She repeated them back to me.
They were. “Kiss me.”
“I don’t know that one.”
“Yes, you do.” Instead of translating, I slipped my hand around the tender curve of her neck and tugged her close.
“Kiss me,” I whispered.
Our lips met, the touch so soft I thought I imagined it. But Allie groaned and the vibration shot from my lips to my groin.
Screw caution and tenderness and all that foolishness. I needed this woman. My grip clenched in her hair and I strained upward to deepen the kiss.
And regretted it instantly.
She broke the kiss. “You’re not resting.”
“And you are making me work too damn hard for a simple kiss.”
“What was that about a kiss?”
Her Italian was improving. “Lie next to me.” I shifted to give her room.
“No…that’s dangerous.”
I laughed. “Truly, it is not.”
“What about your code?”
I paused. The temptation to say, “screw the code,” was forefront. But she reminded me that I’d promised not to pressure her. Yet there was a loophole. “We are married. It is…acceptable. Should you want to rest with me. Do you?”
Her smile was cagey. “I think you’re trying to trick me.”
“Me? Never.” I was such a terrible liar.
Without breaking eye contact, Allie placed one knee on the bed, then the other. Gracefully, she slipped into the space next to me. “You will not strain yourself, agreed?”
“There is no such thing as strain when you make love.”
Her eyebrow went up. “I think I know what that meant. In English, you…naughty man.”
“I will not strain myself.”
“You’re such a liar.”
It was good we were on the same page. Slowly, I turned to be face to face with her. She’d tucked her hands in front of her, like a prayer. I pulled the top one away and laid it against my heart. “Listen with your fingertips.”
This close, her perfume was a secondary note to the sensuous warmth of her body. In that heat was the essence of her, my queen, my life, my…
I had a wife.
And she was beautiful. All I had to do was touch her, please her…woo her. My heart beat faster.
I traced her eyebrow first, starting slowly, then trailing my fingers along her tender cheekbones and along the fine hairs curling by her ear. I traced that shell, finding out she was ticklish. The arch that formed the top curve was the most sensitive. It caused her to curl protectively with one shoulder closer. But along the bottom, she relaxed and let me explore.
In retaliation, she traced my face, starting with my lips. The sensation shot to my gut and despite the tensing of my muscles, it was magical. Yet, I couldn’t stand the torture long. I nipped at the pad of her finger to warn her away.
“He bites.”
