Suddenly, the demure covering made sense.
“Huntingdon?” her voice was husky now.
The swells of her breast held him in rapt fascination. He ran the backs of his fingers over her nipple. The soft brush of cotton and the tight bud sent a new rush of lust slamming into him.
Curse her.
Curse this ceaseless want rotting his brain, infecting his mind like an ague.
“Say something,” she murmured, a silken plea.
Instead of obliging, he caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently. The caress was simple. There was yet a respectable distance between them. No reason for the pounding of his heart. No reason for the prickles of awareness down his spine. He had only two fingers on her body, separated by a thin barrier of cloth, and he had never been hungrier for a woman in his life.
She had seduced him without moving.
Without trying.
“What shall I say?” he asked with more gruffness than he had intended as he tugged at her nipple, torturing them both.
He felt her stare, hot and hard upon him, searching, seeking. He forced his gaze from her breasts and fell into brilliant, sparkling emerald.
“Why are you touching me this way, if you do not want me?”
Because hedidwant her, damn her hide. Wanting her had never been the problem. Having her was.
“Do you want me, Helena?” he dared to ask, although he knew he should not.
Her lips parted, her gaze dipping to his mouth. “I have always wanted you.”
The wickedest part of him rejoiced. Ration and reason ceased to exist. She was his wife.
His.
“Good,” he said.
Then he crossed the threshold, venturing into her territory, the knowledge he would regret what he was about to do no match for the need thundering through him.
He took her in his arms, and he settled his mouth on hers.
His lips werefirm and insistent, hot and wonderful. Helena fell into the kiss, winding her arms around Huntingdon’s neck. It seemed surreal, the man who had been so cool all day long, burning against her. If this was a dream, she never wanted to wake.
Her fingers found their way into the silky softness of his hair. Every part of her was keenly aware of him. His mouth on hers, his teeth tugging at her lower lip, his hard chest crushing into her breasts, the thick ridge of his manhood prodding her belly. He filled her senses. Even his scent, musky, familiar, intoxicating, twined around her. His taste was sweet and smooth with a hint of claret.
She kissed him back with all the fiery, pent-up need within her. Kissed him with the anger and the passion, with the longing and the love. And as she clung to him and he fed on her mouth as if he were starved for the taste of her, she made herself a vow.
Tonight, she would not let him escape.
He would not run from her.
Would not put an abrupt halt to the desire catching flame between them.
No, indeed. Tonight, he was going to make love to her. They would lie together as husband and wife, and if he still decided to leave her in the morning…well, that was a worry for the light of the dawn sun. There was no room for fear or common sense in this moment. There was only space enough for the two of them.
Fortunately, Huntingdon did not seem any more inclined to put an end to this madness than she was. He guided them, backing her in the direction of the bed she had spent the last night in alone, wishing he had been there with her. His hands were on her waist, firm and possessive. His kisses never wavered.
This meeting of mouths was different than all the exchanges which had preceded it. This time, there was an undeniable carnal intent, heightened by their dishabille and the lateness of the hour and the fact that they were alone in her chamber, nothing and no one to stop them. He sucked on her lips, ravishing her with his mouth.
She could not quell the moan that rose from deep within. Every part of her was ablaze. Her breasts felt heavy and full, the place between her thighs throbbing and slick. She wanted him to touch her there as he had before.
