She had burrowed near to him in the midst of the night, probably sometime after their second round of lovemaking. He had not left after the first time, reluctant to leave her side. And he had been heartily glad for his decision when she had woken him with a kiss.
One kiss had led to another, and then another, until they had both collapsed, sweaty and sated upon the bed, and neither one of them had been of a mind to move.
He had never before slept in the beds beneath this roof. This home had been for the slaking of mutual pleasure, nothing more. He had taken mistresses because he had possessed no interest in obtaining a new wife. Hattie had been the wife of his heart, and he could not bear the thought of tethering himself to another woman in the same way.
He had Verity to look after. Though he had the burden of his title and the need for a male heir, he had spent all the years since his period of mourning had officially come to an end—officially, for it had never stopped, in his heart—avoiding matrimony. No other woman could have compared.
No other woman could have matched the way Hattie had made him feel.
But then, Johanna had come along. And she had changed everything. She had made him aware, so keenly aware, of everything he was missing. She had brought him back to life in a way he had not imagined possible.
She was a complication he had never expected.
The last woman he should have allowed into his fragile heart after losing Hattie. Everything about her was wrong: her past, her brother, her future. What place could they have in each other’s lives? She was an American fleeing a desperate situation, an actress who earned her bread on the stage, one who intended to carry on to Paris and Lord knew where else after her time in London.
She would be gone then.
Out of reach. Nothing but a memory.
Something deep inside him railed against the thought of Johanna McKenna ever leaving his side.
And because she was here now, he could not resist kissing the top of her head, and then the tip of her nose. From there, he could not stop. He had to have her lips as well. And he did, kissing her awake.
She made a soft murmur and her arms wrapped around his neck.
Their tongues slid together in a slow, lusty rhythm.
His cock was instantly hard and ready. The night before had done nothing to slake his hunger for her. If anything, it had only made it grow stronger. He could not stop himself from rolling his hips into her, letting her feel the effect she had upon him.
She broke the kiss, tipping her head back to look at him.
What a sight she was, her golden curls a riot around her beautiful face, naked and sleepy and flushed.
“Good morning,” he murmured.
“Good morning,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I thought I dreamt you.”
“I am all too real.”
She shifted against him, her eyes going wide, lips parting. “I feel that.”
She referred to his erection, which was painfully hard and ready for her, aching to be deep inside her once more. She moved against him, bringing him into contact with her hot cunny.
He reached between them, his fingers sliding over her folds.Bloody hell, she was already wet for him. He had not intended to stay the whole night. Nor had he intended to wake like this in the morning, voracious for her. But he had, and he was.
And unless he was mistaken, she felt the same.
“The hour is early,” he said, teasing her pearl. “Everyone else is likely still abed. Shall I go?”
She licked her lips, her pupils dilating wide. “I think…perhaps you should stay a bit.”
“Just for a bit?” he asked, tracing her seam before sinking one finger inside her.
“Oh,” she breathed, gripping him tight with her sheath, pulling him deeper. “Yes, you definitely must stay. But longer, I think. I am not sure a bit will be enough.”
Nothing would ever be enough when it came to her. He knew that much instinctively.
“Last night was…” He paused as he struggled to find words.
