The Duke Before Christmas - Bianca Blythe Page 0,41
He’d wanted to make it clear that on his end there was absolutely nothing romantic at all.
She settled into bed, squeezed her eyes shut, and willed sleep to come immediately.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE NIGHT LASTED FOREVER.
Portia was so near him, and Colin’s heart ached. Everything ached, and not just because of the rigid floor and inability of his blanket to appropriately withstand the cold. A sweet scent of oranges wafted toward him, and he wanted to hold her in his arms and feel her body against his own. He craved to feel her hips against his body, and he yearned to trace the curve from her tiny waist to her hips. He wanted to feel the softness of her limbs, and he wanted to feel the softness of her bosom.
God in heaven.
He shouldn’t be thinking about her bosom at a time like this. He shouldn’t be thinking about the roundness of each breast. He shouldn’t be imagining her buds pebble and harden at his touch. Would her buds be tawny? A pale pink? A deep rose?
His fingers twitched, as if anxious to touch her. She was so near him. So light. So exquisite. If he wanted, he could pull her to him so quickly. He could move his fingers through her dark, silky hair. He could unhook the clasps on her shift.
It wouldn’t take long.
Colin had been with many women. He was an expert at female fashion. He’d bedded opera singers and actresses in London. Though he’d never installed a mistress in an apartment—if he desired seriousness he would do things the proper way, and get a wife, there was no shortage of appealing women in London.
Heavens, he’d even bedded some of the matchmaking mamas who’d tired of lauding their debutante daughters and, acknowledging he was unlikely to make a match with any of them, had claimed him for themselves.
And blast it, Colin loved women.
He loved their soft shapes. Some women were tall and slender, others were petite, and still others were curved. It didn’t matter. Women were the most delightful creatures on earth, and he’d enjoyed discovering their charms.
But he’d never craved a woman with the ferocity with which he craved Portia. He’d never yearned for one in the same all-consuming manner. In fact, he’d always rolled his eyes when his friends had declared themselves besotted with a woman. It had seemed foolish when they’d lamented not being with a particular woman, when there were dozens of other options. Similarly, it had seemed insane when they’d abandoned their rakish ways for marriage.
Colin had always suspected marital bliss was an illusion, one invented by matchmaking mamas and proud papas, anxious for someone else to take care of their daughters. Now, Colin was unsure. In fact, the thought of ensuring a lifetime with the woman he adored seemed most reasonable.
His heart ached, and he moved, as if the pain in his heart could possibly be lessened by a simple shift of position.
Dash it. He craved Portia. He bloody well wanted her to be right here beside him.
Well, on top of him perhaps. Or below him. That would work quite nicely too.
Though there were various pleasant things they could do if she were beside him. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and images of Portia’s bare bosom flashed over him, as did images of the curve where her waist and hips met, the curve where her neck and shoulder met, and the curve of her bottom. Dash it, the woman was all curves, as if she’d been designed just to induce men into insomnia.
He shifted on his makeshift bed again and tried to not focus on the cold floorboards beneath him.
“Colin?” a voice whispered in the dark, and Colin stilled.
Surely that couldn’t be her. Surely he was just thinking about her in his imagination. He’d memorized the sound of her voice long ago, even the sound of her whisper. “Are you awake?”
“Portia?” he whispered.
“I can’t sleep either.”
He gave a wry smile. “I’m sorry I’m in this room. Maybe I could sneak into the drawing room and return before the servants light the fire.”
She snorted. “That will be difficult. Besides, there are children, and tomorrow is Christmas Day.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps not.”
“I forgot you grew up in a house filled with children.”
“So I did.” He smiled, thinking about his family.
“I’m sorry you’re spending Christmas with me instead of them.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s no worry. I wasn’t planning on visiting them anyway.”
“No? Why not?”
He scrunched his brows together. The reason had seemed to make