Andrea Kane

by Music Box

  “I have an idea,” Thane interrupted. “Why don’t you and Gabrielle spend your wedding night as these fine people have planned? When Goodsmith drives you to the village, I’ll follow behind in your carriage, which I’ll then leave at the inn. That way, you and Gabrielle can ride on to Town whenever you wish, and I’ll travel back here with Goodsmith.”

  “Excellent,” Bryce agreed with utter relief, having loathed the disappointment he’d seen flicker across Goodsmith’s face. “I wasn’t much in the mood for a long trip after this superb celebration anyway.”

  Goodsmith’s broken-toothed smile was back in place. “I’ll fetch the carriage.”

  “Thank you,” Bryce muttered to his brother.

  Thane grinned. “Think nothing of it. I suspect there’s more than a bit of truth to your statement about not wanting to travel too long today.” A quick glance at Gaby’s retreating figure. “Nor do I blame you.” He extended his hand to Bryce. “My best to you both. I wish you a long and happy life together.”

  Bryce clasped his brother’s fingers, the warmth that had sprung up between them an added bonus to his newfound joy. “Thank you.” A flicker of amusement. “Incidentally, I look forward—in the not-too-distant future—to watching Hermione work her miracles on you.”

  An hour later—including fifteen minutes of preparation and forty-five minutes of good-byes—Gaby and Bryce were on their way.

  “I doubt any bride ever had a more perfect wedding day,” Gaby told Bryce with a contented sigh, settling herself on the carriage’s polished leather seat as Goodsmith guided the horses onto the main road.

  Bryce nodded, swinging across to sit beside his bride. “I don’t know how they managed everything. You were right—our family is extraordinary.” He tilted Gaby’s chin up, his knuckles caressing her cheek. “And so are you. When you first walked into that chapel, you nearly brought me to my knees. That’s how beautiful you looked.”

  “It was the gown.”

  “No. It was the bride.” Bryce’s thumbs grazed Gaby’s cheekbones, stroked the delicate contours of her face. “You’re mine now,” he said fervently.

  “Ummm.” Gaby made a small, appreciative sound, reaching up to stroke her husband’s jaw. “Yours. I like the sound of that.”

  Lowering his head, Bryce kissed her, the sensual exploration sending tiny skyrockets of desire through them both.

  “Thane was right. I’m suddenly very glad we aren’t traveling all the way to London,” Bryce murmured huskily. “In fact, even the inn seems too far away.”

  With a shiver, Gaby wrapped her arms about his neck. “I promised Aunt Hermione I’d retire early,” she breathed against his lips.

  “Because of your head?”

  “No. Because of my husband.”

  A harsh groan vibrated through Bryce’s chest and he literally tore himself from Gaby’s arms, wrenching down the window to shout: “Goodsmith, pick up speed.”

  Goodsmith’s good-natured laughter reached their ears, and an instant later the carriage lurched forward as the horses broke into a rapid trot. “I’ll have you there in twenty minutes,” Goodsmith called back. “Try admiring the scenery.”

  “I am,” Bryce muttered, his restless gaze roving over his wife. “That’s why I’m in a hurry.”

  For once Goodsmith didn’t chatter endlessly. Upon their arrival, he merely assisted Gaby and Bryce with their bags, wished them a fine life together, and took his leave—after reminding the innkeeper that this was the newly married couple whose arrival he’d been told to expect and whose treatment should be every bit as regal as had been previously arranged.

  The innkeeper nodded sagely, then registered Gaby and Bryce as quick as a wink and escorted them to the loveliest room in the inn. “You have a choice view from your window … Never mind,” he interrupted himself. “I don’t suppose you’ll be doing much stargazing.” With a discreet cough, he added that they shouldn’t hesitate to ask for anything their hearts desired, including any food they wanted sent up—day or night. He droned on a bit more—words Gaby and Bryce scarcely heard—and then, seeing the way the bride and groom kept staring at each other, he took his leave.

  Heated tension crackled in the air the instant the inn door shut, leaving Gaby and Bryce finally and blissfully alone.

  Gaby watched Bryce bolt the door, her heart pounding so hard she feared it might explode from her chest.

