He took his sweet time in deepening it, tasting just her mouth as though it was the sweetest exotic fruit until her palm cupped his cheek and she gave in to the urge to run her fingers through his hair.
By the time his tongue softly tangled with hers, her body had remembered exactly how much she had always enjoyed this and just how much she needed it. Needed him. Nobody had ever kissed her like Owen Wolfe and with the blurring and passing of time, he thankfully didn’t disappoint. It was exactly the same—only better.
A confident man’s kiss rather than that of the gauche stable boy.
Lydia’s arms coiled around his neck and she pressed her body against him, sighing when his arms looped around her waist and anchored her in place. Owen was absolutely right. They shouldn’t rush this. It was such a decadent kiss, it deserved to be thoroughly enjoyed.
She allowed herself to be carried away by both the romance and the sensations. The sublime feel of his mouth on hers. The strength of his arms. The erratic beat of his heart. The impressive breadth of his shoulders. The enthralling feel of his big hands on her waist, her hips and then the possessive fervour as they finally settled on her bottom and the kiss became more intense.
‘Do you still feel awkward?’
She felt his answering smile against her mouth. ‘Not so much any more. You?’
He deserved the truth now that she knew this mattered to him. ‘I’ve always adored kissing you, Owen. I’ve missed it.’
‘Me, too.’
His lips and teeth knew all her sensitive places as they slowly made their way to her ear and then her neck, but this time, undoubtedly because she wasn’t hampered by the bonds of what was proper, she wanted to feel them everywhere. Boldly, she gave in to the urge to explore his body, running her palms over his back and along the taut muscles in his arms. And when that wasn’t enough, it was Lydia once again who tugged them to lie down on the mattress; she, too, who pushed his coat from his shoulders, needing to be closer to him.
Needing more than just a kiss. ‘Let’s not go too slowly.’
‘Well, if you want more, Wife… I’m more than happy to oblige.’ Laughing, he rolled on to his back, dragging her to lie above him, and she felt his desire through the layers of their clothing, hard and insistent and welcome against her tummy. The promise of things to come. Only this time no longer forbidden, but necessary.
So very necessary, she deepened the kiss and writhed against him in obvious invitation.
But again, he wouldn’t be hurried. As her eager fingers undid the long line of annoying buttons on his waistcoat, he unwound her plait until her hair encompassed them like a curtain, all the while kissing her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
She moaned when those hands cupped her bottom again, then slowly began to explore her curves over her nightgown while his talented mouth continued its deadly assault on her lips. ‘I’ve dreamed of this… Dreamed of you, Lydia…’ His voice was laced with desire and perhaps emotion as he paused to stare deep into her eyes through the darkness and, to her surprise, she realised she wanted it to be both. His desire and his emotion. Exactly as they had had before—but he kissed her instead of elaborating and she had to make do with what she thought that intensely intimate and searing kiss meant rather than hearing it come from his mouth.
Until it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered beyond her and him and the shared passion which engulfed them. As always, when she was thoroughly overwhelmed with Owen, time stood still. She had no idea how long they kissed for. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. All she knew was that with each stroke of his tongue her desire for him built until she feared she might explode from the wanting.
She needed his hands on her skin. Needed to feel his bare skin against hers. And because he was being too much the gentleman still—and she didn’t know how to ask him—she tugged the hem of his shirt from the waistband of his breeches and allowed her greedy palms to explore his chest as she pushed the fabric upwards. His skin was hot and smooth, the light dusting of hair intriguing as it narrowed over his stomach. With the absence of proper light and because she was too consumed with him to be shy, where her fingers went her lips followed and she revelled in the way he seemed to unravel at her touch.
At her insistence, he pulled his shirt off, allowing her to explore his shoulders properly with her needy palms, teeth and tongue. Then his arms. She could feel the slightly raised outline of his tattoo in the darkness. The way his nipples pebbled and he shivered at her touch. Every gasp. Every sigh. Every quiver of pleasure.
But still it wasn’t enough and she needed to be closer, needed him to stop being so respectful in the way he touched her. Because only mindless naked flesh against naked flesh would do, she kissed him like a starving woman, wrenching her nightgown up until her bare breasts were pressed flat against his ribs.
Yet still he held back.
‘Why won’t you touch me?’
He tore his mouth from hers then and she could just about make out his stormy irises as he stared intently into her eyes.
‘Because I need to know you are sure.’ His voice was ragged, thick with desire, and it made her feel powerful and feminine and sinfully wanton. ‘I need to know you truly want this, Lydia…that you want me.’
It was his hesitation that did it, combined with the longing in his voice. He wasn’t immune or cold or vexing in his hesitation. He was vulnerable. This mattered to him. She mattered to him.
‘I want you, Owen. All of you.’ Then, because it was true, she said what she sensed he needed to hear. ‘I always have.’
