to live her life. No, he’d brought her here so she might choose, and she was choosing him.
If he turned from her now, he knew he would be doing exactly the wrong thing.
He contemplated her lips, those soft pink lips.
Without allowing himself to think another moment about it, he lowered his mouth to hers.
He tasted her, savoring the feel of her beneath him, amazed that he was allowed to be close to her and this heaven. Her mouth opened, and he slid his tongue into it. Their kiss was gentle, soft. Unlike any kiss he’d ever experienced before. He was so used to the voraciousness of taking and giving, of wild passion, but this was something else entirely.
This was gentle.
This was kind.
This was need and hope.
And he gave himself into it.
Chapter 9
Mary had walked this earth, afraid of almost every step she took. She did not feel afraid now. She felt confident, powerful, full of energy.
The kiss awakened her to something that had been deep inside her all along.
It wasn’t something he gave her; it was something she discovered. Her hands stroked his shoulders, touching the soft tendrils of his hair, and she allowed herself to take it in. The feel of his mouth upon hers was the most glorious thing she’d ever known.
Their breath became one. Their bodies pressed tightly to each other. She gasped at the amazing quality of it. And then the fever struck. She needed him, all of him, every part of him. And so she let her hands slide to his coat as if she knew she needed to divest him of his garments so she could feel more alive, more herself.
He acquiesced, allowing his coat to slide from his shoulders into the woven rug upon the floor. His waistcoat came next, then his linen shirt. She marveled at the hardness of his frame, the contours of his body. He was so powerful and full of life.
He, too, undid the fastenings of her gown, easily untying the ribbons that held it in its place.
Slowly, he slid it down her body until she stood in nothing but a chemise and her stays. This was the moment. They could back away now. But she did not wish to.
It was everything she had never known she wanted, this moment with Richard Heath. His hands slid down her arms, skimming her skin, turning it to liquid fire. She was ablaze for him and for herself. It was the first time she felt as if she was doing something for her.
Not for any other person, not out of some dictate, not out of fear. No, this was out of, dare she say, love. Not love for Richard Heath, for she did not know him well enough to love him, but love for herself, and she was not going to be afraid.
So, when he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the chair before the fire, she savored how he cradled her. He kissed her slowly again and again until she felt her mind slowly fading away and passion taking hold.
Their hands touched each other reverently, needing to make this connection. It was a stolen moment in a stolen time, and she would not allow herself to run away from it. Every part of her gave into his body, and as he slid his hands down her torso, she let her head fall back and embraced the feeling.
Then much to her amazement, he whispered, “Let me hold you. Let me just hold you. I want us to do this slowly. . . To make it last.”
Hold her?
He was already holding her, and she wanted so much more. But she opened her eyes and looked into his. He needed this too. He needed, she realized, the tenderness of it. He looked like a creature who had suddenly seen the sun after having lived in the darkness for years, and she could not deny him it.
She nodded, and together, they sat before the fire entwined in each other’s arms, simply being. And it was the most peaceful she had ever felt, even as she felt her body kindle to a flame.
Hours past like that.
And they did not make love. At least, that is how she had heard what they were about to do referred to. Though, given what she’d understood happened between men and women, she did not know why the word love was used.
It seemed to her that love was not necessary. Yet, between them, it seemed as if