Tender (The Trelawneys of Williamsburg Time Travel Romance Book 1)

by Anne Meredith

  He stroked her hair. “My dearest heart, I’m so sorry.”

  “My father was a wonderful man, Grey. You’ve … always reminded me of him, since that first day I saw you and Emily in the gardens, although I didn’t know it then. He was gentle and funny and he adored all three of us. I had no idea how much I’d missed him—even without consciously remembering him—until I met you. He was tall, and handsome, and…”

  He saw the melancholy spear through her wistful gaze, and he drew her close. “It’s all right, darling.”

  She felt his fingers probing at the tattered silk. “There’s no blood. Is it bad?”

  “Not very.”

  Dark, lean fingers brushed her cheekbone. “Forgive me.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  His eyes searched hers as he spoke. “For not seeing the truth … for hurting you … for waiting until it was almost too late to see that you’ve become the dearest part of me … for all of these things, I ask your forgiveness.”

  She traced the faint lines at his eyes, the strong cheekbones, the smooth curve of his cheek.

  “You looked within me and found a flawed and damaged heart. And you believed you could make it whole.”

  She traced her fingertips along the base of his throat, feeling his pulse, slow and heavy.

  “You endured undeserved harshness at my hand, in that hope.”

  Somber wonder shone in his eyes as his voice fell to a desperate whisper. “And you offered, with tender grace, your own heart.”

  She raised her hand to his face. “Yes.”

  “Knowing I might never be able to offer you more than my own heart in return.”

  The bitter reality of his statement pierced her, and his beloved face blurred before her eyes. A silent moment passed, and she saw a muscle move in his lean cheek.

  “And you’ll never steal that gift away, when I’ve come to need it most? You’ll ever be with me so, with nothing between us but frail mortal frame? You’ll abide with me though all else desert me?”

  Tears ran into her hair as he softly pleaded her devotion, as he almost begged her to deny it now, if she would deny it at all. As he swore he had nothing to return for it.

  She gently framed his face in her hands. “Always.”

  His eyes closed, and when he opened them again, nothing stood between them. “Then I can offer you no less in return. My heart, so long as it continues to beat.”

  Her arms circled his neck, but he touched her shoulders, pushing her back. “Give me the faintest of hopes that what I see in your eyes now is what I’ve yearned for always. Tell me you love me, Rachel, as I love you.”

  Joy rose, swift and sure, and she lifted her mouth to the warmth of his neck, spreading kisses there, rising to his jaw. “Yes,” she whispered. “I do.”

  He gave a soft murmur of pleasure as he turned his face slightly, capturing her lips with his. Hesitant questioning kisses, fleeting butterfly kisses were a petition for the promise she’d just given. Slowly, they evolved into an exploration of amazement at her own yearning response. His lips brushed hers with the knowledgeable delicacy of an old world artist revealing a beauty he knew lurked within. He tilted her jaw, his fingertips playing through the thickness of her hair, his palm moving with discovery and appreciation over her throat.

  A slow warmth spread through her at the unhurried glide of his lips. When he kissed her, it was as if he were trying to learn each nuance of her most intimate secrets.

  Sleepy gray eyes smiled as he lifted his head. “It is most pleasurable, tasting you.”

  Her thumb rested against the shallow indentation in his square chin, and his mouth opened, capturing her thumb between his teeth. He drew it in against his tongue, and her lips parted breathlessly. Drawing her thumb away, she replaced it with her lips. Her tongue flickered out hesitantly and Grey welcomed it, delving inside. She tasted his sigh, felt the hard cords of his neck underneath her fingertips, heard the steady thump of his heart against hers. His hand roved over her hair, and he laughed, raising his head. “I cannot have enough of the touch of your hair,” he murmured, watching it sift through his fingers. “As silky and soft as a child’s.”

  His hand drifted to her cheek, and silver eyes held a dark gleam of anticipation as he examined her throat and the froth of ruffles at her breasts. That dark hand dipped to her flat waist, resting just below the generous curves exposed to his gaze, and his eyes met hers as he felt the rapid rise and fall of her sharply drawn breaths. “Tell me it isn’t fear I feel here, in your woman’s heart.”

