“I am sorry to hear it.” He wound a strand of her hair around his finger. “For once, we have a bed at our disposal. I was hoping to put it to a use other than sleeping…but your well-being comes first, my sweet.”
Her brain fogged with desire and vexation. She couldn’t deny that lovemaking would be a good way to vent her churning energy. If this was just an affair, then she ought to get something out of it, oughtn’t she? Yet how could she admit she wanted bed sport when they’d nearly gotten into an argumentandshe’d just claimed she was tired? Her pride wouldn’t allow it.
The blighter made a show of fluffing her pillow before pushing her gently to lie back upon it. He kissed her on the forehead, the tender press of his lips making her sex flutter.
“Comfortable, my dear?” he said in a solicitous tone.
“Yes.”Annoying bastard.
“Then close those beautiful, tired eyes.”
Blooming hell.She knew she wouldn’t get any sleep tonight. Caught in the web of her own conceit, she had no choice but to shut her eyes.
She felt him get out of bed. Heard the torturous rustle of his clothes being shed. The thump of his boots hitting the ground. She tried not to picture him without his clothes. His carved chest and washboard stomach. The oh-so-sensual vee of muscle girdling his loins…
The mattress shifted, and she felt him get into bed. Need simmered and bubbled in her belly. God, she wanted to open her eyes, to reach out and touch him…
Her nightgown began to slide up her legs. Her eyelids flew open.
Rhys was kneeling beside her. He was naked: all taut, golden skin and sinewy splendor. Smiling, he caressed her bare thigh.
“I thought you were letting me rest,” she blurted.
“I am. You rest, my sweet,” he said silkily, “and I’ll do the work.”
“How can I possibly…oh.” Her hips arched as he reached the apex of her legs. She could feel how wet she was, her dew aiding the marauding path of his fingers.
“Poor little pussy, it’s weeping with fatigue.” His roguish smirk belied any sympathy for her state. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll take care of it. You just lie back and relax.”
His thumb circled her pearl, rubbing back and forth over the quivering nub of flesh. She moaned as tingles shot to her womb, her breasts. With his other hand, he swept her nightgown over her head, and she struggled to be free of the fabric. He gave a husky laugh at her eagerness, but she no longer cared. Her pride was butter in the hot pan of pleasure. Her thoughts and cares melted away. There was only her sizzling desire for this man.
Tossing the nightgown aside, he placed a big hand on her right breast. He teased the aching peak even as he skillfully manipulated her sex with his other hand. He penetrated her with one long finger, and she moaned, her passage clutching at him.
“Christ, that’s sweet,” he crooned. “You want more, don’t you? There you go, tighten on me again. Milk my fingers with your little sheath, Maggie mine.”
It wasn’t his naughty litany that stopped her breath, but his endearment. Merciful heavens, it was true…shewashis. The care he took with her, his tenderness with their daughter, the aliveness he ignited in her—all of it was a dream come true. A dream so good that even knowing that she would one day wake from it didn’t change the reality branded upon her heart.
She belonged to this man. To Rhys. Always, Rhys.
The recognition was tinder to her desire. His hot gaze lay claim to her as did his stroking touch. She whimpered as he plunged inside her, harder, faster, his palm slapping wetly against her petals. He pinched her nipple as his long fingers reached deep inside, curling, massaging an exquisite spot. There was no holding back; with him, there never was.
Her crisis swept over her, and she soared into the golden blaze of his eyes.
Chest heaving, Rhys brought his fingers to his lips. He licked them, savoring Maggie’s sweetness. Christ, she was never more beautiful to him than when she was robed in afterglow.
When she forgot to be prim and proud. When she was all flushed, soft, and sated from his loving. When her eyes were drowsy with pleasure…and her defenses lowered.
Earlier, he’d thought she might tell him her secret. God knew he’d wanted her to. It had required all his willpower not to reveal that he’d already guessed that he was Glory’s father. After how he’d wronged Maggie, he did not deserve her trust. But he was determined to earn it.
She, on the other hand, seemed just as determined to misinterpret his intentions. It aggrieved him that she mistook his desire to protect her for…snobbery. That she would think, because of his title, he believed that she was not good enough for him. He couldn’t give a damn what society thought of their match: Maggie Foley was the best woman he’d ever met.
Far too good for him, in truth.
Given the nefarious reputation of her family, he understood why she looked down upon herself. The most frustrating thing of all was that, here and now, he had nothing to offer her. No promises he could make. No actions he could undertake to show her that hewouldcome back for her…as long as he could do so a free man.
Well, there were no actions he could take save one. Here in bed, communication was never a problem for them. Maggie trusted him with her body. Mayhap if he loved her well enough here, she might one day trust him with…more.
For years, he’d avoided attachments, feared the responsibility that went along with them. Yet for Maggie, he would try to be a better man. A man fit to be her husband.
