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“What happens when the year is over? What happens when you go back?”
She refused to look at him, just whispered something under her breath in Zakharan. But his sharp ears caught her words and translated them. For such is the will of God that by doing right you may silence the ignorance of foolish men.
It sounded like a Bible quotation and he wanted to ask her to explain the reference and its context, but caught himself just in time. He couldn’t let on he understood.
“I will face that challenge when it arrives,” she said to him in English, and her sad smile as she turned away tore at his heart. He could no more prevent what he did next than he could willingly stop breathing. His hand shot out, capturing her arm and drawing her inevitably closer. A tremor ran through her, but she didn’t resist, didn’t fight him, and he knew in his soul that she wanted this from him as much as he did...maybe even more.
She raised her face to his as trustingly as a child, and when his lips claimed hers she responded. Ardently. Like a flower turning toward the sun. He deepened the kiss, his tongue making a foray into her mouth to capture her tongue, and she made a little sound deep in her throat. She strained closer, her body trembling. One hand holding her tight, Trace let his other hand wander downward, stroking, caressing, arousing her as much as she aroused him just by her presence in his arms.
“Sweet,” he muttered between kisses. “So sweet.”
“Am I?” she breathed when he finally let her breathe, and he could hear the uncertainty in her voice...and the desire to believe. “Oh, Trace, am I truly?”
“Like honey,” he said softly, knowing the word didn’t even come close to describing the sweetness of her. Not just her taste, not just her incredible softness, but the trust that let him touch her like this. “Like the sweetest gift God ever made.”
His lips made a voyage of discovery, traveling from her passionate mouth to the vulnerable spot behind her ear. She shivered and moaned when his teeth tugged at her earlobe, and when his tongue dipped into the delicate shell of her ear she cried his name.
Had a woman ever responded like this to him? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was this woman, this moment, and the shivering, unraveling sounds of her passion bathing him, luring him, telling him without words that she needed him. Wanted him. Trusted him.
One hand slid around and felt for the clip that held her hair, and with a practiced flick of his fingers released it. Then he was drawing those honey-brown waves forward as he’d dreamed of doing, wrapping them around his throat, binding them together. Soft, delicately perfumed, they burned his flesh like a brand, and his erection throbbed, swelled and strained tightly against the confines of his jeans.
He laid her oh-so-gently on the sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace and pressed himself against her, letting her feel the need she’d created. She caught her breath. Her slight withdrawal was nearly imperceptible, but he felt it and started to pull away. Then she softened and her hands hesitantly grasped his hips, anchoring him in place.
She opened her eyes and stared up at him, her breathing as ragged as his, and those lovely, innocent green eyes told him everything he needed to know. Desire for him battled her instinctive fear of the unknown...and won.
“Trace...I...” she whispered. “I want to...but I have never...”
“I know, Princess.” And he did know. He hadn’t needed the words.
He kissed her again, but this time it was just for her. His lips aroused but soothed at the same time. His right hand slid down, cupping her full breast momentarily through her blouse and bra. Her nipple hardened and she caught her breath, but then his hand slid away, across her flat stomach, to the zipper of her jeans. The zipper yielded on the first try, and he popped the button open with equal ease. Then his hand was slipping into the opening, sliding beneath the silk panties to the silkiness of her skin, seeking and finding his warm, damp target.
Her hips arched and she moaned against his mouth when one finger brushed against the nub he coaxed from hiding, and her hands clutched at his arms. Then his fingers slid lower, seeking the moisture he knew he would find.
“No....” Her protest was faint.
“Yes,” he said. “Let me do this for you.” And as his finger slid delicately inside, he thrust his tongue between her lips. Then his tongue was mimicking his finger—advance and retreat, advance and retreat—until she melted all over him and surrendered under the dual sensual onslaught. Her legs trembled but they parted, allowing him complete access.
Part of him wanted to just rip away her jeans, pull her to him and bury his body so deep in hers that she would never lie in another man’s arms without remembering him. That same part of him wanted to grind against her, again and again, until she dug her nails into his flesh and cried his name, begging him to bring them both to a climax so shattering neither would ever accept anything less again.
