping a handful of silk sheets in one hand.
“Blake,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, trying to bring him closer. “Please,” she said, wrapping her legs around his hips, lifting her groin to his. She could already feel the evidence of his arousal and she was desperate for him. All these months she had remembered, dreamed, and now he was here with her once more.
“You’re always in too big a hurry,” he teased huskily, kissing a hot, wet path from the tip of her breast over her belly.
“Blake, please,” she cried desperately, half sitting up to tug at the waistband of his trousers. “Quick first, then slow?” When she looked into his eyes, she again thought she recognized something new in them.
“All right, all right,” Blake said, laughing as he unbuttoned his trousers and stepped out of them. “But only for you would I comply.”
Still standing on the floor, he offered both hands and she threaded her fingers through his. Eyes locked with hers, Blake thrust his hips forward and she moved toward him, taking him deeply. One stroke and she was halfway gone to him. She let her eyes drift shut as she lifted her hips off the bed again and again, meeting his lust.
It was over all too quickly. Sapphire cried out, arching her back, tightening her grip on his hands. A heartbeat later, Blake groaned and fell forward, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
Both lay there panting for a moment, and then he withdrew from her and she slid up into the bed to make room for him.
“I’m hungry,” he said as he climbed into the bed and dropped down beside her, flat on his back.
She laughed and turned her head to face him. “Me, too.”
“Fortunately, that is one problem, Master
Water—or is it Molly?—that I can solve.” He sat up and kissed her and then strode naked across the room to pull a long rope with a tassel that hung from the ceiling.
Somewhere in the walls, Sapphire heard tiny bells ring.
Momentarily, a butler arrived, and Blake poked his head out the door long enough to order a meal. Half an hour later they were seated in the middle of the bed, eating cold roasted partridge with mint jelly, soft, warm bread fresh from the oven and the first strawberries of spring with mounds of fresh whipped cream.
They finished the bottle of champagne and Blake placed the empty bottle into the wine cooler. “Shall I order more?” he asked her.
She laughed, dropping a strawberry into her glass and then fishing it out with her finger. “I think I’ve already had quite enough, sir.”
“Not even in celebration?”
She popped the strawberry into her mouth and looked at him across the bed. “In celebration of what, Lord Wessex? Or is it Blake Thixton?”
He scowled and scooped a bit of cream from a bowl onto his plate of strawberries. “Your return to me, of course.”
She only smiled and reached for another berry. And when they were fully satiated, Blake cleared the bowls and plates from the bed and set them on a silver tray near the door—except for what was left of the sweetened cream. That he placed on the table beside the bed.
“What’s that for?” she asked, tipping her champagne glass to get the last drop.
“I suppose I’ll have to show you.” He took the empty glass from her hand and set it on the table behind him. “But the shirt will have to go.”
“Oh, it will, will it?” She laughed, but lifted her arms to allow him to pull the shirt off. She watched through her lashes, her eyes already heavy with passion as he removed his own shirt. Then, seated on the bed, utterly naked, Blake began to run his hands over her body, over her shoulders, down her arms, over her back, her thighs, his hands ever moving. He touched every inch of her skin with slow, caressing movements, and when he was done, he began at the top again, massaging her neck, her shoulders, her breasts…Sapphire lay out on the bed, her head cradled in his lap, him looking down on her, her looking up. She felt as if she were drifting on a cloud, her body filled to overflowing with a calm she had never possessed before.
Something cold touched her nipple and her eyelids flew open. She looked down to see a perfect white dot of cream on her breast. “What—”
