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She opened her eyes and stared at him. He wondered if she would remember where she was, but she didn't look surprised or ashamed. Instead, she smiled and stretched. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I was trying to wait up for you."
"Why? What do you want with me?"
She sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. Her expression was fearless. "I'm your wife, Justin. I want—" She ducked her head but not before he saw the first hint of a blush on her cheeks.
It took every morsel of his self-control to stay where he was. He wanted to go to her and take her in his arms, greedily supping on all she offered. But he couldn't. Not after what had happened between them. Not after he'd told her he'd never stopped loving her. He wouldn't bed her because she felt sorry for him.
She stood up slowly. The thin, delicate fabric and lace hid nothing. He could see the shape of her breasts, the elegant curve of her waist and hips, the shadowed place that hid her secrets. Her eyes met his. In the lamplight, the hazel faded to a pale gray. He'd always thought the color cold, but now he saw fire could burn there hotly. Desire straightened her mouth and won against her modesty. She untied her robe and drew it off her shoulders. It fell to her feet, leaving her dressed only in the sheerest of gowns.
Thin straps held embroidered lace against her breasts. The rest of the fabric flowed uninterrupted to the floor.
"I'm here because I—"
But he didn't let her finish what she'd been going to say. He'd thought of being strong and turning away from her. He'd thought he should protect the last whole part of his being so she couldn't leave him completely shattered. He'd
been a fool. He couldn't resist her; he'd never been able to. And why should he? Wasn't a single night in her bed worth a lifetime in hell?
He crossed the room in two long strides, not caring that he crumpled her delicate robe beneath his boots. With one quick pull, he drew her gown over her head and tossed it behind him. Then he picked her up in his arms simply because he wanted to feel her naked body next to his. A fire ignited inside of him and it burned away his slender hold on convention and manners. He prayed Megan would not protest his possession, because he had to take her or die.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her head to his shoulder. He bent over and lowered her onto his wide mattress, then moved close to stretch out beside her. She was silk and satin, fresh cream and roses. He couldn't think of all the words he would need to describe her beauty, her softness. As she lay on her back staring up at him with wide eyes, he ran his hands over her. From her shoulders, down her pale arms to her long fingers. Across her waist, down her hips to her thighs. Below, to her slender calves and ankles, and finally to the arch of her foot. Everywhere he touched, she was smooth and soft. Sleek skin, sensuous curves, the supple willingness of a woman who trusts a man. She moved with him, her muscles rippling where he stroked her, her body shifting in subtle appreciation of his atten-' tion.
He knelt at her feet. Her nakedness pleased him. He smiled faintly. Pleased. What a foolish word to describe his ] feeling of awe. It was as if he gazed into the face of God this moment and saw a miracle. Her blond hair lay against the pillow like golden water spilling on lace. Every inch of her body, every line, every curve, brought him pleasure. He j would touch them all this night, taste them, make her writhe; and scream, make her cry. Only then would he claim her, and only then would he weep. Deep inside. Hard ugly tears j for what would never be, and the permanence he would never know at her side. But the pain was for later. For this next hour, there was only this woman and her perfection.
He started to unbutton his vest. His finger bumped against his pocket and he felt the slight bulge there. The chain. He hesitated, then pulled it out.
"Justin. You found it."
He held it up so it caught the light of the lantern, then took her hand and pulled her until she was sitting up in front of him. Without saying anything, she moved her hair over her shoulder, leaving the back of her neck exposed. He unfastened the chain and slipped it under her hair. His fingers brushed against her bare skin, making her shudder and him clench his teeth with longing.
The tiny catch resisted at first, then he secured it and straightened. She drew her hair away from her chest. The gold chain rested on her bare skin, less than two inches below her throat. It clung to her as if it too had spent the last seven years wishing to return to her. She reached up and traced its curves with her fingertip.