  “There’s wine on the nightstand,” Bryce noted, never taking his eyes off Gaby. “Obviously another romantic touch arranged by our family.” He crossed over, caught Gaby’s shoulders in his hands, massaged them with his thumbs. “Would you like some? I could pour—”

  “No.” Gaby shook her head, her cheeks flushed with anticipation. “Not now. Later. Now all I want is us.”

  “Gaby.” Bryce caressed the nape of her neck. “I have two questions for you.”

  A hint of a smile. “That seems to be becoming a habit.”

  Bryce didn’t return her smile. “First, are you in any pain or discomfort, or do you feel weak?”

  “No,” she answered without hesitation. “I’m far too exhilarated to hurt. And weak?” Her palms glided up his waistcoat. “Only my knees are weak. And that has nothing to do with my injuries.”

  A sharp intake of breath. “Second, are you in any way nervous or unsure about what’s going to happen between us? Because if so, I want to ease those uncertainties now. Once I take you in my arms, I want there to be nothing but—”

  “Wonderland?” she teased breathlessly. “Because that’s all there will be.” Reaching up, she unfastened the top buttons of Bryce’s shirt. “No, I’m not nervous. I’m also not unsure.” She stood on tiptoe, kissed the warm expanse of skin she’d just bared at his throat. “I have a keen imagination and exceptional instincts.” She dispensed with another button, tugged at his tie. “And when I falter, I’m confident that my brilliant barrister husband will provide the proper counsel.” An inquisitive lift of her brows. “Have I answered both your questions?”

  With a shudder of need, Bryce caught Gaby’s hands, placed them around his neck. “Kiss me,” he commanded, tugging her against him. “Let me drown in your sweetness.”

  Gaby complied eagerly, lifting her mouth to Bryce’s, whispering his name as his lips closed over hers, molded and tasted her with dizzying thoroughness, unwavering purpose.

  She opened her lips to his tongue, warmth seeping through her in sharp waves as the kiss grew more urgent in its intensity. Bryce cupped her head in his hands, cradling it so as to shield it from pain as his mouth devoured hers, their breath mingling in harsh, broken pants.

  “I want to make this last,” Bryce rasped, shaking in an effort to slow down. “But I’m not sure how much control I have. Sweetheart, I want you so much …”

  Even his words made Gaby’s body tighten, her breasts tingling with awareness, a liquid warmth converging inside her, pooling low in her abdomen.

  “Control is not for wedding nights,” she murmured. “Control is for court hearings.” She pushed the frock coat from his shoulders. “I’ve ached for you since that night in my bedchamber. Please, Bryce, make the ache go away.”

  With a low growl, Bryce relented, dropping his coat to the floor, then dispensing with the buttons on Gaby’s gown, tugging it down and away from her. He lifted her in his arms, carried her to the bed, divesting her of petticoats and stockings as he walked. By the time he laid her on the bedcovers, only a thin chemise and silk drawers separated him from his goal.

  Pausing, Bryce gazed down at his wife, reaching forward to pull free whatever pins still remained in her hair. Slowly, his fingers glided through the satiny tresses, spread them over the pillow in a shimmering chestnut waterfall.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said reverently, his palms sliding down the sides of her neck, over the curve of her shoulders to the top of her chemise. “I wish I could prolong this moment, stand here for hours just absorbing your beauty, exploring every inch of you with my eyes and my ha
nds.” Holding her gaze, he began unbuttoning the chemise, his fingers hard, urgent, his expression taut with desire. “But I can’t.” An incredulous pause. “I just can’t.”

  “Don’t.” Gaby was quivering under Bryce’s touch, her untutored body clamoring for the pleasures she knew lay ahead. She shifted restlessly, willing each button free of its casing, squirming free of the undergarment the instant she could.

  Bryce tossed aside the chemise, his hands molding Gaby’s breasts, cupping their weight, his thumbs skimming the tightly budded nipples—once, twice—his caresses hot, fervent.

  Gaby whimpered aloud, sensations burning through her like wildfire. She arched up from the bed, seeking closer contact with her husband’s hands, desperate to feel more of his touch. Bryce exhaled sharply, releasing her only long enough to yank open the buttons of her drawers, slide the silken garment down her legs, then cast it to the floor.

  For a brief moment Gaby lay still, watching her husband’s reaction to her nudity. “Bryce?” she asked tentatively.

