The Stranger I Married Part 30

"There are moments when I am unappealing?" He clasped a hand over his heart. "How distressing."

"And impossibly, you look delectable with twigs in your hair," she murmured. "All that effort spent on me, and outside of bed, no less. A girl could swoon."

"Feel free, I'll catch you."

Her laugh made everything in the world right again. Just as it had done from the moment he met her.

"Do you know," he murmured, "that the sight of you-dressed or undressed, sleeping or waking-has always calmed me?"

She tugged the rose free of his grasp and lifted it to her nose. "'Calm' is not a word I would select to describe you."

"No? What would you choose, then?"

As she moved to add the rose to a nearby vase, he shrugged out of his coat. The knock that interrupted her reply surprised him. Then he listened to Isabel instruct the servant to bring hot water for his bath and he nodded to himself. His wife had always been one to antic.i.p.ate a man's comfort.

"Stunning," she said when they were alone again. "Overwhelming. Determined. Relentless. Those descriptors suit you best."

Pausing before him, she slowly undid the carved b.u.t.tons of his waistcoat. "Brazen." Pel licked her lower lip. "Seductive. Definitely seductive."

"Married?" he suggested.

She lifted her gaze to meet his. "Yes. Definitely married." Running her hands up his chest and over the tops of his shoulders, she pushed the garment off of him.

"Enchanted," he said in a tone made husky by the effect of her perfume and attentions.

"What?"

"Enchanted would describe me perfectly." Thrusting his hands through her rich auburn tresses, he tugged her hard against him. "Captivated."

"Do you find any oddness in our sudden fascination with one another?" she asked in a tone that begged for rea.s.surance.

"Is it so sudden? I cannot seem to remember a time when I did not think you were perfect for me."

"I have always thought you were perfection, but never did I think you were perfect for me."

"Yes, you did, or you would not have wed me." He nuzzled his mouth against hers. "But you did not think I was perfect for loving, which I am."

"We really must work on building your self-confidence," she whispered.

Gerard twisted her head slightly to better fit their kiss and then licked across her lips. When her tongue flicked out to meet his, he hummed a soft chastising sound. "Allow me to kiss you. Just take it. Take me."

"Give me more then."

His smile curved against hers. A woman after his own heart. "I want to lick away every trace of any other kiss you have ever had." Cupping her nape in a hold that established his dominance, he followed the velvety softness of her upper lip with the tip of his tongue. "I want to give you your first kiss."

"Gerard," she whimpered, trembling.

"Do not be frightened."

"How can I help it? You are destroying me."

He nipped her plump lower lip with his teeth and then suckled it rhythmically, his eyes closing as the wanton taste of her inundated his senses. "I am rebuilding you, rebuilding us. I want to be the only man whose kiss you remember."

Sliding one hand down to the curve of her derriere, he urged her against him. With his arms filled with alluring softness, his nostrils filled with exotic flowers and aroused woman, his taste buds soaked in rich flavor, Gerard was left with no doubt that he loved Isabel more than anything. It was like nothing he had ever felt for anyone and it made him happy in a way nothing in his life ever had, or ever could. He tasted her tears and knew what she couldn't yet say.

He was about to say it for her when the scratching at the door parted them. It took far too long to have the bath prepared and the servants dismissed, but the resulting feel of Pel's fingers sifting soap through his hair and over his back was worth the wait. Then he noted the shaking of her hands and knew he had to distract her from her fears until he could take her to bed. There they'd never had any difficulty connecting intimately. With that in mind, he hurried the process.

"Would you like to discuss what lured you and Lady Ansell out to the garden earlier?" he asked, belting his robe before accepting the warmed brandy she offered him.

"Fresh air?" She took a seat in a nearby chair.

Gerard moved to the window. "You can simply tell me to mind my own affairs."

"Mind your own affairs," she retorted with laughter in her voice.

"Now I am intrigued."

"I knew you would be." He heard her sigh. "Apparently, conception is a problem for them, and it is causing a strain."

"Lady Ansell is barren?"

"Yes, her physician says the state is due to her advanced years."

He shook his head in sympathy. "Unfortunate for them that Ansell is an only child, so the burden rests entirely upon their shoulders." Taking a large swallow, he considered his own good fortune in having siblings. "You and I will never face that strain."

"I suppose not."

There was something in her tone that made his stomach clench in apprehension, but he hid the reaction by keeping his back to her and his tone casual. "Are you considering pregnancy?"

"Did you not say that you wished to build something lasting? What is more lasting than lineage?"

