Taming the Rebel Tycoon: Wife by Approval / Dating the Rebel Tycoon / The Playboy Takes a Wife. Элли Блейк
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as though she was drowning in honey, she struggled against the temptation to say she had. Though she couldn’t remember anything about it, she was no longer a virgin, so what had she got to lose?
Her self-respect, that was what! And it was important to her. Last night she had been drunk and unable to help herself, but tonight she was stone cold sober and responsible for her actions.
‘I want to make love to you,’ he murmured softly, while his hands found the soft curves of her breasts and the firming nipples beneath the thin satin of her nightdress, ‘I want to sleep with you in my arms, to wake to find you beside me and make love to you all over again…Tell me you want it, too…’
Her lips moved, but no sound came.
‘Tell me,’ he insisted.
‘I can’t!’ It was almost a sob. ‘I can’t…’
‘Why can’t you? I know you want me. Your whole body’s telling me so.’
‘I’ve never…’ She swallowed hard, then went on desperately, ‘I’ve never gone in for one-night stands or casual sex and I don’t want to start now.’
He frowned a little. ‘Who said anything about a one-night stand or casual sex? Neither the way I feel about you, nor my intentions are in any way casual.’
His words held a ring of truth and her heart leapt. If it really was true, it altered everything.
Then common sense told her not to be foolish. How could he feel anything for her when they’d only known each other for twenty-four hours?
But why couldn’t he?
What she felt for him, whether she called it infatuation or falling in love, was anything but casual. In fact it was so strong, so overwhelming, it made anything she had felt for Kevin fade into insignificance.
Shaken and confused, she stared down at the old patchwork quilt, its colours faded and mellowed by time, while a part of her mind, standing detached, aloof, thought how pretty it was.
After a moment or two when, head bent, she remained silent, he rose to his feet and said evenly, ‘Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.’
She watched him head for the door, her thoughts racing. Just for the sake of her pride or the fear of what the future might hold, was she going to let him walk away? Turn her back on this chance to be with him? If it all ended in tears, at least she would have known some happiness…
His hand was on the latch when she spoke his name.
Though her voice was barely above a whisper, he turned and looked at her.
‘Please don’t go.’
He came to the side of the bed and, his handsome face alight with satisfaction and triumph, asked, ‘You’ve never slept in a centuries-old four-poster on a goosefeather bed?’
‘No.’ Nor did she know what it was like to sleep in a man’s arms.
Pulling back the quilt, he scooped her up. ‘Then this will be a first.’
In the master bedroom, which was unlit save for a log fire that blazed cheerfully in the wide stone hearth, the air smelt pleasantly of pine-resin, beeswax and lavender. The pillows on the splendid four-poster had been plumped up and the bed-clothes turned down invitingly.
He carried her over to the bed, which was so high that on either side there was a wooden step up to it, and laid her down. Saying, ‘We won’t need this,’ he eased her nightdress over her head and tossed it aside, before pulling up the covers.
When he had quickly stripped off his own clothes and hung them over a chair, he disappeared into the bathroom, promising softly, ‘I won’t be long.’
As the door closed behind him, some lines from an anonymous poem began to run through her head:
The day had faded fast and gone, and in that shining night, he offered me a precious gift, a promise of delight…
A thrill of excitement and anticipation ran through her, making her breath catch in her throat and her heart beat erratically.
Moonlight gleamed on the casements and somewhere close at hand an owl hooted with melancholy mirth, while in the grate a log slipped and settled, sending up a shower of bright sparks and making long shadows dance across the ceiling.
The bathroom door opened and he came out, his dark hair still damp from the shower and without a stitch on, as she had seen him that morning.
Was it only that morning? It seemed so long ago.
She had thought then what a magnificent male animal he was. Now, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Every bone in her body seemed to melt with longing and her entire being cried out for his possession.
Her face must have registered what she was thinking and feeling, because he said in a voice shaken between passion and laughter, ‘When you look at me like that you make me feel like Suleiman.’
He slid beneath the covers and joined her.
The moment he touched her she began to tremble.
Running his hands down her slender body and feeling her response, he said softly, ‘You’re all fizz and sparkle, like champagne.
‘But though champagne is heady and exhilarating, it’s light, surface stuff.’
Taking first one pink nipple in his mouth and then the other, he suckled sweetly while his long fingers found the silken warmth of her inner thighs.
Not wanting it to be over almost before it had begun, she tried to push his hand away, to hold back. But he would have none of it.
A few seconds later she gave a little cry as sensation followed sensation, like surface ripples on a pool that spread in ever-widening circles round a flung stone.
When the sensations had died away, unconsciously she sighed. Though he had given her a great deal of pleasure, she had wanted the experience to be a shared one…
As she lay with closed eyes, he kissed her and said, ‘Now the fizz has been disposed of we can go on to enjoy something altogether deeper and more rewarding, like a rich, satisfying Burgundy.’
His hands began to move lightly over her, stroking and caressing, making each nerve-ending spring into life and effortlessly reviving the desire she had thought sated.
By the time he fitted himself into the cradle of her hips, eager for his possession, she welcomed his weight. Even so, his first strong thrust made her gasp and, as though taken by surprise, he paused and asked, ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘Yes…No…It doesn’t matter.’ With an instinct as old as Eve, she lifted her hips enticingly and he began to move again, but a little more cautiously.
‘All right?’ he queried after a moment or two.
Caught up now in a spiralling pleasure, she was past answering, but her flung back head and soft gasping cries were answer enough.
Reassured, he carried them both to a shattering climax that sent them tumbling and spinning through time and space.
Wrapped in black velvet, the sensations so deep and intense that she was shaken to the very core of her being, she lay beneath him, shuddering helplessly.
At the same time she felt exalted, omnipotent, the feel of his flesh against hers and the weight of his dark head on her breast a priceless gift.
She knew a sudden poignant happiness. He was her man. Her mate. Her love .
So this was what love was really like, what all the love songs and poetry added up to. Two people coming together and meeting on every level, a meeting as much spiritual as physical.
She could only feel glad that, instead of giving herself lightly for a moment’s gratification, she had waited for this one man.
When their breathing and heart rate returned