“Here?” she asked, gesturing to the raised welt on his chest where the Leeds player had collided with him. The bastard had a hard head.
He nodded, and she traced her fingers around the bruise before laying her hand over the discoloration.
Then she leaned over, braced one hand on his abdomen, and kissed his skin, a featherlight touch that made his knees weak and his muscles clench. She kissed him again, higher on his ribcage, again on his sternum. Once more on his pectoral, over his heart.
“I knew you could get hurt,” she said against his chest, nuzzling the coarse hair she found there. “I didn’t like it, but… that wasn’t the worst part.”
Her body was a hair’s breadth from his, and his cock pulsed, desperate for her touch. But he held himself in check. Whatever she needed to say, he needed to listen. “What was the worst part?”
She looked up, held his gaze, her lips parted and eyes red-rimmed. “Not being able to call you mine.”
The breath rushed from his lungs. “Marigold…”
“I couldn’t see you, couldn’t b-be with you.” Moisture was building on her lower lashes, her bottom lip trembling. “And I hated it. I wanted everyone to know that you are mine and I am yours, b-but I couldn’t.”
She broke off, her nose wrinkling as she pressed her lips together, and his heart cracked open. After so many years restraining her emotions, now she was sharing, vulnerable forhim, because of him.
She took one step back and met his eye, as though she were facing down a formidable foe. “I want to be yours in every way. I’m t-terrified of it, but I do.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I love you. I love you, and I’m so frightened.”
He cut her off with a kiss, kissing her with everything he had, everything he wanted. A whimper fell from her throat as he cupped the back of her head. He wrapped his aching arms around her waist and pulled her close.
Archie groaned, winced and curled into his right side, and Marigold gasped. “You’re hurt,” she said, guiding him towards the bed. “I shouldn’t be here. I should go.”
“Don’t you dare go,” he growled, catching her hand before he sat again. “I’ve waited so long to have you here. Am I dreaming?” He stretched up to kiss her, pulled her forward between his spread knees. “You’re here,” he whispered as he kissed down her throat. “And you love me.”
Her laugh was watery. “I do. And you—”
“I love you,” he breathed against her lips, the relief of saying it out loud like breaking through the surface when he thoughthe would drown, sucking in fresh air when he thought he would suffocate. “I love you.”
Her kiss was greedy, desperate as she cupped his cheeks, her fingertips stroking through the hair of his beard, over his cheekbones, hesitating at his wound. “I don’t want to hurt you more.”
“You can’t,” he said, his elation making the ache dissipate far better than any medicine. “You won’t.”
His hands skimmed over her sides to cup her breasts. “Will you undress for me? Please?” He wasn’t above begging, not now, not with her.
But there was no need, as she was already working at her collar, down the long line of buttons on her shirtwaist. He helped her pull the fabric from the waistband of her skirt, then tossed it aside. He chuckled. “How many layers are there?”
Marigold scowled, but it lacked heat. “Far too many.”
He dragged his thumb along the upper edge of her corset cover, where the delicate lace met the creamy swell of her breasts. “I’ve never been patient enough to undress you before. I intend to change that tonight.” He glanced to her to ensure her consent. Her parted lips, her nod, gave him permission to unbutton the cover, pull at the hooks of her corset until he’d loosened it sufficiently, then let the corset and her hooked petticoats tumble to the floor. She separated the panels of her pantaloons and let them fall on top of her discarded clothing.
The sight of her in a chemise and stockings punched the air from his aching chest. He wanted to take his time with her, savor every inch of exposed skin, every catch of her breath and shudderingsigh, discover where she was most sensitive, but the hunger that had been growing in him for weeks became too powerful, too all-encompassing.
His hands slid down to her bottom and led her forward, helping her to straddle his hips with her knees, kneeling on the bed. Her chemise rose enough with the motion to expose the bare skin above her garters, the heat of her core searing his trouser-clad cock until his vision blurred.
“Fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his lips skimming the length of her neck, the delicate arc of her collarbone, the divot of her shoulder. “And you hid this beauty under all thoselayers.”
He nipped at the upper swell of her breast and she gasped a laugh. He cupped her ankles and brought his hands up as slowly as he could manage over the curve of her calves, the bumps of her knees and the soft, ample flesh of her thighs to reach the hem of her shift. “Yes?”
Another nod, her breath coming faster as he lifted the fabric up over her waist, to her—
“Wait.”
He froze, dropped the fabric back in place.
She bit her lower lip, splotches of pink growing on her cheeks and down her neck. “I’ve had t-two children.” She clasped her hands over her stomach. “I d-don’t look…” She trailed off, and he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, then raised her gaze to meet his.
“You’re the strongest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and if your body has changed because of it,it’s only proof of your strength.” He kissed her again, chastely. “And I love you for it, because of what you’ve been through, not despite it.”
