His eyes sharpened on her as she stepped closer. “Come back to bed, Grace.”
His deep voice curled around her, warmer and more inviting than a fire on a wet winter afternoon. She shivered and planted her feet on the richly patterned Turkish rug in the middle of the room.
“I suppose you want to do it again,” she said flatly.
She hardly needed to ask. The gleam in his eyes was confirmation enough.
“Yes, I do.” He shifted across and folded the sheet back for her. “This time I want you to enjoy it too.”
“Women don’t enjoy sex.” Then an admission she’d never made to a living soul. The occasion required honesty, not face-saving bravado. “At least I never have.”
“Perhaps you’ve never had the right lover.”
She’d been wrong. He was indeed as vain as any other man. Old cynicism forced its way upward. “And you’re that right lover?”
Her sarcasm was petty but something in her cried out for a shouting match. Perhaps the persistent, provoking itch between her legs.
“I ask your forgiveness.” Shamed color marked his cheekbones. “The experience was overwhelming in a way I hadn’t expected.”
She blushed too, remembering when he’d thundered into her like an emperor conquering a rebel city. No mistaking how lost he’d been to sheer physical sensation.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Her voice shook and those annoying tears prickled again. “It’s not your fault there’s…there’s something wrong with me.”
His eyes lit with understanding as he patted the space at his side. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect. Come back to bed and I’ll show you.”
“Said the spider to the fly,” she retorted without budging. She focused on that tanned, long-fingered hand moving upon the pure white of the sheet. The gentle stroking was astonishingly…suggestive. Another spark of unwilling desire fizzed through her.
He still stared at her. “You said you trust me, Grace. Is that true?”
Was it? She didn’t know anymore. She forced herself to give a stiff little nod. “Yes.”
“Then prove it. Come back to bed.”
Oh, why not? He’d take her again. She was more certain of that than that the sun would rise on the morrow. At least one of them would enjoy it.
Still, only with the greatest reluctance did she step forward and slip in beside him. “Should I take off my clothes?”
“Later,” he said gently. “I rushed you last time.”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference.” Her voice was thick with suppressed tears. “I’ve never been any good at this. I thought it might be otherwise with you, but…”
“It wasn’t. I know I have amends to make.”
She wished he wouldn’t be kind. But he was a kind man. He’d been guilty of nothing more than excess enthusiasm at holding a woman in his arms at last. He’d tried his best to engage her participation before he took her.
His kindness and his awful loneliness, more than any wish to repeat the embarrassing, frustrating act, made her lie back. She tried to inject a note of humor into the fraught atmosphere. “Do your worst.”
He gave a soft laugh. In spite of everything, that laugh shivered through her and made her hot and uncomfortable again.
“My darling Grace, give me some credit. This time I intend to do my best.”
Chapter 16
Matthew twisted up on one arm to look down into Grace’s face. The view, while exquisite, wasn’t encouraging. Her expression was shuttered and her body vibrated with tension.
He was ready to embrace a radiant new world. She wanted to snap his head off.
He couldn’t blame her. Jesus, what a lumbering oaf he was.
Making love had opened a dazzling dimension of experience to him. Experience beyond anything he’d ever imagined. In his loneliness, he’d spent a lot of time imagining.
But he’d been unprepared for the heat, the closeness, the way he inhaled his lover’s sweat and breath and responses. The intimacy had been glorious. And astonishing.
He felt bound to Grace now. Forever.
Tonight’s joy would always be a thread of bright gold woven through his life’s ragged fabric.
He’d passed through a transforming fire.
She hadn’t.
He’d blundered badly. He was merely human and he’d been drunk with elation at making her his at last. All his desperate yearning and aching frustration had erupted into an inferno of release.
Finesse had been too much to ask.
God help him, he needed finesse now. More than he’d ever needed anything in his misbegotten life.
Somehow he must awaken the passion that infused every drop of her blood, every ounce of her flesh. He must heal the wounds her husband had left to fester in her heart. Even if that bastard Paget hadn’t harmed her physically, he’d wounded her soul. Perhaps mortally.
How was he to succeed? He was a novice. More a novice than she. And she was more a novice, he now realized, than he’d allowed for.
All he had were instincts and an almighty need to share the wild rapture he’d found in her arms.
Surely she was wrong about women never enjoying sex. Even as a boy, he’d known females interested in bed sport. And his school friends had been vocal about girls who were hot for it.
Not overwhelming evidence, but enough to raise doubts whether every woman endured the act merely for the sake of procreation or as wifely duty.
You’re a scientist. Approach this with your brain, not your balls.
He sucked in a deep breath and tried to list the facts as he would before a botanical experiment. Grueling when his mind clouded with desire and the woman he wanted more than life lay quivering with uncertainty beside him.
He closed his eyes and bit back a groan. Her beauty lured him to discard good intentions.
Focus still eluded him. Denying himself the sight of her only made him more aware of her scent, her warmth, the soft huff of her shallow breathing.
Hell, everything about her was temptation.
He had to do this right. For both their sakes.
