Guy Stoneley was a vile bastard who had humiliated and beaten his wife, a woman whom Gaston just happened to love madly. He would do anything for her, including kill, to insure her happiness.Anything for you.
“We shall not speak of it, then,” he said softly.
She did not believe for a minute that he had rethought his statement. Gaston de Russe did not say anything he did not mean, and she was greatly troubled. It wasn’t one reason inparticular, but the entire concept. She knew the Dark Knight and his reputation, and knew that killing for him was a natural function of his profession, but she couldn’t bring herself to condone the killing of her legal husband. Murder, for whatever reason, was wrong.
She turned into Gaston, pressing her body as close as she could, her face in the smooth skin of his chest. He enfolded her tighter, his huge arms almost completely obscuring her torso.
The fire crackled and hissed, filling the silent room, as they were lost to their own thoughts. In spite of their individual opinions about the future of Guy Stoneley, to be together as they were was the most natural, heavenly thing in the world. Gaston felt as if, somehow, he was whole when he was with her. She fit against him as if she had somehow been carved from the spot and the void had never healed, instead, waiting for her to fill it once again. It was beyond anything he had ever experienced.
He thought she had fallen asleep but her head came up, her half-lidded eyes gazing up at him.
“Make love to me,” she whispered.
His lips came down, brushing hers gently. “Are you sure you are not going to fall asleep in the middle of it?”
She stiffened and tried to push him away, though it was in good humor. “If you do not want to, then say so. I will return to my own bedchamber.”
He grinned. “That day will never come.”
She closed her eyes as he grazed her neck with his gentle lips, his stubble scratching her. His kisses grew hotter and she clung to his neck, half-laying on his reclined body. His hands roved over her promising curves, delighting in her form, eager to remove her of her garments so that he could touch the silky skin. She had the most remarkable skin.
With a groan, he rolled her onto the bearskin, his fingers working the stays of her surcoat. His mouth was probing hers,tongues clashing and tasting. After a moment, she realized he was having difficulty with the stays and she pulled back.
“Might I help you with that?” she teased, already bending her arm behind her and unhooking the seam.
He looked sheepish. “I am not as adept as some,” he mumbled. “I have had little practice removing a woman’s surcoat in the heat of passion.”
“I am glad,” she said, pulling the surcoat off from her shoulders. “That means you have not felt desire such as this very often.”
“If at all,” his mouth plunged to the milky-white of her shoulder, tasting her sweet flesh.
She gave herself over to him, acutely aware of every sensation, every touch. His huge arousal brushed against her thigh and she opened her eyes long enough to see that he still retained his breeches.
In a flash, her hand moved down and yanked the fastener, releasing his waistband. He came back up to her hungry mouth, grinning in between kisses.
“My lady is bold this eve,” he growled. “Might I help you with that?”
He was so large that her arm was too short to effectively remove his breeches. She smiled as he raised himself from her long enough to pull them down. “I have had little practice removing men’s trousers.”
“I am glad,” his entire body, sculpted and superbly muscled and taut covered her, his arms winding about her body fiercely. She instinctively wound herself around him, her arms around his neck and her legs wrapping his rock-hard thighs. His erection rubbed her inner thigh, the cleft between her buttocks, driving her insane with need.
“Take me now, Gaston,” she breathed.
His lips tore themselves away from her neck. “Not yet.”
“Gaston!” she pleaded.
His mouth moved down her body, to her delicious breasts. “Not yet.”
“Why the hell not?” she panted, crying out softly when his lips engulfed a swollen nipple.
His hands massaged her, pulling at her breasts and pinching her nipples until she was absolutely writhing with passion. His massive hands still splayed on her breasts, his mouth blazed a trail down the center of her torso, losing himself in her scent and texture. Every curve was explored with his tongue, every inch touched or caressed somehow. He had to experienceallof her.
His mouth moved to her tender groin area, tasting and kissing. His hands left her breasts and he moved between her thighs, bringing up both of her legs and spreading them wide.
Remington’s head came up, puzzlement in her passion. “What are you doing?”
He lowered his head to her throbbing core, a wolfish grin on his sensual face. Obviously, she would not have asked such a question if she had experienced what he was about to do. There was no mistaking his intentions. His gentle fingers delicately traced the dark curls, tenderly spreading the thick folds and Remington’s eyes widened.
