The Marrying Season

by Candace Camp

  Myles stood, taking her hands and pulling her up with him, and he unfastened the button at the waist of her skirt. The heavy fabric fell to the floor. His eyes roamed down her, his lids heavy, and his face changed subtly, his mouth softer and somehow fuller. Genevieve knew he could see the dark circles of her nipples through the material, the taut peaks pressing against it. The simple scoop neck revealed her arms and upper chest, and without the usual overlying petticoats the shape of her legs was obvious. Genevieve’s cheeks flamed, but she did not move to cover herself or turn away.

  “You are lovely,” he murmured, crooking two fingers over the neckline of her chemise. “Your skin is like porcelain.” His fingers drifted slowly along the edge of the garment, his nails gliding over her flesh.

  Genevieve’s breath caught in her throat as heat coursed from his fingertips all through her. She wasn’t sure how he could make her feel this way with so little effort. His touch turned her hot and liquid, making her tingle and pulse in ways she had never imagined. And she knew she wanted him to glide his hands over every inch of her skin until the heat completely engulfed her.

  He pulled his hand away and turned aside, and Genevieve clenched her teeth in frustration. As Myles shrugged out of his own jacket, she pivoted away to hide what she was sure must be in her face. It was alarming how she felt—the way her hands itched to touch him and her mouth hungered for his lips. She could not remember when she had ever felt so little in control of a situation or herself.

  She looked back at Myles. He had divested himself of his jacket and boots, and his hands were busy loosening the intricate folds of his neckcloth. He glanced at her and smiled. Genevieve realized that she would like to unfasten the buttons of his waistcoat as he had undone her clothes, and she clasped her hands together behind her back, like a child refraining from grabbing a sweet. Not until she saw the swift darkening of his eyes, drawn to her bosom, did she notice how her movement had thrust her breasts forward, the hard buttons of her nipples pressing against the fabric.

  She dropped her hands, embarrassed, and crossed her arms, once again turning away. She wandered over to the window and gazed out, trying to keep her mind off the sounds of Myles’s undressing. After a moment, she began to wonder exactly how many garments he intended to take off.

  Genevieve sneaked a glance back toward him, relieved to see that he was walking toward her still clad in his breeches, his shirt hanging loose and open outside his pants. Her gaze went to the strip of skin revealed by the unfastened ties of his lawn shirt. She could see the hard center line of his chest, the light V of hair running down that line, the bands of muscle that crossed his stomach, and the sight of him did peculiar things to her insides. She thought of sliding her hands beneath the edges of his shirt and moving them over his skin, such an extraordinary thing to consider that it made the blood wash up her face.

  Again he took her hand, his fingers entwining through hers as he led her outside and down to the pool. When they reached the water’s edge, he stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside. His fingers went to the buttons of his breeches.

  “Myles!”

  A grin lit up his face. “Best turn your eyes, love. I fear I am a most immodest man.”

  Genevieve colored and swung away, but she could not resist peeking back just a bit as he stepped into the water. She caught sight of his legs, muscled and sprinkled with curling hair, and the pale curve of his buttocks. Immediately she ducked her head again, her pulse pounding, aware of an urge as immodest as Myles was, to stroke her hand over that rounded flesh.

  “Come in; ’tis safe.”

  Genevieve turned. He was standing waist deep in water, which did provide the most basic of covering to his nakedness, but his upper torso was completely bare, revealing the chest that the open strip of his shirt had only hinted at. His wide shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist; muscles rounded his arms and padded his chest. He ducked under the water and came up, pushing his hair back from his face, and water sluiced down his body.

