Not just any man.
Hudson.
Her husband.
In slumber, he looked softer. All the harsh planes and angles of his handsome face were relaxed. He was facing her, his head nestled into the pillow, his dark hair falling over his brow. The shadow of whiskers on his jaw was even more pronounced this morning, lending him a rakish air she could not help but to admire. Her body was aching and sore in strange places, and she smelled like him.
Last night had been…
How to find the word?
Her lexicon seemed woefully inadequate.
Burning in her heart this morning was a new sense of connection with him. They had been as close as two people could be. She felt alive and aware in a whole new way. He had been so tender after they had made love, tending to her, tucking her to his side, and holding her there as they both fell asleep.
But now morning was here, and with it, the inevitable return to the worries facing them. A woman had been murdered. Something was amiss concerning the investigation. And she could not shake the fear that Hudson was in danger.
He shifted and made a deep sound of contentment, rolling to his back. The bedclothes drifted south, revealing a mouthwatering expanse of his chest. Despite the misgivings eddying within her, she took a moment to admire his form by the bright light of day.
Was it wrong to ogle one’s husband while he was asleep?
Should she wake him?
No, said her instinct.Let him slumber on.He had been through so much upheaval in the last few days. He deserved as much rest as he could get, freed from the worries facing them.
“Mmm,” he said then, the lone syllable a low rumble of contentment that stirred her awareness of him.
He stretched, running a hand over his bare chest, and his eyes fluttered open. Her argument with herself was a moot point. He was awake. And the moment her gaze melded with blue-gray, something inside her shifted. Awareness turned into desire.
“Good morning,” she told him softly, feeling suddenly shy as well. Her modesty was not in danger; the counterpane was pulled over her breasts. Not that it mattered. He had already seen every bit of her. And kissed and licked a fair amount of that, too.
The reminder sent heat unfurling through her.
“Morning, Ellie,” he said, giving her a sleepy smile that transformed his face from handsome to rakishly beautiful.
Those lips. They were so finely formed. Perfect for kissing. Too large and luxurious for a man, as she had thought before. But now, the observation was accompanied by the sure knowledge they were an invitation to sin. A sin she gladly welcomed.
“How did you sleep?” she asked him, chasing the thickness from her throat.
“Astonishingly well.” He reached for her, cupping her cheek in his large, warm palm. “How do you feel, love?”
He was referring to what had happened between them, and she would not have him think she had suffered a moment. The ache was almost delicious.
“Wonderful,” she answered, sending him a shy smile.
This was new for her. She had never paid any attention to gentlemen before. Had never found any man worthy of her distraction. She had never flirted or kissed or played the coquette. And yet, here she was with this magnetic man she had married, utterly in his thrall.
Likely, she would regret her fervor. Theirs was a marriage of convenience. Hearts were not meant to be involved. Ever.
But she could not summon a modicum of regret over what they had shared thus far.
“You feel wonderful,” he said tenderly, his countenance going soft in a new way. “And you look bloody wonderful, too.”
She found herself smiling at him. “I am sure I look a dreadful sight, my hair in wild tangles and the creases of my pillow on my cheek.”
“I see neither tangles nor creases. All I see is an incredibly beautiful, desirable woman I was somehow fortunate enough to marry.”
She turned her head and pressed a kiss to his palm. “You know how to charm far too well.”
