The devil’s own debutante.
The other half of him.
Why had he stopped?
He’d had the best of intentions only moments before. But suddenly, with her long blond curls luxuriously spread about her doll-like face and petal-soft skin, his arousal nearly consumed him. She arched her back slightly, drawing his eyes to two perfect breasts. One nipple was moist, where his mouth had been; the other begged to be loved as well.
He’d never claimed to be a saint.
“You are certain?” He was surprised when his words came out a whisper. Her voice had tugged at parts of his body where a mere voice had no right to affect.
“It is my wedding night, after all.” Again, desire wrapped around him even tighter.
Her words ought to have reminded him — reminded him that she’d married his cousin earlier that morning.
But she hadn’t really.
Except for Dev, the age-old words had held great meaning, and the vows had touched him.
And so, he knelt beside her. Taking one of her hands in his, he spoke solemnly.
“I, Devlin Roderick Michael Brookes, take thee, Sophia Ann Babineaux, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward…” Somehow, he knew them by heart. He’d heard them dozens of times before. “...for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto, I plight thee my troth. With all of my heart…” He’d changed the words, for he hadn’t a ring. “…I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship, and with all of my worldly goods, I thee endow.” He looked down at their hands solemnly.
He meant every word.
She gazed back, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted.
“You needn’t say them to me, Sophia.” An awkward wave of embarrassment washed over him. But she’d seen too much of the fickleness of man. “Not until you can do all of these things openly, legally. But I wanted you to know…”
She sat up and threw her arms around him, her gown falling away to drape itself around her thighs. She pressed enthusiastic kisses along his face and neck. His hands fell to her naked waist.
This moment brought to mind the feelings he’d often experienced the night before a battle.
Sometimes a moment was a gift. It was a precious event placed in one’s life, and one must take it gratefully. One never knew what the outcome of tomorrow would be, nor the next day, or the next hour.
Sophia was his gift. This moment was a gift to both of them. They would not pass it by.
He dipped his head and claimed her mouth again.
Close… So Close
He loved her. He did not need to say the words. In his actions, in his deeds, he’d showed her time and time again.
He’d shown her he loved her when he’d sat in the church today and somehow given her the courage to get through that ridiculous ceremony.
He’d shown her when he’d presented himself in the park on such a cold and rainy day.
He’d shown her by the care with which he treated her dog, let alone her own person.
He was not like Lord Kensington, or Harold, or any of the others.
On her knees before him, she pressed her body into his, loving the feel of his naked chest against her own. Soft hairs caressed her breasts. His abdomen trembled when she ran her hand downward.
“Sophia…” He whispered her name. He always made it sound like a whisper, even when he spoke it aloud. “Sophia.”
His hands reached for the top of his breeches, and he fumbled to unfasten them. She would help him with such a task but had no idea how. She pulled back slightly so that he could be quicker. At her impatience, laughter glimmered in his gaze. His muscles rippled beneath his skin as he worked the buttons.
And then, having unfastened them, he pushed her back onto the mattress. He rolled her onto her back, trapping her with his body. The hunger in his gaze thrilled her. He wanted her.
