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“Come here.” His hands rested possessively on her shoulders, his face filled with a new purpose. It was as if he had cast aside his doubts just as she had begun to experience hers.
“Rufus.” She reached for her buttons again, this time to do them up, but he brushed her hands away and began to peel down her clothing so that her breasts were clearly visible through her thin chemise.
“Look at yourself,” he whispered. “You want me, Averil.”
She stared down at herself, and was amazed at this evidence of her desire. The buds of her nipples were pointed through the silk. He ran his fingertips over them and she gasped as sensation washed over her.
He smiled, that wicked smile she loved, and then he bent his head and his mouth was on her, his warm tongue circling her. It was marvelous, so astonishing that she didn’t want him to stop. She held his head against her, and when his mouth closed over the tight bud of her nipple she arched toward him with the intensity of her pleasure. Her breath was coming in short gasps and her body was hot and achy. All thoughts of stopping were gone. She needed something from him and she had no intention of denying herself, or him.
His hand was on her stockinged leg, and he was half-lying across her, his naked chest beneath her hands, his skin against hers. He began to kiss her again, distracting her, but she was still very aware of his fingers on her thigh, moving higher, closer to the hot ache. She could hardly bear it. And then he’d reached the apex of her thighs and was touching her, his gentle, experienced fingers causing chaos. Pleasure was the foremost objective and it began to build, and then his mouth covered hers as she cried out, trembling and gasping as the ecstasy burst inside her.
It seemed to take a long while to return to calm, for her thoughts to become coherent, and for her body to stop its wild tingling.
“So passionate,” he murmured, and she realized he was still touching her.
“Oh.” The tingling was returning already, and with it the needy ache. “I thought . . .”
“That we were finished?” He laughed softly. “Not yet, my love.”
She stroked his cheek, and he turned his head to kiss her fingers, biting them gently. His features were taut, his own desire held in check, and she wondered for a moment whether he would play the gentleman again and get up and walk away from her.
She didn’t want that.
“Show me then,” she whispered.
Something possessive flashed in his eyes and he began to kiss her again with a determination that took her breath away. He reached for her hand and placed it in the center of his chest, drawing it down over his firm skin. There was a scar here, too, she realized, tracing it with her fingers, but he wouldn’t let her linger. He had his own ideas, and placed her hand firmly on the bulge in his breeches.
Averil murmured against his lips. There was no going back now, she was approaching unknown territory, but she didn’t care. She wanted to go there with him. She was no longer the huntress; she was his accomplice in the pursuit of pleasure.
He’d settled himself down on his side, beside her on the chaise longue, and his fingers were stroking her again, building on that hot, aching need. She was gasping and panting, running her own hands over his body. He settled her leg across his hips, opening her to his ministrations, and a moment later she felt him hard against her, the tip of his cock brushing the slick swollen flesh, before he began to push gently, his fingers teasing her in a way that made her forget this new intrusion, so that she was only eager for more. She pushed against him, clumsy at first, mirroring his movements, and he slid easily inside her, her body was so wet and ready for his.
“You’re safe,” he said, his voice a rumble in his chest. “I have you safe, Averil.”
If there was a moment of pain as he breached her maidenhead, she hardly felt it. She was too ready and eager for him for it to matter, and then he was deep inside her, filling her, and the sensation sent her over the edge of ecstasy, her body involuntarily grasping him with inner muscles she hadn’t known existed. He let go with a hoarse cry and pleasure swept over her, too, taking her far from the storm.
CHAPTER TWENTY
* * *
Averil blinked up at him with sleepy gray eyes. She still seemed dazed from their lovemaking, and Rufus had to admit he felt dazed himself. She was certainly no shrinking violet and had openly enjoyed the physicality of their exchange. He was glad. He’d take pleasure in teaching her the finer points of lovemaking in the years to come. The thought of those years unfolding gave him a warm, satisfied feeling.
Was this happiness?
He’d almost forgotten how it felt.
He supposed he should be grateful to the storm that had driven her into his arms. He’d tried to be the gentleman but in the end it just seemed easier to let fate take its course. Relief swept through him. He’d crossed the bridge and now they were on the other side. They would marry—the decision had been taken out of his hands.
Whatever the future held for them their course was set.
“Of course we’ll be married,” he said. A forgone conclusion.
Her eyes widened and suddenly weren’t so sleepy. “I haven’t agreed to marry you,” she said.
She’d thrown him off-kilter and it took a moment for him to find his voice. “Averil, we have no choice but to marry. What if you’re with child?”
“Oh.” Clearly she hadn’t thought of that, but she still refused to be afraid. “What if I’m not?”
That surprised a laugh out of him, and he pulled her back into his arms, enjoying the feel of her. “Most young ladies would be crying and wailing by now.”
