Chapter Four
Sinjun was completely astounded by how deeply one woman could sleep.
He’d maneuvered himself from beneath her, tidied them both as best he could, and moved her to the couch. She’d barely stirred as he pulled a soft cover over her nude body.
Stomach grumbling, he’d gone in search of food and brought a tray back with him which he promptly consumed since Charis showed no signs of waking in spite of his murmured entreaties and the waving of a fine cheese under her nose.
Then he’d wandered outside to sit in the sunshine, letting the warmth blanket his bare shoulders as he stared over his friend George’s sprawling gardens. And lost himself in his thoughts.
This trip had been unplanned, as had the news his man of affairs had arranged a marriage. It was not what had Sinjun expected to hear so soon after he’d broached the topic. The loss of his first wife during childbirth had been unpleasant. Learning the child was nothishadn’t helped matters at all, even though he’d felt pity for the young man who confessed to being the father.
He’d closed the door behind the penitent youth and wished wholeheartedly he’d kept the information to himself, since it did little to soften Sinjun’s melancholy mood. He’d not loved Mirabelle, but she’d been a suitable bride. Or so he’d thought.
Upon hearing now, after all this time, that another “suitable” bride had been found—well, it wasn’t what he’d expected. Of course, neither was Charis. From what she’d told him, she was neither suitable nor a virgin, being—as she so picturesquely put it—ruined.
No, marriage hadn’t figured largely in Sinjun’s plans. In fact, there’d been little of anything in his plans. He had a vague notion that here, at George’s Hampshire hideaway, he would take a boat out onto the lake nearby, and perhaps spend some time following Louisa’s wise advice—considering whether he’devermarry again.
For practical purposes, he knew he should—the Randall family coffers were nearly bare. And he was the only Randall left since his brother’s passing on the Continent. It had been two years since Sinjun had hugged Malcolm farewell. He would never hug him again.
Sinjun was very much alone, in spite of his renewed friendship with Cousin Owen and his fascinating wife. His small estates would have to go on the auction block. Perhaps, he mused, this was at the root of the predicament he found himself in with Charis. He was desperate for funds and his man of business had found a family desperate to rid themselves of a soiled daughter.
What a pair they were, him and Charis.
And what a woman she was.
Sinjun was struck with the notion that she reminded him of someone—and that someone was Louisa Lloyd-Jones, Owen’s wife. Louisa’s sensuality shone around her, a warmth that he swore he could feel when she hugged him. She’d made no secret of her belief that an orgasm a day kept her beautiful, whether Owen was sharing it or not.
Sinjun remembered blushing, nearly swallowing his own tongue, then laughing. She’d seemed unique to him at the time, but now—after meeting Charis—he wasn’t so sure. Through some miracle he’d metanotherwoman who believed in her own right to sexual pleasures. He must have done something really good in a previous lifetime to be so blessed. Or perhaps Fate was making amends for his pretty abysmal past. Whatever it was, he was grateful for it, since it had ended with him sitting in the sunshine, naked to the waist, sexually sated and with a fully belly. All he had to do was drop his breeches and he’d be following Louisa’s instructions to the letter. However, since the flowers were in full bloom and surrounded by a good sized contingent of bees, risking his private parts probably wasn’t the wisest idea.
As Sinjun shook his head at his fanciful notions, a gentle breeze wafted around him, filling the air with the scent of early honeysuckle. It was heavy, almost thick, a sensual sweetness that reminded him of Charis when she was aroused.
He should go and see if she was awake. ‘Twas past noon already, he guessed. Of course, if she’d arisen before dawn and already trudged several miles when he’d found her, such exhaustion was unsurprising. And tossing in the sexual play—her breathlessly magnificent climax on his lap—yes, she had a right to her rest.
But not for too much longer.
A hunger began to gnaw in Sinjun’s gut that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with Charis. He wanted to fuck her—reallyfuck her—in a bed. He wanted to be deep inside her, staring into her blue eyes as she screamed and came around his cock.
Nothing less would satisfy him, not with this woman. And then, of course, somehow or other he had to convince her that he wasn’t a lackwit and she should give the notion of marrying him more of a consideration since he was rapidly coming to the conclusion it was a rather good idea.
What a wife she’d be. Little more than a girl, she was ready to go and live with gypsies rather than be bullied onto a path she refused to consider. She knew horses—so did Sinjun. He’d bet anything they could establish a stable that would outrank other breeding houses within two years.
He blinked to himself as he reentered the house. He was thinking ahead. Into a future he’d not even anticipated in his wildest dreams. And it was all because of Charis—and some odd quirk of the universe, which had placed them in each other’s path.
And apparently sunk her into the arms of Morpheus, since she was snuffling a little, curled up in the coverlet. With a sigh, Sinjun picked her up and carried her upstairs. She was tall but slender, a slight burden he managed easily.
The bedroom was shadowed from the afternoon sunshine and she made hardly a sound as he pulled the quilt down and settled her on the pillows.
Sinjun found his body responding to the sight of her lying naked, her body dappled with sunlight and shadows. Unable to resist the temptation, he stripped and eased himself down beside her, fully intending to take a nap himself.
But she stirred, sleepily turning toward him and reaching out, her hand coming to rest on his hip as he bent his elbow and rested his head on his hand, watching her. She smiled, not quite awake yet not lost to sleep any more.
A sigh lifted her breasts slightly. Sinjun gently moved, capturing one globe in his hand and letting his thumb drift softly across the nipple. It budded, furling and hardening in response. The idea of a nap vanished completely with the fire that exploded in his cock at the sight, and Sinjun leaned over her, replacing his thumb with his lips and tongue.
He suckled, teasing the tiny nub with his mouth, licking the rosy flesh and inhaling the warm scent of her body. She answered him with gentle sounds of pleasure, her limbs relaxed and lying loosely, her eyes closed as he feasted on the delights she offered.
He slid down, paying minute attention to the dip of her navel, noting the goosebumps which appeared on her skin as he flicked his tongue over the indentation and ringed it playfully. Her legs moved beneath him, parting, spreading wide—an invitation he wasn’t about to refuse.
Was she aware of where he was headed? What he was about to do? He neither knew nor cared at this moment. There was one single need driving him—an intense and blinding desire to get his mouth on her, to taste her, to drink her juices. To suck her into an orgasm that would send her mind flying and her body trembling and shuddering around his. Charis had invaded his soul and conquered it without a check. And he was a more than willing prisoner of this woman.