"Having two brothers negates that concern somewhat," he said carefully, fighting off the sudden tremor that moved him. The mere thought of Isabel increasing struck terror in him like he had never known. His hand shook so badly, the liquor in his gla.s.s sloshed precariously. He was only grateful that she could not see his upset from her vantage behind him.

Emily.

Her death and the death of their child had very nearly destroyed him, and he had not loved Em like he loved Isabel. If something were to happen to his wife, if he should lose her...

He squeezed his eyes shut and forced his grip to relax before he shattered the goblet.

"Does it negate your wish to have issue?" she asked behind him.

He heaved out his breath. How in h.e.l.l was he to respond to that? He would give up everything to have a family with her. But he would not give her up. Though the possible result would be bliss, the risk innate in that possibility was agonizing even to contemplate.

"Is there a rush?" he asked finally, turning to meet her gaze to search for the strength of her resolve. She sat nearby, her back ramrod straight, her legs crossed primly, her gown draped loosely about her shoulders and slightly gaping between the b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The perfect dichotomy of impeccable breeding and carnal seduction. Perfect for him. Irreplaceable.

She shrugged, which relieved him immeasurably. She was making conversation, nothing more. "I was not implying a need for haste."

Waving his hand in deliberately careless fas.h.i.+on, Gerard affected a complete lack of concern and changed the subject. "I hope you enjoy Waverly Park. It is the closest of my residences to London and one of my favorites. Perhaps, if you agree, we can arrange to spend more time there."

"That would be wonderful," she agreed.

There was a distance fraught with tension between them, such as two fencers would experience while circling one another. He could not bear it.

"I would like to retire now," he murmured, studying her over the rim of his goblet. There was never any distance between them in bed.

A faint hint of a smile teased her mouth. "You suffer no weariness after tramping through hedges?"

"No." He moved toward her with obvious purpose.

Her eyes widened and the ephemeral curve of her lips turned into the come-hither grin of a siren. "How delicious."

"Would you like to nibble on me?" He set the gla.s.s on a tabletop as he pa.s.sed it.

Isabel laughed as he caught her about the waist. "You do realize that I always know when you have an ulterior motive?" She followed the curve of his brows with her fingertips. "You have the devil in your eyes when you are attempting to distract me."

He kissed the tip of her nose. "Do you mind, vixen?"

"No. I would indeed love to nibble on you." Her expert fingertips deftly loosened and then parted his robe. "There is so much to tempt me. I cannot decide where to begin."

"Are you soliciting suggestions?"

Running her fingertips lightly down the center of his chest, she tilted her head to the side as if pondering and said, "That is not necessary." His c.o.c.k rose up. "I think it's plain which part of you is the most eager for my touch."

Every cell in his body, though tensed in expectation, sighed with satisfaction at her nearness. It always had. Being with Isabel made the world around him a better place, as maudlin as others would find that sentiment.

Her lips, so plump and hot, pressed against his neck, her tongue flicking out to taste his skin. "Ummm..." She hummed the pleasure she found with him, her hands sliding beneath his robe to caress his back. "Thank you for the rose. I have never had a rose picked by hand just for me."

"I would pick a hundred for you," he said gruffly, the memories of thorn p.r.i.c.ks and muttered curses fading into obscurity. "A thousand."

"My darling. One is more than enough. It's perfection."

Everywhere she touched him heated and grew hard. No one else in his life had loved him like this. He felt it in her fingertips, in the brush of her breath across his flesh, in the way she trembled and grew aroused merely looking at him. Her tiny hands were everywhere, stroking, kneading. She loved the hard ridges of his muscles, despite how unfas.h.i.+onable they were.

She licked down his chest, taking tiny bites with her teeth, arousing him so fully that c.u.m beaded up on the head of his c.o.c.k and then slid down the upthrust length. As Pel dropped to her knees, she followed the glistening trail with her tongue, making him shudder and groan.

"Your mouth would ruin a saint," he growled, thrusting his fingers into her fiery tresses. Staring down at her, he watched as she gripped the base of his shaft and angled him down to her waiting mouth.

"What does it do to a man who is far from saintly?"

Before he could catch his breath to reply, she'd engulfed the straining tip in burning, liquid heat. His eyelids grew heavy, his breathing labored as she suckled him between those lush, ripe lips. He swelled in response to the steady, rhythmic pulls, sweat beading along his pores as the flush of pure l.u.s.t swept across his flesh.