  “Too exquisite for words,” he replied in an aching whisper. He worshiped her with his eyes, then his fingers, caressing her legs, her hips, her thighs. Ever so gently he eased her thighs apart, brushing the dark cloud between them with butterfly strokes that sent skyrockets of pleasure coursing through her—and made lying still a virtual impossibility.

  Scrambling to her knees, Gaby yanked at the remaining buttons of her husband’s shirt and waistcoat, willing her fingers to stop shaking long enough to complete their task.

  Bryce did it for her.

  He wrenched off his clothing in a few tugs, not pausing until he stood before her, gloriously naked. Gaby inched forward on the bed, staring and touching all at once. She rested her palms on Bryce’s chest, marveling at the warm, hair-roughened surface, the rippling muscle beneath. She could feel the wild beating of his heart, feel each rasping breath as it vibrated through him. Her thumbs skimmed his nipples, and she watched in fascination as they reacted much as hers had, tightening and hardening with each caress. Continuing her explorations, she swept her hands across the broad expanse of his shoulders, down the powerful muscles of his arms.

  Abruptly, she shifted, and Bryce’s abdomen contracted as her fingers grazed it, hovering as she stared wonderingly at the glorious evidence of his arousal, the rigid length of him that proclaimed him a man. Without hesitation or modesty, Gaby touched him there, her forefinger gliding along the taut surface of his manhood, discovering it to be rock hard yet satin smooth. She wrapped her small hand around him, savoring his size, his texture, the exhilarating pulse-beat of life that throbbed within him.

  “Oh, Bryce,” she breathed, lifting her enchanted gaze to his. “You’re magnificent.”

  That seemed to break what little control Bryce had left.

  With a guttural sound of need, he seized her wrist, dragged her hand from its goal. “Stop,” he commanded. “Now.” He hauled her into his arms, toppled them both to the bed, rolling Gaby beneath him and devouring her mouth with his—again and again—shuddering as she wrapped her arms around him, met his urgency with her own.

  Neither of them could breathe. Neither of them cared.

  In one fervent motion, Bryce nudged her thighs apart, tearing his mouth from hers so he could watch her face as his fingers opened her, glided over her satiny wetness, then slipped inside.

  Gaby’s breath caught in her throat, every nerve ending shimmering to life, converging into a frantic yearning right where Bryce’s fingertips had just teased. “Oh …” Her eyes widened, her entire body melting and tightening all at once as it responded wildly to her husband’s caress. With a will all their own, her hips lifted, urging him to take her deeper into this enthralling vortex of sensation. Bryce gritted his teeth, stroking softly, intimately, his fingers gliding more fully inside her, his thumb simultaneously caressing the tiny bud that screamed for more.

  “Bryce …” Gaby wondered if she’d die, the pleasure was so acute.

  “Yes,” he responded through clenched teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. “God, you’re so small. So tight. So bloody perfect.” A hard shake of his head. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Hurt me?” Gaby was frenzied with sensation. Hurt her? In some part of her passion-drugged mind, she remembered there was to be pain the first time. But at that moment, the very idea seemed incomprehensible. How could there be pain when every inch of her was vibrating with pleasure?

  “Damn,” she heard Bryce mutter, battling himself as he deepened his presence in her body. “So incredibly soft. You feel like hot silk.” His thumb caressed that magical spot once more, making Gaby cry out, shift restlessly on the bed.

  “Again,” she pleaded, moving against his hand as she sought that unbearably thrilling and elusive contact. “What you just did … please … do it again.”

  Groaning, Bryce complied, caressing her exactly where she needed him—not once, not twice, but in slow, breathtakingly exciting continuous circles. “Like this?” he breathed into her parted lips.

  “Oh … God …” Gaby couldn’t speak. She clung to her husband, unaware of anything but his touch, the havoc it was wreaking on her. Molten flame spread through her loins, and her eyes slid shut, every fiber of her being concentrated on some unknown pinnacle of sensation that hovered just out of reach.

  She felt Bryce shift his position, his fingers never halting their sensual onslaught, and all at once the full, wondrous weight of him was upon her. His thighs pressed hers wide apart, wedging themselves between, exposing her more completely to the intimate stroke of his fingertips. Reflexively she molded herself to him, lifting her legs to hug his flanks, her hips wild in their undulations.

