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He knew then that she was his.
Portia trembled. He had found the fastenings of her dress and made quick work of them. He hadn’t even begun to undress himself, so she did it. Hands at first uncertain, then growing in confidence, she removed his bow tie and unbuttoned his collar. His throat was strong and masculine, and she felt an urge to kiss him beneath his jaw and work her way down. Instead she reached her hands beneath the fine linen cloth of his shirt and touched his skin. He was very warm and there were hairs growing on his chest. She couldn’t remember whether her husband had hairs on his chest; she did not think she had ever seen him entirely naked.
She raised his shirt for a better look. There was a line of dark hair running down his stomach and vanishing beneath the waistband of his trousers. She lifted the linen higher and found there was a wedge of dark hair on his chest. His skin was clean and warm, and the urge came again to press her mouth to him and taste him. To do all the things she’d dreamt of and longed to do.
But he had other ideas.
Her scarlet silk dress was pooled about her feet, and he dropped onto his knees in front of her. Good heavens, he was licking the inside of her thigh, his tongue hot and wet as it came closer and closer to…
Portia’s head fell back and she gave a groan that came from deep within. All her pent-up desires and her secret cravings surfaced and she felt the beginnings of a pleasure so all-consuming her knees buckled.
He lifted her up.
She felt the back of the sofa sliding against her thighs, and then he rested her hips upon the top of it, holding her firmly so she didn’t fall. He began to kiss her, little butterfly kisses up the inside of her thighs. She tried to sit up, but the way he positioned her made her helpless. He was gripping her hips, keeping the lower half of her body anchored, but the top half was weak and unsupported. She fell back, arching, her legs splayed.
He closed his mouth over her.
Ecstasy erupted. She may have screamed.
Portia didn’t remember much for several moments. She was still awash with that great maelstrom of pleasure, as if she had suddenly been lifted from London and spun around the stars, before being placed gently back down again.
Slowly she came to, blinking, and wondering why the room was patterned like lace. She realized then that she was still wearing her veil. Nothing else, just the veil. And she was lying in the bed that occupied the shadowy corner of the room.
Marcus Worthorne was beside her, and he was naked. She could feel his large, warm body pressed to hers, his fingers idly caressing her belly, her breasts, while he waited for her to regain her senses. “You were in great need,” he said, and there was an unmistakable note of male smugness in his voice.
“Yes, I was.” There was no point in denying it, and why should she?
“I’m glad I could be of service. Now it’s my turn.” And just like that he was on top of her, his body hot and heavy. He was a big man and she wondered if she should be afraid, but there was nothing frightening about him—she did not feel threatened. He reached down between them, fingers caressing, teasing the source of her pleasure. “Tell me when you’re ready,” he said as she gave a gasp.
Now. But she didn’t say it. Her throat was tight as she fought the urge to beg and cry out for more, and her skin felt damp and feverish as those repressed desires rose to the surface again. She opened her thighs, instinctively pressing upward, to be closer to those wicked fingers.
“You like this?” he murmured, his breath warm on her cheek through the veil. He shifted slightly and she felt his male member seeking entry. “Let me kiss you,” that devil’s voice whispered. “I’ll close my eyes. I swear it. Let me lift the veil just enough for me to kiss your mouth.”
“No…”
He entered her a little, teasing her, withdrawing again. The tip of his member stroked her and she weakened.
“You must only kiss my mouth,” she whispered.
He lifted the veil, just enough to uncover her chin and mouth. She felt his finger tracing her lips and then his breath warm on them. Then he kissed her. There was no easing into it, just the plundering of his mouth on hers, enjoying her fully and lustily.
A moment later his body drove deep into hers, and the shuddering pleasure rushed over her again, so intense that this time she couldn’t even cry out. Wonderful. To think she might never have known this, that she might have gone to her grave with only her dreams for company. The reality was so much better.
Marcus gave a hoarse cry, enjoying her as she was enjoying him, totally lost in the moment. No emotion, no love or recriminations, no thought of the future. Just now.
Exactly as she wanted it.
She must have dozed, because when she woke he was lying beside her, his breathing deep and quiet.
She wanted to touch him, to stroke her fingertip down his cheek to his square and manly jaw. She wanted to explore the breadth of his chest with all those fascinating dark hairs, and the flat plain of his stomach, and all that lay below. But it was over now. Time to leave, before the evening that had so far been so marvelous became awkward and was spoiled. She would savor it, though. When she was seated, bored to death, at one of the endless functions she must attend, she would remember and smile a secret little smile.
It was just a pity that she could not see him again.
Why not?
The thought came from nowhere; sly, dangerous.
Abruptly, Portia slipped from the bed and stood up, her heart beating hard. That was not the plan, that had never been the plan. Once, yes, but more than once was far too risky.
