Her back hit the wall. “Is this what you want, darling? For me to tup you against the wall like a naughty maid?”
“Yes, please.” She gasped as he plowed into her.
“Since you asked so nicely.” His hips slammed against her over and over. “Christ, Adeline, there is nowhere else I want to be except here, wrapped in your arms with my cock buried in your sweet pussy.”
Her imagination again ran away with her. She could picture them living in this house on the wild Dorset coast. She wanted all the passionate moments and all the sweet ones, and she wanted to give him all those babies that the fortune-teller had portended. The slide of his cock inside her hit a spot that made her eyes roll back in pleasure. Over and over, he penetrated her making her breathless with need.
“Oh God, Malcolm.” Her orgasm exploded like a firework into a million sparkly bits.
Malcolm buried his face in her neck, biting down and marking her as he pulsed inside her over and over. She gripped his hair and tried to catch her breath as they both came down from their crises. His hot breath panted against her skin. Then he twisted, landing them back on the bed with him on his back and her on top. Adeline liked being on top.
She gazed down at him, running her finger down one sharp cheekbone and across his chiseled jaw. “Malcolm, I am in love with you.”
The words tumbled from her lips without thinking about them first, without her weighing the risks of saying the truth out loud. It was as though her head wasn’t in charge at all. Instead, her heart was so full of love that it spilled over and ran right out of her mouth.
His hands came up to cup her cheeks. “I am in love with you, too. I think I have loved you from the moment you fell into my arms in that bookshop.”
She grinned down at him. “Impossible. You didn’t even know my name.”
“You were meant to be mine.” He leaned up and kissed her.
Tears filled her eyes. “You know, I don’t care when or how or even why you love me, as long as we get to belong to each other.” She kissed him again, sinking against him.
They rolled sideways, sipped at each other’s lips, stroked down heated skin, and wrapped each other up in a tangle of arms, legs, and love.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Aweek wentby with idyllic, blissful peace. Malcolm sucked in a breath of cold air. The apple orchard was the perfect place to take an afternoon picnic. Secluded enough, he could lay Adeline down, get under skirts, and make her come all over his face. He squeezed her hand as they walked in the sunshine. Damn, this was all he wanted, to walk hand in hand with her on his land, in a place where, once upon a time, he had been happy and well loved.
That was if she would agree to be his wife. He wished to go down on one knee right here in the grass and demand she marry him but there were matters to settle with her family, with the stolen artifacts, with his brother’s smuggling ring operating out of his cove. Proposals would have to wait until they could focus properly on the future.
As though she could read his thoughts, Adeline smiled up at him. “What if we never left this place? Could we ignore the rest of the world forever?”
“That sounds lovely but improbable. Problems have a way of following you.”
She paused and tipped her chin up ahead. His brother Paul stepped out from the trees. “They sure do.” Adeline gave him a small shove toward Paul. “Talk to him. I will return to the house and find Mrs. Ford to discuss dinner.”
Paul stood quietly, hulking, his hands stuffed into his pockets. That stupid beard masking most of his face, reminding Malcolm he was a ghost. That Paul Iveson didn’t exist anymore. Malcolm looked down at Adeline to argue, but her hand slipped from his, and she started back to the house.
“Can we take a walk?” Paul asked.
Malcolm nodded and approached his brother, falling into step next to him. At the end of the row, they went to the right, automatically heading toward the sea. It was a path they had walked countless times as boys. Hunting rabbits with slingshots, practicing their sword play, and throwing rocks into the small pools formed after a storm.
Malcolm spoke first. “You can’t use the cove for smuggling anymore. I won’t have illegal activity happening on my land.”
“I know. Marielle said as much. We’ve been moving our cargo to another cove we sometimes use west of Lyme-Regis. It’ll take a few more days, but then we will be gone.”
Malcolm glanced over at Paul. It was so strange to be next to him. To talk as men instead of boys. He’d spent plenty of time thinking about his brother this week. He was still angry with him. Even if the angry feelings felt somewhat childish after learning the circumstances surrounding Paul’s fake death. But hell, he had been only fifteen, barely out of childhood, when he’d been orphaned and sent off to the navy. “Paul, if you are alive, then I am not really Kingsbury. Don’t you want to take back the title, the land?”
“No.” Paul shook his head. “I am not the same man I was, and I prefer it. Even if it looks as though I am giving up a lot. What I have gained has been far more valuable. I have gained a sense of self-worth by working for Marielle’s father. I haven’t made a wager in fifteen years, not on cards, dice, or even in jest. I remade myself into someone worthy of respect, of love. When her father died, we—Marielle and I—took over the running of operations. We do very well for ourselves and those who work for us.”
“But you are running a criminal operation.”
“The Royal Navy has ruined you, little brother.” Paul laughed. “Yes, we are criminals in the eyes of the government. But I prefer to see us as entrepreneurs and as a family.”
Malcolm frowned.
His brother bumped his shoulder. “I’m jesting. I am very proud of you. I have heard quite a bit about your career and prowess in catching criminals like me and my gang. What has made you come home, brother?”