  “No.”

  “I’ve yearned to touch you so. You’ve never known a man, have you?”

  A slow stain rose to her cheekbones at the frankness of his question. “No.”

  His smile was rakish. “There are many ways for a man to give a woman pleasure.”

  She watched him with breathless anticipation. “Oh?”

  He nodded, his fingers nimbly opening the gown’s clasp between her breasts then brushing the smooth valley, and she knew he felt her tremble. “And every one of them gives her man pleasure equal or greater.”

  His fingertips were as delicate as a bird skimming over the surf. A tempest built within her as he traced the cleft between her breasts, noticing the pink welt from the lash. His jaw hardened, and she saw it.

  “You were speaking of pleasure,” she reminded him, attempting to distract him from his anger.

  His gaze kindled, and he impulsively lowered his mouth, tracing with his tongue the path of the mark. Fireworks built within her at the sight of his warm, wet tongue stroking her skin. He loosened the tiny hooks hidden in the ruffles, opening her bodice with dazed expectation. The chemise did little to conceal the lush curves there, and he glanced into Rachel’s eyes.

  “’Tis far better to show you,” he murmured. “Shall I?”

  She was afire at the prospect of learning the things of sexual love from Grey, and her voice was a husky whisper. “Yes.”

  He inhaled deeply, and a dark index finger hooked on the slender lace strap of the chemise. “Here’s the irony,” he murmured. “The pleasure I can give you is only as great as you allow.”

  Her smile grew quizzical. “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” he went on, and his voice was a deep, hypnotic lull. “I cannot know my touch pleases you, unless you tell me.”

  Through the chemise, he sketched an erotic line from the curve of her breast almost to her nipple, and he watched as the peak stood up in anticipation. “For instance, see how you respond to my touch. My guess is that you enjoy this.”

  Moving to the other soft mound, he repeated the seductive motion. Again he stopped just short of the peak, which stood out in aching eagerness for his touch. “Shall I continue?”

  His thumb sketched invisible circles around her nipple, drawing nearer with each stroke, until it throbbed anxiously.

  “Grey—please …”

  “Then, perhaps you’d like this better.”

  Both palms cupped her breasts, lifting them slightly and pressing them together to deepen the place between them where she felt his warm, moist breath. With two dexterous fingertips, he pulled at the lace. The slow drag against her nipples made her gasp with pleasure.

  “Ah,” he said, his eyebrows lifting slightly. “That, you liked.”

  He pulled just slightly on the lace once more, and her nipples emerged, dark rose and erect. Only inches from his mouth. Her fingertips rested against his dark, glossy hair and tightened in shy encouragement, drawing him closer.

  His eyes met hers, innocently puzzled.

  Her tongue glided over her lower lip, and his pulse leapt at the thought of such a touch against his own skin. He drew his mouth nearer one rosy peak.

  “Yes?” A bold, slow, hot whisper that moved across her nipple in a tantalizing caress.

  “Yes,” she sighed.

  “No,” he said, smiling, his palms moving against her, drawing the silky lace in a sweet friction downward, revealing more
. He teased her other nipple, letting his breath flow there as he spoke. “’Twas a request for further instruction.”

  “What?” she whimpered distractedly.

  He slowly straightened the chemise, then lounged on one elbow beside her, and she gave a soft cry of frustration. As he scrutinized her, one palm stole lightly down her throat, resting over the swell of her breasts. “Distinct displeasure,” he murmured, his eyes blazing from her breasts to her face. “How might I make amends?”

  Her trembling hands shoved at his shoulders, and he collapsed in surprise against the mound of pillows behind him. He smiled as she rose over him, admiration flashing in his silver eyes. She framed his face and lowered her mouth to his in desperate desire.

  She didn’t know how to fight this fire he’d kindled, knew only that she wanted something she couldn’t begin to define. Her tongue suckled his into her mouth, an invitation and then a demand. She tore her lips from his, gasping. “I … ache for your touch, Grey.”