  She swallowed, then stepped into the pool and walked toward him, taking the hand he held out to her. The water rose around her, deliciously cool in the heat of the afternoon, gliding around her body as she moved forward. Her eyes kept straying to Myles’s chest, slick with water. She tore her gaze away, shielding her eyes to look at the waterfall at the opposite end of the pool. The water tumbled down the cliffside, falling the last few feet in a graceful, clear curtain.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “See the ledge behind the falls?” Myles pointed to a shelf of rock jutting out from the cliff wall just above the level of the pool. “If you swim to the other end and climb out onto the ledge, you can look out through the water. It’s amazing. You can dive in; the water’s deeper there.” He gave her an inquiring glance. “Want to learn to swim?”

  Genevieve nodded. She had never been one to back away from a challenge, especially a physical one. Her attire was not ladylike, but no one was here to see it beside Myles. “Shall we start?”

  “Of course.” He grinned. “First you need to learn how to float, which is simple, really. Here, I’ll support you.” His arm went around her, and he gently pushed her shoulders back. “Just lie down.”

  “But I’ll sink.”

  “I won’t let you. Don’t worry. Relax and lie back.” His other arm slid beneath her hips, raising the lower half of her body.

  Genevieve did as he said, leaning back and extending her legs. It sent a little thrill of fear through her to lie back in the water, but Myles’s arms were strong beneath her, holding her up.

  “Loosen up a bit; go a little limp,” he instructed. “There, that’s the way.”

  The water lapped around her in a soothing way, and Genevieve closed her eyes. It was pleasant to lie here, rocking a bit, the water holding her up. Myles’s arms were only lightly holding her now, and he slid the lower one away. She opened her eyes to look up at him. His eyes were a clear golden brown in the sunlight, and they looked down at her with a fierce heat. A breeze touched her damp skin, setting up a little shiver, and she realized how her damp shift clung to her, transparent now, delineating every line and curve of her body.

  She should stand up, she thought, and turn away, yet she continued to lie there as his gaze roamed over her. The warmth, now becoming familiar, began to burn deep within her, and she had to consciously refrain from letting her legs slide apart. She was being brazen, she knew, but it was exciting, tempting, so she let her eyes drift closed again, as if by cutting off her sight, she could deny her willing participation.

  With his arm under her, supporting her, Myles spread his other hand out flat on her stomach and moved over her front, caressing her breasts and sliding down onto her abdomen, then back up. Genevieve’s lips parted, her breath coming faster, as his fingers moved back up to circle her nipples, teasing them into tautness. Moist heat flooded between her legs, startling her, and it only increased as his hand slid downward, moving into the V of her legs.

  Genevieve jerked in surprise then, her legs coming down, and she stood up. Myles’s face was heavy with desire, his mouth full, his eyelids drooping over his heated gaze. They stood that way for an instant, then his hands went to her hips, and he pulled her against him and kissed her.

  His hands went down her back, molding her to him. She could feel the naked thrust of his desire against her, pulsing and eager, and that, too, excited her. Genevieve linked her arms around his neck, holding on as a firestorm of sensations rushed through her. His mouth was hungry, his kiss no longer a gentle coaxing but a fierce predatory taking. She met him eagerly, pressing up against him.

  With a low growl, he broke their kiss and, sweeping her up in his arms, stalked into the house.

  Ten

  Myles set her down inside the cabin, and his hands went to her wet shift, pulling it up and off and dropping it on the floor with a sodden splat. His eyes swept down her, making her blood heat. Curious, Genevieve let her own eyes drop down the length of him, taking in the
powerful masculine beauty of his form. Her eyes widened and she could not hold back a gasp when her gaze fell on the engorged length of his maleness.

  “Myles!” Her gaze flew up to his, astonishment and a touch of fear in her eyes. “You are so—I mean, it will never—” She broke off, a fiery blush sweeping over her cheeks.

  “Don’t fret, my love.” His hands went to her arms, stroking up and down soothingly. “It’s all right, I promise you. And we will go no further than you wish.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “I promise. For now, just let me look at you.” His voice dropped huskily.

