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But with Alaric...
She gave herself a slight shake. He wasn’t comfortable. No point in entertaining what-ifs.
A frown darkened his face.
“It’s not...” He glanced around the bed. “How about I lie here with you? Just for a bit?”
“Alaric, I’m a big girl. You don’t—”
Before she could finish her sentence, he rolled to the side, slid an arm beneath her waist and pulled her against his chest. Even though they’d just made love, the intimacy of being pressed against him sent a languid wave of heat through her body.
She waited for a moment, then slowly let herself relax, her head dropping onto his shoulder as she shyly rested one hand on his chest.
“Just for a bit,” she murmured as her eyes slowly closed.
It was still dark when Alaric awoke. Clara’s breath feathered across his chest, her head resting just above his heart, one hand curled against his skin. He gave in to his first inclination, to gently trace his fingers up and down her back and kiss the top of her silken head. She murmured in her sleep and curled deeper into his embrace.
He had never fallen asleep with any of his past lovers, much less woken up in their bed. It was an intimacy he didn’t entertain. With the clock ticking on his upcoming marriage to Celestine, there had been no point in risking a woman developing any affection for him. More complications and messy tabloid coverage had been the last thing he’d needed.
But, he realized as his fingers trailed down Clara’s spine, over the curve of her hip, lingered on the slight swelling of her belly, he had missed out on something truly incredible in doing so.
He wasn’t so blind to emotions that he had missed the disappointment in Clara’s eyes when he’d started to leave, nor her attempts at insisting she was fine if he didn’t stay. The part he hadn’t shared, that had made him start to leave in the first place, was that he had wanted to stay. No woman had ever made him want to stay.
Until Clara.
He hadn’t planned on falling asleep with her. But as he’d lain there in the dark, as she’d slowly relaxed against him and slipped into slumber in the circle of his arms, he hadn’t wanted to disturb her. He’d told himself he would just rest his eyes.
And now here he was, in his wife’s bed, not wanting to be anywhere else. Being at the lake house with her, without the busyness of the palace, the constant meetings and without his forced engagement hanging over his head, made him even more aware of the traits he liked about his wife. Her kindness, her support, her acceptance of him. Her argument, too, that she be allowed to resume her roles, had induced simultaneous feelings of guilt and an admiration made all the more potent by the tenderness creeping in with every moment spent in her presence. One of his chief regrets about Celestine had been how little she had cared about Linnaea. She had ignored or flat-out refused to attend any of the special events he’d invited her to, the last being the art museum opening in Eira in the fall.
Clara stirred in his arms, her fingernails grazing his chest and reigniting the spark of desire that had blazed into an inferno so intense he’d barely been able to breathe past his desire when she’d lain back on the bed and asked him to make love to her. He had an incredible wife who shared his passion for his country, who wanted to be involved, who was carrying his child.
Was it too much to hope that, at last, everything in his life was finally on the right track?
His hand drifted back up and grazed the underside of her breast. A soft moan escaped her lips. His fingers quested higher, drifted over a pebbled nipple with the lightest caress. Clara’s eyes fluttered open as a slow smile spread across her face.
“Alaric?”
He gently rolled her onto her back, pinning her hips with his. She gasped and squirmed against his growing hardness. He reached up, grasped her wrists in one hand and held them above her head.
“Not fair,” she laughed up at him.
“Perhaps this will be more to your liking.”
He leaned down and captured one nipple in her mouth, grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud. She arched up into his touch and moaned his name. The sound of her voice stripped away any semblance of restraint. His other hand drifted down to the wetness between her thighs. He stroked her skin, slid one finger, then two, into her wet heat, nearly came undone when she clenched around him.
“Alaric, please!”
He nudged her thighs apart and slid inside, shuddering as she surrounded him, her bare breasts pressing against his chest while he continued to hold her hands captive above her head. Each stroke was just a bit harder, his rhythm quickening as his pleasure and desire soared to a fever pitch.
She cried out, coming undone once more. He followed a moment later. Molten heat flooded his veins. He released her wrists, meeting her halfway as their arms flew around each other, their lips pressed together until he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CLARAFOCUSEDONthe screen of the laptop Alaric had procured for her, the words blurring. She’d reread the email she didn’t know how many times. She cast a glance at the door he’d disappeared out of to take a call. Alaric’s ringing phone had startled them both out of a deep sleep just after dawn. For a moment, she’d been too content wrapped up in the warmth of his arms and snuggled against his naked body to pay much attention. But when the unknown caller had called again, Alaric had answered with barely concealed irritation that had quickly turned to brusque concern. Daxon had taken a turn for the worse early that morning. The doctors said he was stable for now, but they’d reduced his time from a year down to just a few months at best.
As much pain as Daxon had caused, Clara hadn’t missed the worry on Alaric’s face as he’d spoken with the palace physician.
Finally, she slammed her computer shut. She needed to get up and move around, refocus before she did any more work. Selfish as it was, it wasn’t just her concern for Alaric and Daxon.