  Passion raged in his stormy eyes, and his hands slipped upward from her waist, cupping her breasts. “Better?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And this?” He captured her nipples between thumb and forefinger, rotating the hard tips. She gasped, arching helplessly into his touch.

  Desire rocked his body as she straddled his hips, straining closer. He felt the warm cradle of her femininity settle instinctively over his hardness, and his breath left him when she restlessly moved against him, her eyes meeting his. His veneer of nonchalance—that façade he’d erected to put her at ease—was gone, and he feared the strength of his passion for her might frighten her. Yet he was powerless to curb it. He grasped her waist, drawing her nearer until his mouth closed over one peak, suckling earnestly, fascinated at the taste and texture of her. He impatiently pulled at the straps of the chemise until her breasts were naked in his hands, and then in his mouth.

  There were no subtleties to his kiss; his head was swimming with the frank urgency of her desire. She whispered his name, thrust her fingertips through his hair and pulled him close, crying out as he flickered his tongue over her nipple. He thought he’d never heard a more pleasurable sound than her low, appreciative groan as he closed his teeth, and his hands tightened on her waist, arching her still closer into his touch. The soft fullness of her breasts pressed to him, the heady aroma of her, made waiting a nearly impossible feat. Good heavens, if this was only the beginning, what might the end be! Yet this exquisite joy—the sound of her pleasure, the hardness of her nipple within his mouth, the demanding encouragement of her, loving his touch—how could he deny himself?

  She felt the tremor of joy as he nibbled her breast, as his tongue played there, as he told her of his own pleasure with muted, wordless sounds. Withdrawing for just a moment, he moved to her other breast, lavishing the same erotic treatment on that throbbing peak. He saw the tight pink crown rise even higher, darkening to a rosy blush in anticipation.

  “Christ,” he gasped. “I can scarcely breathe at the sight of you so.”

  His gaze hot on her felt like a caress, before his mouth returned.

  “Can we do this all night?” she whispered, her fingers toying with his hair. She went still at the sensations he wrested from her.

  He chuckled, his fingers sliding over her voluminous skirts, gathering them in his fists. “Yes, but my heart may well stop.”

  He felt the smoothness of her legs clad only in silk stockings, and the satiny softness of her thighs above the stockings. His fingers curved around the lean thighs, smoothing upward to her hips, and his breath left him in a hiss. “Nothing underneath except the silk of your skin. Darling, what is it you have against undergarments?”

  She heard the bemused wonder in his whisper, and she smiled. “There are just so many of them. How did you know?”

  “You never wear stays. I knew it the night at the governor’s palace, when I held you. I wanted to have you there in the gardens.”

  She rose gracefully from the bed, letting the disheveled gown fall to the floor, taking the petticoat with it. As she hesitated, she saw his gaze narrow, heard his sharply indrawn breath. She grew suddenly shy, knowing what he saw. A hastily half-removed chemise caught beneath her breasts. Twin white stockings that rose to her thighs. And nothing else but milky curves. She reached for the petticoat, covering herself awkwardly.

  A dry chuckle came from him. “Ah, poppet. And you were doing so well.’

  Grasping the petticoat, he let it fall to the floor. He took her hand, his gaze sparkling with anticipation. “Shall we continue learning of pleasure?”

  “I don’t know if I can stand much more of it.”

  He leaned forward, touching her chin, pressing his mouth to hers. “You misunderstand whose pleasure I mean.” His voice fell to a low flurry of French.

  “Oh,” she sighed, bewitched by the soft murmur of his voice. “What did you say?”

  “In lovemaking, darling, it is infinitely more pleasurable to give than to receive.”

  Drawing her into the bed, he settled her comfortably astride his thighs, easily removing the chemise and letting it fall to the floor. His eyes never stopped as they moved over her in leisured appreciation. Large, strong hands soon followed, his palms curving around the delicate hollow of her waist, the flare of her hips, the strength of her slim thighs. He peeled off one stocking, and then the other. “You enjoy riding.”

  Her eyebrow rose suspiciously, and his grin was wicked. “Horses, my darling. You’ve a prurient mind.”

  She laughed softly.