  “Gaby …” His mouth was on hers again, his tongue taking hers in unbearably erotic strokes—deep, slow—matching the gliding presence of his fingers.

  Then the gliding penetration vanished, leaving Gaby suddenly and acutely empty, devoid of Bryce’s presence inside her. His thumb continued to make its dizzying circles, but it wasn’t enough to fill the emptiness. She needed more.

  “No!” She shook her head wildly, then moaned in pleasure when she felt him entering her again. “Don’t … go.”

  “I won’t.” His hips were moving now too, his thighs rigid between hers. “God help me, I can’t.”

  It was different this time. He was stretching her, taking her more totally, and the ecstasy building beneath his thumb burgeoned, intensified by the thick, full feel of him inside her. He was hot, throbbing, forging a path inside her where none had existed but which yearned for his possession.

  He was joining his body with hers.

  Gaby’s eyes flew open as realization mingled with sensation. “Bryce …” She was utterly and abruptly aware of this moment—this moment and her husband, his shoulders taut with the exertion of restraint, his features stark with need, slick with sweat, his rigid shaft pressing deeper and deeper inside her.

  “Does it hurt?” he rasped, his hips rocking back and forth, faster, more urgently with each motion, his progress eased by her slick, pliant flesh as it yielded eagerly to his penetration.

  “No. Oh, no.” Instinctively, she arched when he pushed, feeling the resulting pressure and not giving a damn. “You’re inside me,” she breathed, her heart touched as deeply as her body. “It truly is a miracle.” Another undulation of her hips. “Bryce, don’t hold back. I want to feel everything.”

  Throwing back his head, Bryce emitted a desperate sound of primal male need. “God, Gaby, so do I.” He was pushing harder now, unable to continue modifying his pace so as to enter her by the measured degrees he’d been allowing. “Sweetheart!”

  Suddenly he went very still, his muscles flexed, his thumb pausing in its assault.

  Startled by the suspension of pleasure, Gaby felt her focus alter sharply, reconverging on her own body and the screaming protest that jolted through it at this unbearable lull. She hovered at the very brink of sensation, unwilling to retreat, unable to reach the pe
ak she so desperately craved. Frantically she arched, whimpered, begged Bryce to take her over the edge.

  He did.

  The deliberately withheld, now deliberately bestowed caress was neither slow nor tentative. It was total, erotic, Bryce’s fingers gliding directly over the tight little bud that throbbed for his touch and remaining there—rubbing, stroking—until it became too much.

  Gaby shattered.

  Screaming Bryce’s name, she dug her nails into his back, arching upward, her legs gripping him tightly as her body clenched, then unraveled. She dissolved into climax, convulsing again and again in exquisite spasms of release, gripping the entire length of Bryce’s engorged manhood in fingers of fire.

  With a triumphant shout, Bryce thrust forward, burying himself in her climax, tearing the thin veil of her innocence and plunging immediately over the edge. His hips pumped wildly as he gave in to the clawing demand of his loins, exploding inside her in a scalding, unending release, pouring himself into the very mouth of her womb.

  Gaby cried out again, everything inside her opening in a rush, reveling in the sensation of Bryce’s seed as it spurted hotly into her. The intimacy and magnitude of his climax only served to intensify hers, and her contractions began anew—harder, more powerful this time, spiraling higher and higher until the very room seemed to spin away.

  Perhaps she lost consciousness; perhaps she only drifted.

  Awareness returned in increments—the softness of the bed beneath her, the blissful weight of her husband’s body blanketing hers, even the slowing of their heartbeats, the shallowness of their breathing as it gradually returned to normal.

  Savoring this glorious aftermath, Gaby gave a shivery sigh, tracing the damp planes of Bryce’s back, the muscles now utterly relaxed beneath her fingertips. She felt weak, boneless and replete, her entire body suffused with a joy too profound to describe.

  Bryce shuddered at her touch, murmuring her name as the lingering droplets of his seed trickled into her.

  Another long moment passed.

  “Gaby.” Ever so slowly Bryce raised his head, struggling to recapture his strength, his ability to think. “Sweetheart”—his fingertips brushed her face—“are you all right?” He made an attempt to move, then gave it up, instead rolling to one side and taking Gaby with him. “Gaby?”