Care, like the way her fingers soothed the back of his neck in a firm, gyrating dance.
“And,” she finished, “secrets must only be shared with those you treasure.”
His head remained giddy, but dread pooled his stomach.
“Just kisses,” he said—more to himself than to Pen.
“Just kisses,” she replied. “And anything else you wish.”
He froze. “Pen, I—I cannot.”
She adjusted her legs, turning within his embrace until they faced one another.
“Whatcanyou do?” she asked.
His mind went blank. Then, flashes of yellow fire—flames that followed her fingers as they threaded through his hair. He couldn’t bed his wife—he did not wish to even try. Not here.
Not yet.
Not until the truth between them had been acknowledged. Not until he was fully prepared to return home.
She tilted her face toward his in trust. “I will take whatever you can give me.”
The other night, when he’d held her close, her name had kept him breathing.
Tonight, could her breath become his guide?
He claimed her mouth in a deeper kiss—releasing fears as if he were bailing water, trusting her breath to keep them both afloat.
“I can give you pleasure,” he said.
Her chest rose and fell as he trailed his lips down her proffered neck.
He loosened the left side of her bodice; the right, he freed with his teeth. Nibbling soft kisses against the side of her throat, he slid his hand beneath the fabric and cupped her breast.
She whimpered as he ran his thumb over her nipple.
A stab of desire sliced through to his stomach. Sweet torture—she sighed into his ear—his cock filled, draining his head of blood, his lungs of air.
He stilled, cradling her gently between his thighs, riding the rise and fall of her breath, listening for soft sounds, her desire packed within her breath’s ebb and flow.
“Captain.”
Her whisper turned to groan as he draped her across his thighs.
“Open for me.” He moved his lips to her breast. “Please.”
She inched her skirt up around her thighs, though one arm remained around his back, holding on, fingers digging into his shoulder.
He reached beneath her skirts. Even before he reached the cleft between her legs, he met with heat. Her pale legs fell apart artlessly.
More memories slipped into place—like the clicking of an opening lock.
All the times they’d come together in intimate union, she’d never cared how she looked. Pen poured her all into sensation—both her own as well as his.
When she made love, when she danced, she was unaffected joy meeting complete, immodest surrender.
Thathad been why she’d entranced him from the first. Why he’d wanted to rescue her, protect her, keep her. But he hadn’t.