  “I can see your love for the sport. I feel it in each line of your lovely thighs. As firm as the rest of you.”

  The warm palms skimmed upward between her thighs, and Rachel’s breath grew shallow with timid fascination as his gaze slowly rested on the dark curls there. Reaching out, he settled his palm over the female rise, and her breath caught. Long, strong fingertips were almost unsure as he touched her stomach, and his other hand rose ever higher along her thighs, reaching the juncture. Her eyes closed, and she gave a low sound of pleasure.

  Grey’s heartbeat doubled. His eyes shot open as he lightly explored the cleft there, exposed to his touch, and he slipped trembling fingertips down just slightly. His breath left him in an abrupt hush at what he found there. Her body yearned for his—she was ready for him, now—and his breath returned slowly as he dipped a finger into the sultry warmth. He heard her gasp, saw her eyes as they sparkled with expectant wonder. More than anything he wanted to taste her—but at the moment, he enjoyed watching her respond to his touch.

  Her position gave him intoxicating access to her secret female mysteries, and the wonder blazed in her eyes as he lightly played over the erect rise hidden in her flesh, as his other hand closed over a firm breast, as he leaned forward and captured an aching nipple within his mouth.

  Rachel had never known such blinding pleasure. His tongue and teeth incited sparks of yearning that sizzled along the tips of her breasts to the center of her body, where his fingers stroked, cajoled, lured her to a frightening place of abandon that she’d never felt before. His mouth released her wet, distended nipple, and she saw his eyes linger darkly there for a moment before he pressed warm, slow kisses from her breast to her waist. He shifted slightly in the bed, his hands cupping her hips, lifting her even as he raised her thighs over his shoulders.

  “Grey!”

  But his name dissolved on her tongue as all at once he settled her over his mouth. The intensity of pleasure shocked her as his mouth delved within her, and she instantly tried to draw away. His strong hands clutched at her hips, fixing her in place, and his kiss deepened. First a light, tentative exploration, then a knowing advance and retreat, and at last a seductive assault that sent an explosion of joy surging through her body.

  His name was a plea on her lips as he gentled his kiss, lowering her to the pillows and rising over her. She saw the solemn desire in his eyes, and her hands rested on his shoulders in bemusement. His sated smile
belied the yearning that raged inside him.

  “You’re—you’re still wearing your tie,” she murmured in wonder.

  “Easily remedied.” A grim smile tilted one corner of his mouth as he rose from the bed.

  She curled on one side, watching him undress. The act was intensely sexual. His eyes moved over her face, her breasts, her thighs, in deliberate enjoyment as he quickly unknotted the cravat and tossed it aside. The silk shirt followed, then the breeches and the rest. Rachel’s heart thudded heavily at the sight of him naked—powerful and vulnerable, needful and infinitely giving, beautiful and very male. He rested one knee against the bed, his eyes somber.

  “Give me your promise that you’ll love no other,” he said, cupping her chin. “For you have mine.”

  “I promise.” She touched the hard muscles of his arms, then the supple shoulders, pressing her lips there. She felt the scars, but said only, “Grey, I want to give you the pleasure you’ve given me.”

  His mouth settled over hers as he molded her breasts. “It would give me pleasure,” he whispered, “to feel your female softness—that intoxicating joy I just tasted—surrounding me.”

  She felt the arrogant male thrust warm on her thigh, and as she touched him, her thighs parted in instinctive need.

  He gave a soft groan at her invitation, and as his mouth suckled once more at her nipple, his hand closed around hers, tutoring her in the strokes that pleasured him. Even as he stroked her with his tongue, his hips moved slightly, and he sought shelter within her. One dark hand slid between their bodies, and she went weak as he fondled her, as he began shallow, teasing thrusts, reaching the thin barrier that reminded him no man had ever known the path he traveled tonight.

  His fingertips stroked her, kindling a desire that yearned for his full, abandoned thrust. She thought he meant to distract her from pain; she didn’t know that watching her orgasm was one of the fiercest sexual pleasures he’d ever known. Her hips arched, and he knowingly increased his beguiling motions until the sensation rocked her, eclipsing all else as he sank within her.