“Harry?” Tessa’s voice called softly.
God, he loved hearing her say his name. His real name.
Closing the door that separated the rooms (and sending silent thanks to his oldest sister for the convenient bedchamber arrangements), Harry went to the bed. Dressed in a robe borrowed from Strathaven, he’d debated whether or not to go to Tessa.
It was late, she needed her rest, and it wasn’t proper.
On the other hand, he was madly in love with her.
He smiled. “Expecting someone else?”
Tessa was sitting up, a lamp lit by the bedside. “Silly man. I was hoping you would come.”
Her candor made his chest clench, but it was a sweet kind of pain. The sweetness intensified when she pulled back the coverlet, patted the mattress next to her.
Hell, he didn’t need to be asked twice.
Settling against the pillows, he pulled her into his arms. Just held her and absorbed the rightness of doing so. The rightness of Tessa.
“I adore you,” he said against her hair.
She tensed, and he felt a pang of remorse. Given his trespasses, he wouldn’t blame her for not believing him. She’d forgiven him, yes, but that didn’t mean she would forget that he’d lied to her. He was wracking his brain for a way to tell her it was all right, that he would earn her trust again, when she lifted her head from his chest and looked at him.
“Your sisters told me you weren’t the effusive type.”
Relieved at the teasing, loving sparkle in her eyes, he said, “I’m not. Only with you.”
“Does that mean I’m going to get poems on my pillow?”
“If you want them.” He’d give her poems. He’d give her any damned thing she wanted.
“What on earth would I do with poems?” Her hand slid inside his robe, the ridges of his belly flexing beneath her caress. When her fingers circled his cock, his breath hitched. Her touch made him instantly hard. And he got harder when she whispered in his ear, “I’d rather have this.”
He turned onto his side, facing her. “We don’t have to make love tonight,” he said seriously. “You must be exhausted. Let me hold you until you fall asleep.”
“Or I could hold you.” Her fist tightened, and he couldn’t stifle a groan. “And we could pleasure each other until the morning comes. Which sounds better, do you think?”
A question that didn’t require an answer. He leaned in to claim her mouth…and found himself pushed onto his back instead. He blinked as she straddled his torso. “Sprite?”
“I’ve decided how I’m going to exact my retribution. You’re going to lie back and let me have my way with you.”
Well. This was new.
And bloody arousing.
His erection strained against her bottom. “Whatever you wish, love.”
She bent over and kissed him. Sweetly, so sweetly that his blood sang and he reached for her—and found his hands swatted away.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Professor,” she said.
God, he was going to come just from her saucy banter.
He let his hands fall to his sides, and she proceeded to kiss him again. Her lips fluttered over his injured face, gentle and sweet and healing. His chest heaved as her tongue traced grooves of muscle, as she licked, nuzzled, and nibbled her way down his body. Tasting him with a desperation that made his fists twist the sheets. When her nightgown got in her way, she yanked it over her head, and her loveliness struck him like a physical blow.
“You’re the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen,” he said.
“So are you. I especially like this.” Her finger traced the trail of hair that bisected his abdomen, the ridges leaping beneath her touch. “It’s like an arrow pointing to my favorite part.”
