A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,144
toward the one leading to the dressing room. “I wouldn’t wish to be interrupted while I’m trying to fend you off.”
Marguerite nodded, pushing against him to feel that he was already aroused. Her blood began to run hot, as it always did when he touched her. “I can’t believe this, Donovan. In my grandfather’s house, in my own bedchamber. We’re wicked, the pair of us.”
“Is that a complaint?” Thomas asked, lifting her into his arms, high against his chest, and moving determinedly toward her bed.
“No,” she answered, nearly purring, kissing his cheek, the side of his throat. She loved this man. How she loved this man! “Merely an observation.”
He settled her in the middle of the bed Maisie had turned down hours earlier, then joined her, stretching out full length beside her, still in his evening shoes. “I missed you, aingeal. A whole day spent without you,” he said, dropping fairy kisses on her forehead, her eyes, her nose. “An entire, endless day.” His hand went to her bodice, tugging open the satin ribbons that held her dressing gown shut. “And all of that day I’ve thought of nothing but this.”
Marguerite swallowed, feeling the now familiar yet welcome tension building deep inside her as the dressing gown fell open, revealing her sheer night rail. “Are you going to love me anytime soon, Donovan,” she asked throatily, beginning to move her legs together on the bed, enjoying the feel of skin brushing against skin beneath the silk, “or merely talk about it?”
“Stay there,” he ordered, pointing at her as he slipped from the bed and began to strip. “You just stay right there, young lady.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Donovan, sir,” she answered brightly, biting her bottom lip as she watched him shed his clothing. She had never seen him entirely naked before, not really, and she refused to hide her curiosity. He was magnificent! His shoulders, so broad! His stomach, so flat! His hips, so narrow! His—
“Donovan?” she felt suddenly shy, and couldn’t understand why.
He slid back onto the bed, beneath the covers, and looked at her inquiringly, teasingly, his hands once more busy, helping her to rise up and slip her arms from the dressing gown. “Yes? You had a question, darlin’?”
“Never mind,” she whispered as he lowered her to the pillows once more, her hair ribbon now missing as well, so that her curls spilled free past her shoulders, tickling her breasts as the night rail slid down her legs and disappeared at the bottom of the bed.
She was naked—entirely naked, even though she was partially covered by the sheet. She turned to see Donovan resting his head on one bent arm, his elbow punched into one of the pillows. He wasn’t grinning at her anymore. His expression was surprisingly solemn as he twirled a lock of her hair around his finger.
All thoughts of Marco, of reading Ralph’s confession, of what would happen in the morning fled her brain, and she concentrated on Donovan, on her love for him, on the heaven she would soon fly to again in his arms.
“The first time, Marguerite,” he said quietly, so quietly that she had to listen very carefully in order to hear him through the pounding of her heart in her ears. “The first time wasn’t the way I wanted it to be. Nor was the second. You deserve better. You deserve to know what this business of lovemaking is really about. So,” he said, sighing, “as far as I’m concerned, aingeal, this is our marriage bed. And this is our wedding night. Our first night. I want to love you the way I would my bride. I want to worship you with my body.”
Marguerite felt tears stinging at her eyes. He was being so earnest, so serious, so wonderful. “All—all right,” she heard herself answer, feeling somewhat awed by the depth of his love. “But you’re frightening me, Donovan. I don’t know what you want—what could possibly be different or better than anything we’ve already shared.”
The corners of his mouth twitched and he leaned forward slowly, stopping when his lips were resting lightly against hers, teasing her with their closeness. “Ah, aingeal,” he breathed against her mouth, “how much you have to learn”—he gently bit her bottom lip—“and how I’ll delight in the teaching.”
His mouth claimed hers then, as she raised her arms to encircle his back and exulted in the feeling of skin against skin, her breasts crushed against his chest, tickled by the mat of hair that covered him.