He did not hesitate a moment, but untied his breeches and drove deep within her welcoming warmth. She lay still, just trembling from all that had been before. He moved against her with the care of a master artist, seeking to elicit all emotions, all desires, and all needs. And when she rose again to the sure blaze of sensation, he at last gave over to his own desperate need. Hungry and afire, he took her with a fierce and driving force, and it seemed that the sun rose in his heart and vision, only to burst and explode all around him. There was no woman like her. None with her slender, provocative form, none with the perfect fullness of her breasts, not with her wild blaze of hair, her startling teal eyes.
No woman could love as she, caress a man so, part her lips so. Drive him to absolute heights with the thrust and sway of her hips, with her whispers, cries that touched the wind, that brought him to heaven.
She created…paradise.
She was his wife. She had said it. He had claimed her.
And he loved her. Deeply, and forever.
He fell beside her, pulling her close. For long, long moments they were silent. They were together, softly trembling with aftershocks of the explosion of the sun.
At long last he gently moved his hand over her bare breast, watching a golden curl fall from it. She buried her head against his throat and reached out a finger tentatively to touch his shirt.
“You’re still dressed!” she whispered reproachfully.
He hesitated. “Umm,” he said noncommittally. He saw his own fingers upon her flesh and he drew them away, holding her tightly. He should not even let her see his hands so, he thought. A smile teased her lips. Of all women to fear the darkness!
Darkness could hide so many sins.
He drew up the covers, but she was watching him pensively. She seemed very nervous. He leaned against her, and a shudder swept through him. He was about to leave her again. It might have been easier if she hadn’t come so close to him. If she hadn’t given him, freely, and willingly, this ecstasy.
He touched her lip. He stared into her beautiful eyes, and he remembered how he had fought the very idea of marriage.
This was no cross-eyed bride.
She was everything to him. She had been, from the very beginning.
“I love you,” he told her.
She inhaled sharply, her eyes widening. Then they widened even further, and she whispered, “I—I think I love you, too.”
“You think?”
She twisted away. He longed to pull her tight again. He knew that she was remembering a different man, a pirate, in a faraway paradise of her own.
He hated himself at that moment.
He longed to speak to her.
But he could not.
He pressed his lips against her hair and held silent for long moments. Then he whispered again, “I do love you, Skye Kinsdale Cameron. You have become my very life, and I swear, my love, I vow myself to you, now and forever.”
She lay silent. He turned away with a sigh, tying up his breeches. He rose from the bed and walked over to the table, picking up the rum bottle and swallowing down a long draft.
They would have this night, he determined. He would have to leave her in the morning, and by God, he would return with her father. She would be his wife then, in every way, for every day and month and year that came to follow.
But until then, he would have this night.
Something like a sob seemed to escape her. He turned around and saw that she was rising, too. Naked and graceful and beautiful and sleek, she walked his way. Her head was lowered. She came to stand in front of him. Her hands fell upon his chest. She leaned against him, kissing him, letting the wet warmth of her tongue blaze through the linen of his shirt.
“I will honor you, I swear it!” she cried softly.
He frowned, for her tension was so great, then his frown faded, for the lap of her tongue against his flesh was so arousing.Her fingers moved against his shoulder, her body was flush against his. She had indeed given herself to him that night, in so many ways.
In so many ways…
He moved to sweep his arms around her, but she slipped away and idly picked up the rum bottle.
