She nodded but he could see caution in her eyes.
‘I will never lie to you, either.’
She was magnificent standing before him. A woman who on her own terms had come to this moment without pretence or deception. He could only give such courage back.
‘There is a lot about me that you do not know, Willa, but I think you also keep your secrets close. Sometimes that is all one can do to be able to live and I shall not ask you for those confidences. But what we do need is the truth between us from now on. Is that something you might agree to?’
‘Yes.’
Thank God they were older, he thought then, and that they had both been married.
He did not offer love or falsities but he did offer himself and perhaps that was enough. In time they might tell each other things that could wrench them apart but for now he would keep it simple.
A contract of the body perhaps? It felt more attainable. It felt possible with the shimmering feeling of last night’s confession of ‘delight’ hovering around them.
He was pleased the door had been shut by the butler after he left the room, for such privacy was welcomed. Moving forward, he gently rested one hand against the curve of her neck, feeling the pulse and measuring its quickness.
‘We shall do only what you want, and at the speed that you want it. If you ask me to stop, I will.’
Still she did not look at him and the pink already in her cheeks had now flared to crimson. Tipping up her chin, he made her see him, the gold in her eyes sharp with something he did not recognise.
His brave and bold warrior woman was shaking in her boots.
His thumb rested on the beat of her heart in her throat. She knew it would be racing…she knew there was nothing she could do to hide her fear, which was not ideal. She needed him to pull her towards him without thought or word or question. Shewanted her part in the whole thing nullified because she had no notion as to even where to begin.
She hoped he might stay silent, the language of the body kinder than the alternative. She did not seek sense or promises or logic. She wished it was night-time with the darkness covering all that she did not want to show him. She worried about the scars on her thigh and the gash on the shin, improperly healed after it had festered. She was nothing like his perfect, beautiful dead wife Gretel or any of the other stellar lovers a man like him must have known before he married.
He stepped forward now, his eyes not leaving hers. He did not speak. He only looked as his hand moved up to her cheek, his fingers fanning out and drawing her in. And then his mouth came across hers, opened and seeking, soft and questioning.
She felt him move so that he could be closer still, to taste her, to know her, to let her understand in such a kiss there should not be fear but only delight.
It was his gift to her and she took it.
Worry was abandoned for this moment and at this time he was hers, the heat of lust taking over. A new woman and an unrecognisable one, she wanted everything he might teach her and more. Tipping back her head, she opened to him further, the echo in her body making her breath come faster and her need grow stronger.
And if Lionel had always been selfish, Phillip Moreland was not. His other hand cradled the back of her head as he lowered his mouth to her neck and the skin above the lace in the bodice of the gown, and her breath simply held as she understood for the first time in all her life that she was not the empty woman she had been told she was but a sensual and responsive one, wanting more, aching for it.
Her fingers ran through his hair, feeling the length of the darkness and pulling him closer, and when his teeth skimmedthe top of her breast, she could no longer control anything she felt.
She hoped he might lay her down on the carpet to take her hard and fast, so that she had no way to make it wrong, no misstep or blunder. But he was only gentle as he edged away the soft material and released one breast. She felt her nipple tighten in pleasure and tighten again as his mouth covered her, sucking and lathing, every nerve in her body centred on the movement. Hers. To keep. To feel. To know.
She shook with the craving of it and with the waves that came, releasing every uncertainty written in her bones and understanding finally that a woman’s body could be played like an instrument of music by a maestro who would take the time and care to do it.
She burst into tears then, large sobs of thankfulness, her breath uneven, the echoes of passion inside still very much present as she buried her face into the fine wool of his jacket. His arms came around her as she cried, trying to regain some composure. When she felt she might cope she took in a deep breath and moved back a step and he let her go without comment.
‘I did not expect a kiss would be like that.’ It was all she could say.
‘It usually isn’t,’ he gave back, his words honest.
‘I am not perfect…’ she began but one finger came across her lips to stop her.
‘To me you are.’
‘I’ve never felt much before when…’
He stopped her. ‘I know. You told me.’
‘But I’ve wanted to.’
