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For the first time Shay consciously noted her near nakedness, and she and Ian sprang apart. Ian seemed excruciatingly aware of the evidence of his arousal. Shay splayed her hands over her breasts and whirled around to give the bishop her back, modest and embarrassed for almost the first time in her life.
Bishop Collins harrumphed, and his white brows dropped chastisingly above eyes that danced with wicked delight. "I think the sooner we get to the church the better," he said dryly.
The lights marking the pathways of Central Park twinkled. From the window of their suite at the Plaza Hotel, Shay could see the horse-drawn hansoms lined up, waiting for customers to tour the park. She and Ian would be the residents of the opulent suite for three days, a wedding gift from John and Celia.
She was unaccountably nervous as she stood at the window, knotting, loosening, and reknotting the ribbon tie that held her negligee closed under her bosom.
The wedding ceremony had been the most beautiful experience of her life. In the church amber votives had flickered among greenery and autumn chrysanthemums. While Celia had sniffed daintily from the front pew, Bishop Collins had conducted the ceremony, much of which Shay and Ian had written themselves. It had nothing to do with tradition, with the laws of the state, with anything except the love they were pledging to each other.
Breaking standard practice, Ian led their wedding prayer, invoking God's blessings on their life together. Tears shimmered in Shay's eyes when she lifted her lips for his kiss. Sweet and tender, it conveyed all the love he had for her. It seared her soul and welded it to Ian's, forming a bond that she knew could never be broken.
Now, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom, she was a bundle of nerves, trembling like the few remaining leaves on the trees in the park that threatened to break away with the next puff of chill air. She didn't know how to act or what to do.
They had embraced numerous times since the night he had proposed. Such embraces had always been ardent. The morning last summer when she had awakened in his arms, his hands and lips caressing her, she had been given a preview of what Ian's lovemaking would be like. He would be earnest and tender, but controlled in his response.
She longed for an adventurous sex life. Only after she'd divorced Anson had she come to realize with maturity that their lovelife had been rather routine. But she didn't expect Ian to share her desire for variety and experimentation.
After all, Mary had died over two years ago. He hadn't been with a woman since then. And he was a minister. Wouldn't the normal restrictions that were placed on a man of the cloth in everyday life apply to the marriage bed as well?
If he were awkward or restrained, she'd just have to be patient with him and try not to show her disappointment. She didn't want to shock or offend him on their wedding night. Their sex life may take time to develop to their mutual satisfaction.
The bathroom door opened. The light remained on. Shay shaped her mouth into a smile and turned around. Across the moonlit room, Ian was walking toward her … naked.
The shape and symmetry of his limbs was a study in human perfection. He was exactly what she thought God must have had in mind on the day of Creation. The tapering torso with its blanket of dark hair could be envied by even the most virile of men. His sex was bold, proud, unashamed.
Unlike the first time she'd seen him this way, Shay's mout
h went dry, and she stammered the first thought that came into her mind. "You … you left the light on."
He smiled lazily as he came to her and gently closed his hands around her throat. His thumbs took turns stroking her lips. "I wanted to see you."
"Oh," she replied, nervously twisting her hands between their bodies in the space that was gradually decreasing. "Aren't you cold?"
"How can a man on fire be cold?"
Done with silly conversation, he ducked his head. His tongue outlined her lips leisurely, leaving them dewy and glistening. He almost sipped them dry before he molded his lips to hers, parted them with his tongue, and entered her mouth to taste all of her. His tongue left nothing untouched, exploring with thorough boldness and total possession.
Her knees buckled beneath her, and she clung to him for support. He blazed a hot path of impassioned kisses down the side of her neck to the hollow above her collarbone. "You have on too many clothes," he complained gently.
"Do I?" she breathed, her vision fogged, her ears ringing.
"Uh-huh. May I?" He took her soft moan to be consent and untied the ribbon beneath her breasts. The robe fell away, and he slipped it off her shoulders to float to their feet in a frothy heap.
He murmured his appreciation of the nightgown she had so carefully selected. Lace sheathed the perfect globes of her breasts, her nipples dusky shadows beneath it. The gown fell straight and, clinging, outlined her slender thighs.
"So lovely." He smiled. His hands came up to lightly glide over her breasts. He watched them lovingly as he caressed her, and his eyes became smoky with desire when she felt them blossoming with passion. No longer the shy shadows, her nipples impudently expressed their need. "I want to kiss you here." He took one tightened bud between his fingers and caressed it with almost imperceptible movement.
Her hands fastened on his waist as she swayed toward him and whimpered softly. "Yes, Ian, yes."
He didn't remove the gown immediately, but kissed her through the lace, scratching his limber tongue over the sensitized nipples until Shay's fingers dug into his skin.
"You're sweet, so sweet," he said, finally peeling down the straps of the nightgown. She helped him by shrugging out of it as it settled around her waist. He looked at her breasts and love poured out of his eyes like liquid sapphires. He cradled one lush breast in his palm and lifted it to his thirsting mouth.
He drank his fill while she writhed against him with mounting desire that threatened to destroy her. First one breast, then the other, knew the complete loving of his mouth. He took her nipple and part of the soft mound into that hot, wet mouth and treated it to a gentle suckling before his tongue nudged her nipple to firmer distension.
"Oh, Ian, that feels so good." Her phrases were disjointed from uneven breathing.
"You're delicious." His hand trailed down her spine to the small of her back. When it entangled with the nightgown that still rested there, he brought it down as he followed the womanly curve of her hip.
