“I want you so much the scent of you makes my skin tingle with desire.”
Her lips parted.
“I want you so much—” The night air filled with his angry laughter. “I want you so damned much I forgot about Marabelle.”
“Oh, Blake. I'm sorry.”
“Spare me your pity.”
She started to stand up. “I'll go. It's what you want, and you're clearly in no state for conversation.”
But he grabbed her and pulled her back down. “Didn't you hear me?”
“I heard every word,” she whispered.
“I don't want you to go.”
She said nothing.
“I want you.”
“Blake, don't.”
“Don't what? Don't kiss you?” He swooped down and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Too late.”
She stared at him, not certain if she should be scared or elated. She loved him; she was sure of that now. But he wasn't acting like himself.
“Don't touch you?” His hand snaked over her midriff and along her hip. “I'm far too gone for that.”
His lips found her jaw, then her neck, then nibbled on her ear. She tasted sweet and clean, and smelled vaguely like the lather he used to shave. He wondered what she'd been doing with herself up in his bathroom, then decided he didn't much care. There was something wildly satisfying about smelling his scent on her.
“Blake,” she said, her voice lacking conviction, “I'm not certain this is what you really want.”
“Oh, I'm certain,” he said with a masculine laugh. “I'm very certain.” He pressed his hips against her as he worked her hair free of its fastenings. “Can't you feel how certain I am?”
He moved his mouth to hers and devoured her, his tongue skimming first along the line of her teeth, then moving to the soft skin of her inner cheek.
“I want to touch you,” he said, his words a soft breath against her mouth. “Everywhere.”
Her dress was flimsy, with few buttons and bows, and it took mere seconds for him to push it over her head, leaving her clad only in a thin chemise. His body tightened yet again as he hooked his fingers under the thin straps that held up the soft slip of silk.
“Did I buy this for you?” he asked, his voice hoarse beyond recognition.
She nodded, gasping as one of his large hands closed over her breast. “When you got me the dresses. It was in one of the boxes you brought back from town.”
“Good,” he said, then pushed the strap over her shoulder. His lips found the elegantly stitched lace that edged her bodice, and he followed it as he pushed it down, stopping only when he reached the pinkened edge of her nipple.
She whispered his name as he kissed the dusky aureole, then nearly shouted it when he closed his mouth around her nipple and began to suck.
Caroline had never felt anything as wonderfully primitive as the sensations curling in her belly. Pleasure and need were unfolding within her, spreading from the very center of her being to every inch of her skin. She'd thought she'd felt desire when he'd kissed her that morning, but it was nothing compared to what was devouring her now.
She looked down at his head at her breast. Good Lord, he was devouring her.
She was hot, so hot, and she thought she must be burning up wherever he touched her. One of his hands was now creeping up her calf, and his trouser-clad knee was using gentle pressure to open her legs. He settled his weight between them, and the hard proof of his arousal pressed up against her intimately.
His hand moved ever higher, past her knee, along the smooth skin of her inner thigh, and then it paused for a moment, as if giving her one last chance to refuse.
But Caroline was too far gone. She could refuse him nothing, for she wanted everything. Perhaps she was wanton, perhaps she was shameful, but she wanted every wicked touch of his hands and mouth. She wanted the weight of him pressing her into the ground. She wanted the rapid beat of his heart and ragged rasp of his breath.
She wanted his heart, and she wanted his soul. But most of all, she wanted to give herself to him, to heal whatever wounds lay beneath the surface of his skin. She'd finally found a place of belonging—with him—and she wanted to show him the same joy.
And so, when his fingers found the core of her femininity, no words of refusal or protest passed her lips. She gave herself into the pleasure of the moment, moaned his name, and clutched at his shoulders as he teased her desire into a merciless vortex.
She clung to him as she spun out of control, the pressures within her building to a fever pitch. She felt taut, stretched to the limit, and then he slipped one finger inside her as his thumb continued its sensual torture on her hot skin.
Her world exploded in an instant.
She bucked beneath him, her hips rising off the ground and actually lifting him in the air. She shouted his name and then reached frantically from him as he rolled off her.
“No,” she gasped, “come back.”
“Shhh.” He stroked her hair, then her cheek. “I'm right here.”
“Come back.”
“I'm too heavy for you.”
“No. I want to feel you. I want—” She gulped. “I want to please you.”
His face grew taut. “No, Caroline.”
“But—”
“I won't take that away from you.” His voice was firm. “I shouldn't have done what I did, but I'm damned if I take your virginity.”
“But I want to give it to you,” she whispered.
He turned on her with unexpected ferocity. “No,” he bit out. “You will save that for your husband. You are too fine to waste it on another.”