Her hips lifted off the bed, and suddenly he was there, filling her. Pleasure wound through her, around her, laced her to this man, this act, this fierce joy.
Gripping his hips, she demanded a rhythm of him, set him into motion like a pendulum while he kissed her breathless. She bucked again, her whole body pressing up to take more of him. Greedy, she wanted more. She wanted everything.
Shuddering, she watched the shimmer of pleasure wash over his face as his eyes closed, and his throat arched. He tensed and held himself tight, pouring himself into her.
Her palm cradled his head, her thumb brushing his cheek as he rested his head on the pillow next to her.
In a moment, he would leave her. His face would close, his expression unreadable, but she would feel a hint of the pain leaking through his control.
When he would have spoken, she placed her fingers against his lips, turned her head to kiss him, willing him silent.
What the hell was that?
Montgomery moved, rolled on his back, away from her.
Pleasurewasn’t a strong enough word to describe what had happened, but he couldn’t think of another at the moment. He wasn’t sure he could think at all. He wiggled his toes to make sure they were connected to his feet and the feet connected to his legs. He knew his left arm was still intact because that was over his eyes. Experimentally, he flexed his hand, surprised to find it was still working.
He thought his lips might be numb but knew his manhood was still firmly intact. Everything he was feeling radiated outward from that one spot.
He’d seen Veronica dressed in her blue wrapper, and beneath, a nightgown so diaphanous he could see the curves of her breasts and the darkness at the apex of her thighs. Lust had taken him unawares. Instant, raging lust, as if he were some rutting beast. He had to have her, and reason or rationale or thoughts of an overdue apology hadn’t stopped him.
Thank God Veronica, his surprising wife, hadn’t allowed herself to be forced. Nor had she succumbed. She’d demanded.She’d been as wild as he. He had a bite mark on one shoulder to prove it. And possibly some scratches on his buttocks.
What the hell had come over him? Over her?
He slitted open one eye. Veronica had her eyes closed, her face upturned. He wished he knew what to say to her. Did a husband thank a wife? Did he especially thank her for being a virago in bed?
She’d urged him on, as he recalled, and he doubted he was going to forget that anytime soon. The memory of this night, every night with her, might well live on until his deathbed.
God, he felt good.
Veronica should get up and go back to her room. Tonight, he’d sleep. He might be hard-pressed to stay awake until she left. Except she wasn’t leaving. She was turning toward him, her hair spread over the pillow, marking it as hers.
He should speed her on her way, say something to her that he could apologize for in the morning. A statement to get her out of his room.
Instead, and counter to everything he thought wise, he rolled over, pressed a kiss to her temple. She opened her eyes and quickly closed them again, avoidance in a gesture.
“Stay,” he said softly. “Please.”
Without waiting to hear her answer, he drew the sheet over them.
What the hell was he doing?
When Veronica awoke, it was dawn.
Montgomery was dressing, and she watched him for a few moments from beneath half-closed lids. He was so handsome it was a pleasure simply to look at him. Each action, from drawing on his shirt to fastening his cuffs, was done with deliberation. He didn’t look at himself as he dressed. Instead, his gaze seemedfocused inward, as if mentally ticking off a list of things he needed to do.
He sat, pulling on his boots, and remained there a moment, both hands on the arms of the chair, head bent, as if he’d been given a problem requiring a weighty decision.
Veronica closed her eyes and tried to sense what he was feeling, but all that came to her was a cloud of confusion, colored gray and black.
She heard him walk to the door, then pause. She pretended to be asleep, not from shyness as much as reluctance. They dealt so much better with each other in the act of passion than when they tried to talk. She didn’t want her questions left unanswered, or see the flat expression in his eyes or the set look on his face.
Better to love the lover than try to talk to him.
When certain he was gone, she opened her eyes again and rolled to her back. A moment later, she sat up on the edge of the mattress, found her wrapper lying neatly at the foot of the bed, and dragged it on. Gathering the remnants of her nightgown in case one of the maids found it, she bunched the fabric in a ball in her hands and left Montgomery’s room. Once in her bedroom, she tossed the ruined nightgown into the rubbish, hoping Elspeth wasn’t all that curious.
At least the seamstresses were preparing a few more nightgowns for her.
