The Wallflower Wager - Tessa Dare Page 0,47
again, each dig of his hips accompanied by a rasping, desperate sound. With a curse, he withdrew from her body and took himself in hand, stroking himself to completion.
Then he slumped against her chest, heavier than bricks. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tight, stroking her fingertips lightly down his back. Tears pressed to her eyes, but she forced them back. He’d mistake them for sadness, rather than joy.
There were no more fireworks overhead. No booming explosions or crackling lights. Only ragged breaths and pounding heartbeats.
The past, the future . . . none of it mattered. There was only this moment, this man. This one heartbeat, and then the next, stringing together to make this life.
A life that belonged to her. At last.
After rolling aside, Gabe observed her through the haze of fireworks lingering in the air. He believed she’d truly wanted this. He wouldn’t have made love to her if he hadn’t.
But that was before. It remained to be seen whether she’d feel the same way after.
“Gabriel.” She rolled onto her back and stared up at the sky. “Ask me how it feels to be ruined.”
“How does it feel to be ruined?”
He watched a grin spread across her face. “I have no idea.”
Gabe exhaled, and the knot of dread in his chest unraveled. “So you’re not regretful.”
“Regretful?” She all but bounced to a sitting position. “Not in the least. I am delighted. I’ve wanted that since . . . since we met, I think. But I couldn’t have imagined I’d ever work up the courage.” She pressed her hand to her mouth and laughed. “I just lost my virginity on a rooftop. To”—she made a two-handed gesture at his nude body—“you.”
Gabe folded one arm under his head. He supposed he would take that as a compliment.
“Emma, Nic, and Alex will never believe this.”
“Hold a moment.” It was his turn to bolt upright. “Surely you don’t mean to tell them.”
“I tell them everything. Almost.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Why shouldn’t I tell them? Do you think I should be ashamed?”
“No,” he answered. “But they will think I should be.”
“Honestly, I’m not certain I could hide it. They’ll guess the moment they see me.”
Yes, he thought, it was likely they would. She was giddy, blushing. Radiant. Nothing could surpass his pleasure at knowing he’d helped put that look on her face. Not even the blood-stirring, soul-shattering climax he’d barely survived a few minutes past.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “They’re my closest friends, and they wouldn’t tell a soul. It’s not as though I mean to put a notice in the Times.”
This phrase gave him pause. Maybe she would expect a different notice in the Times. An engagement notice.
He cleared his throat. “So what are your expectations, moving forward?”
“Expectations?”
“Your hopes. If you have any.”
“Oh, I do.” She ducked her chin and looked at him through a golden fringe of eyelashes. “I hope we can do it again.”
He stared at her, marveling.
“Not right now, necessarily,” she hastened to say. “I know you must be fatigued. Another day would be fine.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. With a flex of his arm, he drew her into a kiss—a kiss she returned with equal passion and a breathy, erotic moan. Despite her adorable concerns for his “fatigue,” he could have risen to the challenge of another performance, easily.
“Good God,” he said. “What have I unleashed?”
“Me.” She lifted his hand and kissed it. “I’m in control of my life and my body, and you can’t know what that means. I’m not sure I know what it means. But I’m all anticipation to find out.”
So am I, he thought. Bloody hell, so am I.
He stroked the hair back from her face, admiring her beauty when bathed in starlight. She seemed an entirely new woman.
She startled. “Bixby. We have to go home. He’ll be needing his walk.”
Well, then. Perhaps not an entirely new woman after all.
Chapter Seventeen
Several days later, Penny sat at Nicola’s kitchen table, staring at the fresh-off-the-presses copy of the weekly Prattler.
“I can’t look,” she said.
“Do you want me to read it?” Nicola reached for the newspaper.
“No.” Penny slapped her hand over it. “I’ll do it. When I’m ready.” She looked at her empty plate. “Are there any more biscuits?”
“Between you and Bixby, the kitchen is bare.”
“Oh. Did you have any plans of baking more?” Penny asked hopefully. “It might help.”
Everything seemed a bit easier to face with a plate of fresh biscuits.
She tapped her fingers on the newspaper’s front page. “I don’t know why