  Genevieve gave an almost imperceptible nod, and he scooped her up, carrying her to the bed and laying her down with care. Stretching out beside her, he propped himself up on one elbow and let his eyes rove over her. He trailed his forefinger down her body and traced the slope of her breast. She twitched, tensing, as he slid over her stomach and dipped into the shallow well of her navel, then moved lower until his fingers tangled in the hair at the apex of her legs.

  She let out a choked cry, and he moved away, tracing the crease between her torso and leg, first one side and then the other. He leaned forward to place a light kiss on her nipple, and Genevieve’s breath shuddered out.

  “Too much?” he asked softly, and she shook her head. She could picture his smile as he bent to kiss her again, this time tracing his tongue around the button of flesh. “Is this all right?” At her nod, his mouth closed around her. His tongue stroked and teased as he gently suckled her. As his mouth continued to work its glory on her, Genevieve could not hold back a low moan. She bit her lower lip, embarrassed by the sound. Myles only applied himself more ardently to the task.

  Moisture flooded between her legs, and she moved restlessly against the bed. Finally he released the reddened, thrusting bud. He blew gently upon it, causing it to pebble even more. Myles bent close to her ear, his breath teasing new shivers in her as he whispered. “More?” She nodded, and he kissed her ear. His tongue traced the whorls as he murmured, “Say it.”

  “Myles . . .”

  He took her earlobe between his teeth and worried it. “What, love?” He bent and pressed his lips to her other breast. “Would you like this?” His tongue flicked over her nipple. “Or this?” He placed light kisses in a line up the underside of her breast. “Or perhaps this?”

  “Yes.” The word shuddered out of her. “All.”

  The noise he made was half laugh, half groan as his mouth closed around the nipple. As he brought it to tight, throbbing life, his hand slid down her torso as it had before, but this time when he reached the V of her legs, Genevieve moved her legs apart, wordlessly inviting him. He lifted his head, his eyes glittering, and claimed her lips. He kissed her deeply, possessively, as his finger delved into the soft mysteries of her femininity.

  Genevieve froze, suddenly afraid that he would be repelled by the moisture that had pooled there, but he seemed to revel in it, for he made a low noise and his lips dug into hers even harder. He stroked the slick folds, delicately exploring. Genevieve moved against his fingers, astonished at her boldness. She had never felt such aching, eager pleasure. She yearned for something, and the feeling grew more desperate with each touch, each kiss. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, her mouth melding with his.

  Myles pulled away and stared down into Genevieve’s face, his eyes almost feverish in their intensity. His forefinger settled gently on the fleshy nub between her nether lips, and Genevieve could not hold back a groan of pleasure. He stroked her, his eyes drinking in the emotions running over Genevieve’s features. She pressed up against him, seeking more, and he clenched his jaw, the strain evident in his face.

  “Shall I go on?” he whispered, looking into her eyes.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  A primitive male satisfaction flared in his eyes. His fingers moved down, slipping into her, and Genevieve’s eyes widened in surprise. He slid in and out, gently stretching her. Then he moved between her legs, lifting her hips, and his maleness probed her tender flesh. She tightened at the touch and he stopped, stretching out above her and pressing his mouth to hers. He kissed her sweetly, seductively, making her whole body flame with passion. She relaxed, her legs falling apart, and he entered her.

  There was a slash of pain, and then he was sliding into her, filling her. She had never imagined this, the deep fundamental satisfaction of having him inside her, a part of her. For a long moment he remained still, then he began to move within her. This, too, was a new wonder, she realized, as he thrust into her again and again. The pleasure that had danced through her body began to coalesce, tightening into a knot deep inside her.

  He surged inside her, a low cry issuing from his lips. Genevieve felt as if she teetered on the edge of something marvelous, but then it was gone as Myles sank down on top of her. His breath rasped against her neck; his body was like a furnace. And those things, too, increased the heat that teased within her. She had never felt so wonderful, so alive and sparkling, yet something gnawed at her, some lack that she could not even name.

