A Lady's Dream Come True - Grace Burrowes Page 0,69
skin to skin, but instead—nightgowns and nightshirts. He was a brilliant artist, and he was an idiot.”
For an older husband to yield to the limitations of vanity was understandable. Male sexual prowess did not fare well in close proximity to self-consciousness. For an artist to deny himself the sheer beauty of Vera unclad, though, was harder to understand.
Oak didn’t bother trying. Not now. He turned Vera by the arm so the firelight illuminated the long lines of her legs, the exquisite geometry of her back, the delectable swell of her derriere.
“She maketh me to rejoice in my soul,” Oak murmured, misquoting some old line of poetry. He could gawk at her until the sun rose and sketch her naked form until the shire was blanketed in snow. But he could make love with her for the rest of his life. “Shall we to bed, Verity Channing?”
“I liked sleeping with you,” she said, climbing the step beside the bed. “I look forward to sleeping with you again. Should we have warmed the covers?”
“We’ll warm them well enough.” Oak banked the fire, extracted a handkerchief from his coat pocket, and blew out all the candles save one that he left burning on the bedside table. The moment to join Vera under the covers had arrived, and yet, Oak hesitated.
“Why me, Vera? I assume various friends of Dirk’s have called upon you. The neighborhood probably has its share of merry widowers. Why me?”
She held up the blankets, and Oak took the place beside her. His arm went around her shoulders, she tucked up against his side, and the fit was so sweet and right, they might as well have been a married couple years past their vows.
“Because you are who you are.”
What did that mean? Vera’s hand drifted across his belly, and Oak lost track of the question. “Touch me, please. However you like, wherever you like.”
She wrapped her fingers around his shaft. “Here?”
“A fine place to start.” And—if he didn’t get himself under control—also a place to finish.
The demented woman made a study of him, mapping his every male attribute with hands and fingers, and a few locations with her lips too. She was relentless in her curiosity, and as Oak battled to keep his desire in check, he realized yet again that he was becoming the lover of a woman of considerable courage.
Dirk Channing had put his pretty young wife on a domestic pedestal and promptly forgotten not that she was a woman—they’d had a child, after all—but that she was a person. A person with needs, with a vigorous intellect and a vivid imagination. A person full of curiosity and passion, full of dreams and hopes, and exceptionally bold caresses, given half an opportunity to indulge them.
And heavens above, her tongue. “Vera, if you keep that up, I will not be able to answer for the consequences, because I’ll be a panting heap of mortified, wilting male.”
“You’ll spend?” She eased away from her mischief and lay back down beside him.
“I will spend.”
She cuddled up, her fingers trailing idly across his nipples. “Am I too bold?”
He hated the uncertainty behind the question and loved the trust it embodied. “No, love. I am too frail. Kiss me so I can kiss you back.” He wrestled her over him, ready to seek happy revenge for her earlier explorations.
Vera looked about, as if surprised to find herself atop a naked male, then she pulled the covers up and folded down over him. The kissing progressed from sweet, to playful, to passionate, and all the while, Oak let his hands wander over feminine perfection.
Without Oak planning the moment, Vera slipped her body over his cock and went still.
“I didn’t—” She mashed her nose against his shoulder. “I wasn’t, that is, I hadn’t intended… I want you so.”
“Hush.” He stroked her hair. “You should have what you desire. I want only to please you.”
That simple truth seemed to be what she needed to hear. The mood shifted from the slightly awkward erotic teasing of new lovers to a profound, unlooked-for intimacy. Vera moved slowly, and Oak let her set the pace.
When she raised up on her arms, he kept his eyes closed rather than allow himself the visual provocation of her breasts. She sped up, and he vowed to expire of unsatisfied passion before he took control of the timing from her.
Eternities passed during the next few seconds, while Oak grasped the spindles of the headboard in a desperate grip, and the bed ropes creaked in