None of the women in his past who had serviced him in this manner could compete with his wife. For Isabel it was not a duty or a prelude to s.e.x. For her it was a joy in and of itself, something she enjoyed as much as he. Something that heated her skin, soaked her s.e.x, beaded her nipples. She moaned along with him, wors.h.i.+pped him with her tongue, fondled the hardened cheeks of his a.s.s.

She loved him.

The skin of his c.o.c.k was dry and stretched tight where he could not fit. The weight of his b.a.l.l.s drew up, ready to spurt the gift of life he would never give her.

It was this last thought that urged him to finish in her eager mouth. Isabel loved it when he came in that fas.h.i.+on, loved to feel him quiver on unsteady legs and cry out her name. But she also loved it when he was hard and thick like this. Loved how deeply he could stroke inside her, and right now that was where he needed to be-connected with her. From now until death parted them, they would have only each other. She was all he needed. He hoped she felt the same about him.

"No more." Pus.h.i.+ng her head away, he stepped back from temptation, his c.o.c.k an angry red and jerking in frustration.

Isabel pouted her protest.

Gerard stepped backward, sinking onto the settee she had recently risen from, and gesturing impatiently for her to join him. Shrugging out of her dressing gown, she did just that, approaching him in a cloud of flame-touched tresses and seductively swaying hips. Then she climbed over him, straddling him, her hands on his shoulders, her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s swaying before his eyes.

Consumed with fever for her, he buried his face in the fragrant valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, pulling the scent of her into his blood with deep desperate breaths.

"Gerard," she crooned, her fingers drifting into his damp hair and ma.s.saging the roots. "How I adore you."

Incapable of speech, he turned his head and ran his tongue across her nipple before closing his lips and suckling her, taking from her all the sustenance his soul needed. She gasped, a sound tinged with pain, and he cupped the warm undercurve and lifted, to make it more comfortable for her. Then he noted how heavy her breast was, and tender, if her sharp whimper was any indication.

He'd come in her!

The sudden flare of panic he felt nearly unmanned him. If not for Pel choosing that moment to sink her drenched c.u.n.t around his c.o.c.k, he might have lost his erection altogether, which had never happened to him in his twenty-six years.

"Have I hurt you?" he managed, keeping his head lowered to hide his horror. Surely it was too soon...It couldn't be...

Isabel hugged him closer and began to move, mewling softly as she stroked deep inside herself with the hard length of him. "My courses approach," she gasped. "It's nothing."

The relief that flooded him was so powerful, he had to remember to breathe, every muscle drained by the receding tide of terror. He held his wife's straining body to his, biting his lip to keep some semblance of control as she undulated against him in perfect rhythm. Their bodies fit perfectly, as did their personalities, their tastes, their likes and dislikes.

And she loved him. He knew that like he knew nothing else-with bone-deep clarity and a.s.surance. For all that he was, with all of his faults and failings, she adored him anyway. She had given him joy when he had been certain there was no more joy to be had. If he lost her...

He would die.

"Isabel." His hands rested on either side of her spine, absorbing the feel of her slender muscles flexing with her exertions. Up and down, she worked their bodies with an understanding of what pleased him as only a woman who loved him would know. It made their joining more than s.e.x, more than carnal gratification.

"Slide a little lower," she instructed, urging him to alter the cant of his hips. "Right there." Pel sank deep onto him, the slick lips of her c.u.n.t encircling the very root of his c.o.c.k. "Ohhhh..."

She tightened around him deliciously, and l.u.s.t singed its way up his spine, making him arch away from the damask embroidered settee back and into her. "Ah, Christ!"

"That's it," she praised, her nails biting into the flesh of his shoulder. "Enjoy the ride."

"Pel," he managed, gasping with fear. "I can't last."

He could not spill in her again...

She rose and fell with such grace, her curvy body lithe and filled with quiet feminine strength. She was so tight, so hot and drenched, he knew he was losing his mind just as he had lost his heart.

"Come," he bit out, clutching her hips and thrusting madly into her. A silken fist. A burning glove. "Come, d.a.m.n you!"

Gerard yanked her down as he ground upward, listening as she gave a thready cry, watching as her head fell back, feeling her clench tight around him and then milk his tortured c.o.c.k with the same rhythmic suckling as he had felt in her mouth.

The moment she rested limp against his chest he withdrew, catching his c.o.c.k in hand and pumping, spurting his seed outside of his wife.

Agonized, he pressed his cheek to her heart, listening to the rapid, pa.s.sionate beat as he hid his tears in the exotic floral sweat that pooled between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.