His next kiss was gloriously carnal. He sat with her astride his lap, his hungry mouth barely leaving hers for a split second as he dispensed with the barrier of her nightgown. Then his hands went on a slow exploration of frustratingly still-unchartered territory, smoothing possessively along her thighs, her hips, her ribcage before he finally filled them with her aching breasts and she moaned aloud, his thumbs tracing lazy circles around her taut nipples as he groaned into her mouth.
‘You’re beautiful.’
And she felt beautiful.
Because she could feel how much he wanted her. It was obvious in every laboured breath, the tense cords of his muscles and in the intriguingly insistent press of his hardness against her body. And Lydia revelled in it all, her back arching as his clever mouth found her breasts and his teeth tortured her nipples while she clung to him for dear life, but still needed more.
At some point during his complete assault of her senses, he must have turned them over, because suddenly she was under him and while her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his falls, his began another lazy journey downwards to the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. Then lower still.
Not only was she powerless to stop him, she needed his touch, moaning her own encouragement as he uncovered, then caressed an outrageously sensitive bundle of nerves which seemed to have the power to obliterate all rational thought.
‘I dreamed you’d be like this…’ Her shameless passion seemed to fire his desire further—which liberated her, banishing all her inhibitions.
Her body felt slick and so very sensual, and each achingly gentle and tender caress freed her to truly feel it all without the need for propriety and decorum. She didn’t care that she was naked. Didn’t care that she was wanton. He clearly adored both and that was all that mattered. As the delicious sensations built, Lydia gave up trying to remove the rest of his clothing, her hands fisting in the sheet as he continued his relentless yet magnificent siege on her body.
Her hips rose wildly when his mouth replaced his fingers and for a while she feared the delicious pleasure he was inflicting with nought but the tip of his tongue might kill her if she allowed him to continue. But if death was the price, she was happy to pay it. She called out his name, her fingers tunnelling into his hair as the world was reduced to a pinpoint of unimaginab
le ecstasy before it exploded like stars behind her eyes.
Rendered entirely boneless, she lay panting on the pillow, her limbs shamelessly splayed in invitation and watched fascinated as her shadowy lover stripped off what was left of his clothing, his staccato breathing as impatient as he was.
Unshackled, the male part of him was much bigger than she had imagined, but she wasn’t scared. How could she be scared when this was Owen and he was looking at her with such heat—like a man possessed and consumed entirely by her?
And unbelievably, she discovered in that pivotal moment her thirst for him wasn’t quenched. There was more to have and she wanted it all. Every last impressive inch.
She tugged him back to kiss her, her hand boldly reaching out to explore him, feeling wicked and sinful and all powerful as Owen held himself rigid while she learned the shape of him. Warm, hard, fascinating—
Entirely male.
Entirely hers.
And when she snaked her arms around his waist to drag that necessary part of him against her, he carefully covered her body with his and kissed her with such poignant tenderness it brought tears to her eyes. ‘It’s not too late…we don’t have to…’
‘Yes, we do.’ Lydia pressed her lips against his mouth and entwined her legs around his hips. ‘I want you. Can’t you see that? It’s only ever been you, Owen.’
His answering sigh was like a benediction. ‘It’s only ever been you, too, Lydia.’
‘Then for the love of God have me, Husband, because I cannot wait a second more.’
There were no nerves or anxiousness any longer as he smiled against her lips. Instinct and desire for this man had taken over her body and she marvelled at how perfect it felt to feel him gently edge inside her—to feel how that sublime invasion affected him, too. Feel his muscles bunch beneath her hands as he fought for restraint.
But she was too hungry and too impatient for him to hold back, so used her legs, hands and hips until he filled her to the hilt.
Then he paused, his forehead resting on hers, giving her time to become accustomed to the intrusion, and she felt his heart beating against hers, as she suspected it was always meant to.
And when they gazed as deeply into each other’s eyes as the darkness would allow, she had felt such a connection, such an intense and all-encompassing sense of rightness, she almost told him she still loved him.
Had always loved him, truth be told, regardless of everything.
But the intense emotion left her astounded and she hesitated, then he began to move inside her and the moment was lost in a raging torrent of fresh desire, all consuming and wonderful, before he swept her away all over again and they finally saw the stars together.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The loud crash of thunder outside was strangely apt, but nowhere near as loud as the thunderbolt which had struck him last night. That prophetic sound still rang in his ears alongside the words which had caused it.
‘It’s only ever been you, Owen.’
Words he had wanted for ten long years, but hadn’t realised he’d been waiting for.
But did that mean he was the only man she had ever wanted in the physical sense or was it more than that and she had been alluding to her heart? The not knowing was sending him insane when he already knew he wanted the spiritual, temporal and emotional far more. Now that his body had possessed hers, he wanted to possess her heart, too. Because she had his. She had always had his.
He had, in the overwhelming heat of the moment, almost said as much aloud.
Twice.
Once on the back of her confession. And the second time as he had gazed at her beneath him, not daring to speak. Not daring to move. So humbled to be inside her and overwhelmed by the rush of emotion which their joining had unleashed.
Boom! Another damn thunderbolt—but this one the most powerful yet.
And one, which quite frankly, had scared the hell out of him.