  Myles raised his head and looked down at her. “Ah, sweet Genny. Not quite there yet, are you?”

  She had no idea what he meant, but he rolled from her, and she sighed at the loss of his fullness. His hand slid down to find her again, and she blinked in surprise.

  “Myles, what are—” A little moan of pleasure cut her off, and her eyes fluttered closed. “Myles . . .”

  “You’ll see,” he told her huskily, his touch slow and insistent.

  The powerful tension was building in her again, taking her over. Her breath was almost a sob as she arched up against his hand, her body tensing.

  “There now, sweet girl,” he murmured, kissing the point of her shoulder. “Patience. I won’t leave you wanting.”

  His hand tightened on her, firm and demanding. Suddenly the teasing promise exploded within her. Genevieve clenched her teeth as she convulsed beneath his touch, pleasure rippling out through every part of her body. She went limp, her breath sighing out of her.

  Myles wrapped his arms around her, rolling onto his back with her cradled to him. Genevieve slipped her arm around him, luxuriating in the feel of his warm, damp skin beneath her. What, she wondered as she slid effortlessly into sleep, had her grandmother been warning her about?

  In late afternoon they awakened and returned to the pool. Genevieve protested walking outside unclothed, but Myles picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She shrieked, but found the view of his backside from this position too interesting to keep up her complaints. They splashed about in the water, teasing and laughing, and this time she managed to float on her own—at least until he bent down to kiss the ruby tips of her breasts peeking up above the water, which sent her immediately sinking to the bottom in surprise. But it did not matter, for he scooped her up to kiss her. As he held her there, hard against him, she did what she had been thinking about ever since the night before and wrapped her legs around him.

  Myles gave a little grunt of satisfaction, and hands on her hips, he ground her against him. Genevieve leaned her head on his shoulder, marveling at the response of her body to the feel of his hard length against her most intimate flesh. Did all wives feel like this? She could not help but wonder whether she was more wanton than most. Yet, she could not but think of Damaris’s obvious happiness—and Thea’s, as well. Of course, neither of them were models of propriety.

  “Ah, Genevieve,” Myles murmured, trailing slow kisses down her neck. “You tempt me past all my good intentions.” He kissed her lightly on the lips and set her from him.

  “Oh.” Genevieve was distinctly disappointed. “Of course. You would not wish to . . . to continue in that vein after, um, it’s over.” She had taken a misstep. She turned aside, very conscious now of her nakedness. “I fear that I am not conversant with the proper—”

  His hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her back around. “It’s no question of propriety.” He took her chin, tilting it up until
she looked into his face. “And it certainly is no question of what I want. There is nothing I would like more than to make love to you again right now. Right here.” He pulled her to him again, smiling down at her. “Cannot you feel what I desire?”

  “Yes.” Genevieve colored a little and leaned her head against his chest to hide her face. “I do indeed.” Her hand slipped down between them as if to touch him before she jerked it back guiltily.

  “Go ahead,” he said in a low voice, and his hand covered hers, sliding it back down his body.

  She curled her fingers around him, glad that he could not see her face, and slid it down the length of the shaft, intrigued by the satin-smooth texture, the pulsing hardness pressing beneath it. He made a sound, muffled in her hair, and she paused, uncertain.

  “No, don’t stop.” His voice was laced with amusement and hunger. “Feel free to do with me as you will.” He kissed her hair.

  Genevieve glided her hand back up and between his legs, cupping the heavy sac, and this movement pulled a low groan from him. She was coming to understand that such sounds were of pleasure, not pain. She looked up into his face, curiosity outgrowing her embarrassment now. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted. She experimented, watching the play of emotions across his face. Something in seeing how she could affect him was deeply thrilling.

  “Then why did you stop?” she asked, teasing her thumbnail back up the length of him.

  “For you.” He stroked his hand down her hair. “I feared it was too soon—I do not wish to hurt you.”

  Genevieve raised her head, startled. “Does it always hurt?”