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“My mouth,” he whispered back playfully.
She was so distracted that he pushed her nightrail up over her thighs, exposing her
curly hairs to his gaze. He licked his lips and threw the fabric up over her belly.
She closed her eyes and refused to look at him. She was completely mortified.
“I’ll come up there if it’ll make you feel better,” he said, coming to lie with his head next to her belly. It was better than having him right there. “Better?” he asked.
“Better,” she said with a sigh. “There’s no deterring you, is there?”
He grinned. “No.”
Her stomach was slightly rounded, and he ran his fingertips over her skin softly. “My daughter is in there,” he said quietly.
“Or son.”
“I want a daughter first. So, I can kill any bastard who tries to sleep with her before he marries her.”
“I don’t think you get a choice,” she reminded him. His hand was flat on her stomach, and he just let it lie there as he looked up at her.
“I’ll make you happy, you know?” Finn said.
He covered his hand with hers. “You already do.”
Suddenly, he shoved her nightrail up even higher, exposing her breasts. He cupped them in his hands, looking down at them reverently as he licked his lips. “Good God, they’re perfect.” He plumped them with his hands and suddenly said, “The first time I touched them, I don’t think they fit my hands this well.” He shifted, his fingers spreading to cup her more closely.
“Look, I can barely fit them in my palms.” He wasn’t being silly. He was completely serious. And he was enjoying exploring her body. All of it. He leaned down and kissed her nipple. Then did the same with the other. “Call the coach bound for Bedlam. Because I might go mad waiting for you to get well.”
He dropped down beside her and lay on his back, his arms thrown over his head. She rolled to face him. “You don’t mind if I sleep in here with you tonight, do you?”
She laughed. “I would be offended if you didn’t.”
“I just want to hold you. All through the night.”
“That can be arranged.” She tugged her nightrail back down to her knees.
“How do you feel? All right?”
“I feel fine,” she said. And she did. She felt like she could leap mountains. Like she could scale tall walls. Like she could fall in love.
Thirty
Finn woke to the gentle hum of a song across the room and rolled over, shading his eyes from the sun that shot through the open curtains on the window.
The bed was empty, and Finn quickly sat up and called, “Claire?”
“I’m here,” she said, smiling over her shoulder. She sat across the room, her paint jars spread over the small tea table in the corner of the room. She had a canvas leaned against the wall where she painted, and three more completed paintings were spread around the floor surrounding her. “Good morning,” she said quietly.
He could wake up to this every day, he couldn’t help thinking. She was wearing her nightrail, and her hair was unbound, hanging down her back. Her hands were spattered with paint, and a smear of orange marred the left side of her nose. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”
He rolled onto his side and laid his head in his hand, his elbow pointed toward the head of the bed.
“I’m in a chair.” She grinned unrepentantly. Then she shrugged. “I wanted to paint.”
“With the magic paintbrush?”
She held up the one she was using. “Just an average one,” she said.