So much so he had thoroughly lost himself in her body, then extricated himself from her bed as soon as it seemed polite to do so. For his own safety he had avoided her since. Something he regretted now Slugger was loading the carriage with their luggage and they were on the cusp of leaving for Aveley Castle.
‘Are you all right?’ Randolph came in, frowning. ‘Only you’ve been in the strangest mood all morning.’
Owen briskly closed the ledger he hadn’t had the wherewithal to be working on. ‘Yes… Perfectly fine. Merely dotting the i’s before I go away.’
‘Because if something was bothering you, all jesting and teasing aside, you could confide in me…’ His friend’s expression was uncharacteristically serious. ‘I am always here for you.’
‘I know that.’
‘So there is nothing you want to discuss? Nothing pressing you need to get off your chest? No advice you need from your oldest, dearest and wisest best friend? Marriage advice, perhaps? Romantic advice? Or personal advice?’
‘Honestly, Randolph, I am in need of no counsel whatsoever.’
‘Really? Then if we ignore the alternating soppy and panicked expression which keep marring those handsome features of yours after what was undoubtedly a night of long-awaited and unbridled passion, I have absolutely no clue why there is currently a Bow Street Runner here to see you. Yet he is downstairs for his prearranged appointment and clutching papers which you apparently have to see before you go away.’
‘Ah…’
‘Ah, indeed.’ His friend climbed on to a chair and folded his hands in his lap. ‘Which begs the obvious question—what is going on, Owen?’
‘Nothing that concerns Libertas.’
‘I didn’t think for a second that it did. You are much too honest to be up to no good and I’d have to be blind as well as stupid—both things I plainly am not—to fail to see this is all to do with Lydia.’ He settled back in the chair and huffed out a breath. ‘Now, because I am your best friend, because Gertie and I care and because Slugger is so aggrieved the long arm of the law appears to be after you, or me, or him—or any one of our many loyal former criminal employees, for that matter—he may very well throw that poor Runner bodily from the premises if I dally much longer. So for the love of God, tell me what is going on!’
‘I’ve reopened the investigation.’
‘Why?’
He considered fudging it, but knew there was no point. What his friend lacked in stature he made up for in brains. ‘Because the past is in the way, damn it!’
‘You’ve acknowledged that you love her, then?’ Sometimes Randolph was annoyingly right. ‘That’s a good start. And have you sorted everything else out?’ As if everything else were that easy. Completing the twelve labours of Hercules would be easier.
‘I have acknowledged I have feelings…and that I would like to make a proper go of things…and have a proper marriage with Lydia. As to the other things…’
‘Do not tell me she still requires proof of your innocence before she will similarly commit?’ His friend was outraged on his behalf. ‘Surely she has seen enough of your character now to know you were incapable of those crimes?’
‘Probably… Maybe…’ He found himself wincing under his wily friend’s exasperated glare. ‘We haven’t discussed any of it since we called the blasted armistice.’
‘You have an armistice? With your wife?’
‘It was the only way to stop us arguing.’
Randolph blinked, his mouth hanging slack. Then he was all animation. ‘Good grief! I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life! You’ve been married a month! A month! How do the pair of you even function with all that nonsense still lingering in the background?’ He dropped his head into his hands.
‘When I pointed you in the direction of a marriage of convenience, I assumed it would force the pair of you to sort out your differences once and for all. I knew you still loved her and hope
d she might still have feelings for you, and between you, both of you would come to realise that love conquers all. That you’d both been given a second chance! And that you could both discover that the past no longer mattered because you had a future—a rich and exciting future with each other, Owen! Not a blasted armistice which can only possibly serve to keep you both apart!’
‘We’ve been getting on rather well as it happens…as last night is testament to.’
‘You’ve merely built a bridge out of matchsticks! And it will not last five minutes unless you are honest with each other and talk about things!’
Now there was a sobering thought. ‘It’ll be easy to talk about it all with proof in my pocket. And before you ask, no, she doesn’t know I’ve engaged Bow Street to help find it. At this stage, that’s…’
‘A little too revealing?’
‘Exactly. And probably a fool’s errand in the grand scheme of things.’
‘Which will put you right back at square one.’ Randolph shook his head. ‘So just to clarify—because Gertie won’t believe this—the past is getting in the way of your relationship.’
‘It is. It’s always there. Hovering. Like a bad smell. She still thinks me a thief and I’m still furious that she could think it and wounded at her betrayal.’
‘And you thought it more prudent to engage a Bow Street Runner and then bed her rather than perhaps discuss that pressing issue first?’
‘The two weren’t linked. I engaged the Runners—there are two of them, by the way—and then…’ Owen felt his brows furrow. ‘Wait…how do you know what happened between us last night? Did Lydia say something to Gertie?’
Hell’s bells! Did she regret it already? Had she reminded herself he was a scoundrel of the first order, a filthy thief who’d pinched her dying mother’s blasted pearls and battened down the hatches again as if last night didn’t matter? When it obviously mattered. Obviously meant something.
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