Think, man. Think.
Grace had enjoyed kissing. She’d also enjoyed his touch.
Things had proceeded better than expected until he’d spread her legs.
She’d said kisses were a good start. He opened his eyes to find her watching him with a troubled dark blue gaze. Her top teeth snagged her lower lip.
He bent to nip at her mouth until she released that poor tortured lip, then he settled his lips fully upon hers. She made a tiny sound of protest or surprise. He couldn’t tell which.
Don’t let her be afraid of him.
The thought was unbearable. He was on the verge of stopping when he felt an almost imperceptible relaxation, the faintest answer to his tentative kiss.
It was going to be all right. If he was careful. If he kept his head.
Christ, let him keep his head this time.
Slowly, slowly, he buffed his lips back and forth over hers, learning shape and texture and taste. Apart from the kiss, he didn’t touch her. Beneath the undemanding caress, her tension slowly drained away.
From breath to breath, he lived through each minuscule change in her response. He knew he was winning when he drew away slightly and she angled after him to capture his mouth.
The kiss deepened, but not too much. He intended to beguile her into pleasure.
He continued the teasing, soft, tormenting kisses. She lay on her back and he leaned over her. It was almost a game. Or would have been if he wasn’t blind with need. If he wasn’t painfully hard with wanting her.
When her mouth was warm and supple under his, he slid down in the bed. Carefully, he took her in his arms, turning her on her side to face him.
She jerked with sudden nervousness. The rigidity returned to her body. “Matthew, I’m not sure,” she whispered, her breath a sweet drift across his face. “I’m not sure I can go through this again. Even for you.”
Once more he cursed his earlier clumsiness. “I’ll stop if you ask me to.” He hoped to God that was true. He hoped to God she wouldn’t test his promise. Delicious as this slow seduction was, his desire seethed closer to the boil with every second.
He kissed her again. His hand traced the frozen straightness of her spine. He kept his touch unthreatening. Up and down. Up and down. Learning the graceful, slender line of her back. Soothing each tight muscle.
Gradually her stiffness faded, increment by increment. She sighed and moved into his touch. The soft night rail brushed his cock.
His shuddering reaction almost made him yelp.
Easy, Matthew, easy.
He needed to cherish her like his most precious rose. He needed to coax her to bloom, to give up her beauty just for him. Patience would reap its own reward.
She no longer lay taut and unresponsive. Her body had regained its lovely sinuousness. Her breath came in excited little puffs and her breasts pressed, full and luscious, to his bare chest. Only the sheer nightdress separated him from her skin as they lay side by side.
He bit back a pained groan.
Jesus, this was impossible. He was mere inches from shoving her onto her back, ripping the rag from her body, and driving into her.
Control.
Holding himself back was more difficult than learning to walk after his madness, learning to speak, learning to read. This stretched his nerves to breaking. This twisted every sinew into a painful tangle of yearning. This threatened to fry his brain in his skull.
Somehow through the overwhelming need, he kept his kisses light, gentle.
This time when she bumped her belly against his cock, he knew she did it deliberately.
Triumph flashed through him.
Such a small concession. The first of many, he hoped.
He’d learned caution. He didn’t mistake her hesitant cooperation for permission to rush to completion. He snatched at resolution. Close to impossible when her hot scent swirled around him and threatened to submerge him.
With a superhuman effort, he ignored his urges and focused on igniting hers. He remembered how she’d trembled when he kissed her neck. He tucked the thought away and closed his eyes, concentrating on her mouth.
Finally, when her body folded against his with the beautiful naturalness of a water lily opening on a lake, she gave a tiny sigh and parted her lips. Immediately, his tongue plunged inside.
She growled deep in her throat and slid closer. Her hands crept up to tangle in his hair. Her tongue rasped against his, ventured into his mouth in a quick exploration, then returned for a longer foray. Searing desire zigzagged through him.
He wondered if she even knew what she did. He doubted it. She was lost in kisses. Only reminding himself what was at stake prevented him from becoming similarly lost.
She’d trusted him this far. If he failed her, she’d never trust him again.
How excruciating to hold to his goal when she clung so tightly. Or when his tongue was so deep in her mouth.
Too intense. Too much. Too soon. Patience.
Damn bloody patience. He snapped and snarled at that restraining voice.
He needed her so much. He needed her now.
Even so, he drew back from the edge. Eased the pressure on her mouth. Broke the long succulent exploration into smaller, quicker kisses.
He burned to taste her everywhere. To find out if all of her was as sweet as that honey trap of a mouth. He shifted her onto her back and licked his way down her neck to the fragrant curve of a shoulder. She quivered and made a muffled sound of excitement. Her legs rubbed against his in a devilishly suggestive dance and her breath emerged in rapid gusts.
Oh, yes, his strategy worked, all right. It might even succeed if he didn’t shatter into a million shards of frustration first. He nipped and sucked at her sensitive neck and tasted her shivers of surrender.
Only when she gasped and mewed with pleasure did he lift his head.
