The candle still flickered on the chest of drawers, and the fire lent a primitive glow to the room. She turned within Alex’s arms. He lowered his chin to look down at her with a sleepy, quizzical expression, and she stroked her thumb across his cheek, marveling at the fact that she was free to do so. The right to touch him was still a novelty.
“Did you know that your eyes are the precise color of the Bleu du Roi?”
She had no idea where that nonsensical thought had come from, but he smiled, apparently not displeased by her desire to talk. He traced the worry lines that had appeared between her brows with the tip of his index finger, then stroked the length of her nose.
“I have another word for you,” he murmured. “Have you ever wondered what the space just here, between someone’s eyebrows, is called?” He found the place again, and Emmy frowned instinctively, creating a furrow beneath his finger.
“I’ve never really thought about it.”
He smoothed her eyebrows. “The English don’t have a word for it, but the Spanish do. Entrecejo.” He tapped her on the tip of the nose, as if he were scolding a naughty puppy, and she fought a smile. He looked so pleased with himself.
She raised one eyebrow and tried to adopt a condescending tone. “All right. I’ll admit that you’ve proven far more useful than I ever imagined in providing me with new and interesting words.”
His lips twitched. “Oh, I do hope I’ve proved educational in several other areas as well, Miss Danvers,” he drawled.
She managed a weary chuckle, and he pulled her close.
“Sleep now,” he ordered.
He gave a jaw-cracking yawn and closed his eyes, the epitome of sated masculinity, and Emmy gazed at him in wonder. His hair was ruffled, his lips pink from kissing. He looked younger, more boyish than usual, and she felt a sudden rush of affection. It was odd, to see him like this, so unguarded. She had a feeling that only a select few had been allowed to see the coolly controlled Lord Melton so at ease. An aching sweetness filled her. She was glad she’d been permitted to see it.
Without opening his eyes, he pulled her even more snugly against him and tucked her head beneath his chin. They fitted together perfectly. Emmy rested her hand on his chest and closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.
Would he regret these moments they’d spent together? Would he remember her with affection, when she was no longer a part of his life?
* * *
He made love to her again just before dawn.
Emmy had been having a blisteringly erotic dream in which she’d been under him, his big body pinning her down, his wicked hands exploring every inch of her. I have plenty of friends, he’d whispered in her ear. What I require is … an adversary. Do you think you can do that for me, Miss Danvers? Do you think you can keep running forever?
She’d surfaced hot and frustrated, wrapped in the sheets, only to discover Alex—real Alex, not dream Alex—cupping her breasts and kissing the nape of her neck as he pressed up against her back. The hard length of him slid between her bottom cheeks, and she sucked in a surprised gasp as he rubbed himself between her thighs.
Her blood heated. In an instinctive move, she tilted her hips and he pushed into her from behind. She rocked herself back against him and delighted in his throaty groan and the new sensations the position offered.
He withdrew and rolled onto his back, coaxing her to sit on top of him. With her knees pressing into the mattress by his hips, her hands flat on his chest, she quickly grasped the concept. She slid slowly down onto his shaft, enjoying the heady sense of power as she learned to control the pace.
After a while he pulled her forward and she stretched out on top of him. Her breasts brushed his hair-roughened chest, a delicious foreign abrasion. Her toes brushed the front of his shins. He caught her hips and moved within her, and the new angle hit a spot deep inside her that promised ecstasy. She ground herself against him, desperate to fan the flames, and it wasn’t long before she was holding her breath and plunging headlong into that whirlpool of bliss.
She never wanted the sun to rise.
Chapter 37.
Alex drifted into consciousness slowly, becoming aware of a pleasant lassitude, a general feeling