*
She heard himas if in a dream. Everything had become languorous and slow; her limbs heavy with desire. It was the easiest, most natural thing in the world to lean against his sinewy strength and be swept away by his kisses.
But this question was unexpected and it made her agitated. She was not ready for it; could not put her faith in it.
“Nay, Tristan.” She wanted more of his kisses, more of his hands against her body. For the first time, she was quite clear-thinking about that.
“Why not?” His deft fingers drew circles on her shoulders so she wanted only to close her eyes and succumb to the pleasure of his touch.
“Because of who I am and who you are.” Impatiently, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, wanting more of what he had so freely given.
Why should she deny herself?
But he was withdrawing from his kisses. His hands spanned her waist and his breath was hot against his ear.
“That is no good reason.”
His words were calling to a more sensible, rational part of her; the part she wanted to put away so as to give in to the sensuous pleasure building within her core.
“Don’t,” she said. “Please. Just kiss me.”
He growled low in his throat and pulled her to him once again, kissing her so deeply it felt as if her mouth was welded to his. His hands stroked her body, stoking the flames already igniting inside her. She ran her hands over the taut muscles of his chest, then up over his shoulders, dipping beneath the soft fabric of his shirt.Thiswas what she wanted. To be as one with the man she adored; standing so close not a breath of air could separate them. So close that she could feel his need for her, hardening against her belly.
“Marry me,” he said again, one hand cupping her breast and making her breath come even faster.
In response, she kissed him harder, standing on her tiptoes and crushing her lips against his. Leaning into his touch, even though she knew it was forbidden.
“Stop asking,” she gasped, the very moment he pulled back.
He gazed down at her with fire in his eyes. She thought he might argue, but instead he scooped her into his arms and held her close against his chest as he carried her up the shore. He laid her down on the shingle and hovered over her, the breadth of his shoulders shading her from the midday sun.
“I want you, Mirrie. I want you now and I will want you still on the morrow and on the morrow after that. Each day, for the rest of my days.”
Need was pooling inside her, like a surging itch she could not scratch. Her hands grasped his shoulders, instinctively pulling him down against her. “And I want you.”
He blazed a trail of kisses down her throat until his lips met the top of her tunic. His warm hands stroked her breasts until she longed for him to tear the tunic from her body. Instead, he began to unbutton it with almost unbearable slowness, kissing and caressing the newly exposed flesh and causing her to squirm beneath him. She closed her eyes, willingly surrendering herself to his touch and to the pleasurable sensations pulsating through her.
He tugged at her shift and she lifted her hips so he could pull it free; the warm whisper of wind across her belly alerting her to the fact she was entirely unclothed, Naked, before and beneath him. His blue gaze devoured her, head to toe, and she felt no shame, only a deep burning desire. Though for what, she could not say. She only knew it felt right to be in Tristan’s arms. For Tristan’s hands to be on her body; his lips worshipping the most sensitive parts of her until she wound her fingers in his hair and moaned out loud.
“Marry me, Mirrie,” he said again, his expression dark with desire.
“I cannot.” Her body trembled so it was an effort to form the words.
“Why not?” His hand was travelling down from her belly to where she wanted him most. But he paused, waiting for her answer.
She arched her back, pressing herself against him, craving more. But Tristan only stroked back her hair and looked deep into her eyes, one hand softly brushing against her inner thighs.
“Why not?” he repeated.
“Because I could never be a countess.” Her answer came in a rush of breath. It was no more than the truth. A fact, like day following night.
He kissed her as his fingers neared their mark and she moaned again with unexpected pleasure, opening herself up to his touch and the soaring sensations that snatched at her breath as he slowly stroked her very core.
“Tristan,” she gasped.
“I wish you could see yourself as I do, for there is naught you cannot do, Mirrie.” His lips settled around on her breast as his fingers moved inside her, turning her to liquid. He moved up her body and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. “I have faith in you. I always have.”
She raked her fingers along his back, wanting to claim him as her own as he whispered the words she had longed to hear. “I love you.”