Flushed with desire, she sprawled against the white sheets. Beautiful. Her eyes were dark and heavy, the pupils so dilated, they almost swallowed the rich blue of her irises.
He slid his hand down to raise the hem of the nightdress, revealing long slender legs. Her intoxicating scent assailed him anew, made the blood surge in his veins.
Jesus, she’d kill him before she finished.
Somewhere he found the strength to rein himself in.
He uncovered the soft plain of her belly. The skin there was so pure and white. He couldn’t help kissing it, dipping his tongue into her navel, nibbling a path from one hip to the other. She was his territory and he wanted to map every glorious inch. He nuzzled her hipbone where she curved so deliciously. His hand moved up and down her leg, learning the perfect shape of thigh and knee and calf.
Her different textures fascinated him.
What a magnificent mystery was a woman. Was Grace.
He didn’t dare touch her sex yet. Even if the incense of her musky arousal promised to send him spinning to the sky.
She moaned again and moved agitatedly on the sheets. He prayed he goaded her into a fever of desire. He certainly goaded himself into one.
Through years of suffering, he’d learned discipline. He beat back the ravening beast inside him.
He bunched the nightdress higher, revealing the plump undersides of her breasts. The barrier of fabric, flimsy as it was, had become unbearable.
“Take it off,” he growled. “Take it off or I’ll tear it to pieces.”
“Wait,” she said breathlessly. She wriggled up against the pillows to tug the nightdress over her head.
No teasing fiddle with the ties this time.
Hell, if she teased him now, he’d damn well explode.
His blood pounded hot and heavy, louder than thunder. With a shuddering breath, he knelt over her, straddling her hips. He filled his hands with her breasts, luxuriating in their beauty, cupping their roundness.
When he bent to kiss one puckered raspberry nipple, her body jerked in startled reaction. But she didn’t move away.
Invitation to continue. He took her in his mouth. She tasted like a perfect summer. He sucked gently, laving the whorled tip. Her gasp made him pause.
He raised his head. She looked confused, dazed. Luscious.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No.” Then in a rush, “I…I like it.”
“Good. So do I.” This time he sucked harder, flicking at her with his tongue. She moaned and buried one shaking hand in his hair, urging him closer. He needed no further encouragement.
Although the command patience wore threadbare, he took his time.
He learned what made her shudder, what made her sigh. He became so attuned to her that every touch of teeth or lips or fingers offered pleasure.
She writhed in his arms, tangling her legs with his, fighting for air. He trailed one hand across her stomach to the soft curls that hid her sex.
She made a soft sound of desire and arched up.
He slipped his hand between her legs. The merest brush of his fingers in her moisture and she jerked in response. She was so sleek and hot.
Not being inside her was torture. But it was still too soon. Even while she shivered and quaked with reaction.
He found one particular place that made her cry out. He scraped his teeth over a tight nipple and touched her between the legs again.
Her spine bowed and she bit back a scream. A hot flood drenched his fingers. His nostrils flared as the scent of her arousal rose stronger, sharper.
How could she call herself a cold woman? She was living flame. She flickered and burned and glowed and her heat warmed him to the depths of his soul.
“Oh, Matthew,” she said on a long sigh, opening herself wider to his hand. “Matthew…”
He loved the way she no longer hesitated over his name. He loved the way she moved restlessly under his seeking fingers as if she wanted more.
Perhaps at last she wanted him.
He
rained kisses down her ribs and over her belly and across her thighs. Then he used his hands to nudge her legs further apart.
The flushed, plump folds of her sex were as beautiful as any flower. More beautiful. As with any flower, his impulse was to bury his face in it, to inhale its essence.
He’d promised himself he’d kiss every part of her.
It was a promise he meant to keep, by God.
Grace lay back on the pillows, basking in the worship of Matthew’s mouth and hands. The sweetness of what he did made the breath catch in her throat. She’d found a lover who set her blood singing. He touched her with such reverence, even when he pushed her to her limits. Who would have thought a man could subvert her control? What a grand and amazing discovery.
How strange that this untried youth taught the widow about sensuality.
She should put him out of his misery, tell him to take her. He’d given her pleasure beyond her wildest dreams. He deserved a reward.
But she loved what he did. She didn’t want it to end, selfish cat she was. He made her feel like a goddess.
If the ultimate act offered nothing but endurance, she could bear it. As long as he touched her again the way he touched her tonight.
Those fiendishly skilled hands—where had he learned such things?—pushed her legs further apart.
Oh, heavens, was he going to touch her there again? She closed her eyes and braced for shivery delight.
Nothing happened.
His hands stayed tantalizingly close to where she wanted them, but not close enough. She bit her lip to muffle a frustrated moan.
Oh, Grace, you are a wanton. The angels despair of you.
She opened her eyes.
He was looking at her. At her…there.
She couldn’t mistake the unalloyed yearning on his face as he knelt between her white thighs.
It should disgust her. He should disgust her.
But the idea of him seeing that hidden part of her made her shake with raw excitement.
A good woman would close her legs, roll away, cover herself.
A good woman wouldn’t be in this bed in the first place.
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