Married to the Rogue (Season of Scandal #3) - Mary Lancaster Page 0,67

his breath on her lips. He would not take one mere kiss. As he cupped her face, she had the terrifying idea that he was completely naked, and then his mouth sank on hers and all conscious thought vanished. It was tender, yet wondrously sensual, bathing her in hopeless, delicious weakness. The butterflies in her stomach seemed to take flight, spreading bliss through her whole body.

Her arms ached to hold him, but she retained at least enough sense to understand that if she did, she was lost. So, she lay still, utterly absorbed in his kiss and in her own sweet, heavy arousal. She wanted it to go on forever, but it didn’t.

His lips left hers at last. “I don’t know about you,” he said huskily, “but I am more intrigued than ever. Good night, my wife.” And he moved away to the far side of the bed.

Her heart hammering, her body tingling with fire, she lay perfectly still. He was keeping his word, but it was several moments before she could bring herself to be grateful.

*

Fortunately, she was too exhausted to stay awake, and she fell from a wary doze into a deep, satisfying sleep. At least, she thought it was satisfying when she half-woke in the darkness to the heavy warmth of a large, male body wrapped around her back, his legs fitting around hers, his arm across her waist.

She could tell from his regular breathing that he was asleep. She thought she should probably push him away, but in fact, it felt so comfortable, so curiously…intriguing, that she merely closed her eyes once more and let herself drift back into sleep.

Until the arm at her waist tightened, wakening her fully as it drew her closer against him, against unfamiliar, hot hardness. His hand slipped upward and over her breast. The same, heavy sweetness she remembered flooded her once more with new, disturbing sharpness. She turned her head on the pillow, desperate, whispered words tumbling from her lips.

“What are you…?” But the rest was smothered in the heat of his mouth as he kissed her with wild, all-consuming urgency.

And, dear God, he was naked, for his body slid over hers, breast to breast, hip to hip, in a complete caress, and she arched up into him from blind instinct. His hand swept up her leg, beneath her rumpled chemise, and she gasped with a joy and despair that should not have been possible to feel together.

“Oh, dear God, Christopher, are you even awake?” she asked brokenly when his mouth moved down her chin to her throat.

“Of course I am,” he said huskily. “And so are you.” He kissed her mouth again before descending to her breasts in a trail of fire that made it impossible to think. His hand stroked up the inside of her thigh, and sensation exploded within her.

She caught his head between her hands. “Stop this. Stop. You don’t care who I am,” she blurted. “If I am to have nothing else from this marriage, at least leave me pride!”

He stilled, and then his hands and his lips left her. She wanted to weep as he rolled to the other side of the bed once more, but then she heard the striking of tinder, and the candle on his bedside table flared to life.

She dashed her hand across her face in case he saw the foolish tears. His eyes were still clouded by desire, but his expression was serious, almost…helpless.

“Deborah, I do not seek to destroy your pride by loving you this night.”

“This night,” she repeated. “And tomorrow night? Next week? Next month? I am not like you. I can be your best friend, but I cannot be one of many lovers.”

He stared at her, his mouth slowly twisting into a deprecating smile. “Perhaps we are more alike than you know. For what it is worth, I ended whatever trivial liaisons I had before we were married. I confess I did not enter this marriage with fidelity in mind, but that seems to be what has come to me. I don’t want other women. Only you.” His smile grew difficult. “I am impatient and urgent by nature. Forgive me.”

He turned his back and got out of bed, swiping up the candle and allowing her a glimpse of his spectacular, naked back and hips and thighs… Her mouth went dry.

Dear God, what am I doing? Am I so frightened, so pathetic that I will not take this chance for love? Have I so much stupid pride