An embarrassing whimper escaped her, and his mouth slanted over hers again. The bodice of her gown sagged, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She wanted his mouth on her, anywhere, everywhere. Each passing second, her need intensified, grew more insatiable. The heat of his hand shaped her breast, and his lips traced her neck, leaving a trail of raised flesh as the cool air touched it.
A flock of hummingbirds had taken up residence in her stomach, their wings batting furiously for escape. Wetness pooled between her legs in a primal need that engulfed her. Still, she forced herself to slow. Moved her hand down to cradle his erection. She rejoiced in the heat emanating from his trousers. An intense hiss whispered against her neck, her chest. Her heart pounded with searing anticipation as he moved lower. His tongue flicked across one nipple, threatening the stability of her knees. She clutched his head to her breast, fearing the emotions overtaking her with the force of a giant sea swell in the eye of a raging storm.
He pressed his hand over hers, the one that cupped the blaze of fire she held. He moved his hand with hers in a hard caress. “I need to be inside you.”
He reared back, pinning her gaze, his eyes begging.
A million things flew through her muddled brain. She couldn’t say no. And why should she? She was widowed, free, available for such a liaison. There was nothing, no one, to stop her. Having Brock was something she’d craved yet buried for years. “Yes. Yes, please.”
In seconds, her feet were off the floor and she was spun about. The myriad of buttons slipped from their tiny holes, and her dress fell from her shoulders. Panic seized her. Her hand flew to her chest, holding it in place. “No!”
Warm lips traced the column of her neck, trailing her exposed shoulder. “What are you afraid of?” he whispered in that rich timbre she hadn’t realized she’d missed. The heat of his hands cupping her shoulders moved down her arms, taking the soft fabric of her dress with them. It dropped in a sea of silk at her feet.
Still clasping her hands, he stepped back, raising her arms out with his as if preparing to take the flight of a bird—no, a dragon. A fire-breathing dragon that stirred the hair at her nape. In a move as graceful as a dance, he circled her around to face him. She dropped her eyes, unable to look at him. But he would have none of that.
He lifted her chin. “Look at me,” he commanded in a request so soft, so firm, she couldn’t refuse. He brought the hand he still held to his lips. Wispy kisses feathered her wrist, moving to each scar her late husband had inflicted. Burns from his cheroots dotted up to the crook of her elbow. “Are these what shame you, my lady? These are badges of honor.”
“Honor,” she said with disgust, trying to snatch back her arm.
He held tight, denying her attempts. “Yes. Honor. Did you stop to think that the horrors you suffered likely saved your children?”
Leave it to Brock to pierce her fears with the precision of a poisoned dart. She slid to the floor, her back against the polished oak door.
He knelt before her. “Did you forget I’d seen your scars before? Every blasted one. Did you think I’d let my valet bathe you when I spirited you away from Maudsley and you lay on your deathbed?”
She blinked and welled-up tears spilled over.
“Christ.” He pulled her into his arms, cradled her like a small child, rocked her against his chest while gusted sobs wracked her body.
God. She’d never be able to hold up her head around him again. And here she was, swathed only in her thin chemise, corset, shoes, and stockings.
“Ginny, darling. Listen to me. None of Maudsley’s doings were your fault. Ever. The fault lay with me. I left you behind. You begged me to take you with me, and Ileft you behind.”
Why? Why did you leave me? It was horrible, she wanted to rail, but the words couldn’t squeeze past the constriction in her throat. She shook her head at his impassioned plea. He gripped her by the shoulders and shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth, then pulled her tightly against his chest.
Pain etched the creases around his mouth, effectively chipping the ice in her heart into breakable chunks. The shard points pricked her from the inside out. Suddenly, she didn’t care. She reached up and locked her arms behind his neck.
He hesitated for the minutest second before once more crashing his mouth over hers in a volcanic blast. Lips sealed together, he pulled her arms away and stripped her chemise over her head, dismantled her corset, and flung it away.
She sank into his heat. He rose to his feet with what had to be Herculean effort with her still solidly ensconced in his arms. She was not one of those dainty, graceful debutantes who weighed but a feather.
The wood of the door had cooled and was now hard against her back. He lifted one leg of hers and placed it at his waist, then his fingers explored the folds of her sex, preparing her. His mouth moved down, covering one breast, while his trousers somehow fell by the wayside, his erection a hot, jutting throb against her abdomen. “I can’t wait,” he said roughly. He maneuvered himself at her entrance then thrust. No finesse, no delay. “I’m sorry.” She reveled in the growl against her shoulder as he thrust again. “I’m sorry.” He said it three more times before he pulled her other leg around him and buried himself deeper.
The angle scraped against her most sensitive area. The unexpected move sent her sailing over the highest cliff in a freefall of white-hot sparks that exploded behind her tightly shut eyes. His heartfelt cry blasted into her naked shoulder as he pulsed inside her. The muscles in her arms ached from her hold around his shoulders. Perspiration gathered between her breasts as her chest heaved with rapid intakes.
He lifted his head and lapped up the droplets. Still buried deep, he carried her to the bed. “You’re staying.” It was a command, a law he dared her to break.
There was no strength to argue. That was a fight for another day. She nodded.
Brock withdrew from the sheath of Ginny’s body, despising every inch of the separation. It seemed to represent the last ten years of his life, of their lives. Time wasted, every last second. He tore back the counterpane and laid her down, then crawled in beside her. He pulled her body into his, tugging her head onto his shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Her whisper stroked him like a velvet caress.
The silence was surprisingly comfortable, and for the first time in years, his world righted itself. He laid his lips on the top of her head and let the memories flood him.
He pulled his shirt over his head. It was hopelessly wrinkled. And then he reached for his breeches. The crumpled note fell from his pocket and rolled across the horse blanket, both of them diving for it simultaneously. She was an instant quicker. He brushed aside the hum of foreboding. Ginny was nothing if not sensible.
Her triumphant grin humbled him. Early sunlight glinted off the mahogany of her dark, rumpled hair, creating a crowning halo of sorts. But this angel was a devil when it came to passion. He’d made her his wife in body. He could hardly wait to make her his wife in name. His heart had already claimed the title. He plucked a piece of straw from her hair and tossed it aside. They would have to do something with those flyaway curls before she snuck back in the house.
