~~~
The brandy hit James harder for seeing the gossamer fabric that hid nothing of his bride’s delectable body. The outline of enticing areolas surrounding protruding nipples. The darkened apex at the top of her thighs. James swallowed and fought to steady himself. How long had it been since he’d had a woman? At the least, two months. In reality, longer. Much longer. There was no hiding his erection. Painful and desperate. She was so irate she hadn’t yet noticed.
Her green eyes flashed, and outrage heightened the color in her cheeks. She was a beauty. His wife. He could hardly countenance it. Her dark hair was a thick braid that hung over her left shoulder, blocking her left breast.
But he was angry too, yet was unsure why. Because he wanted her? Because his desire for her dulled his normally razor-sharp senses? The sensation was unfamiliar. Uncomfortable. This would not do. Not do at all.
He sauntered to the table where an empty flute stood next to a plate of ripe strawberries and peeled grapes… and a half-full bottle of champagne. He reached for the champagne and was appalled to find his hand shaking, causing him to overfill the flute.
He drank down the contents then set the glass aside. He faced his wife, licking the wine from his damp fingers. Took in her compressed lips and stubborn jaw. He been right in his assessment of her. Even in the current murkiness of his mind, he could see she would not be the least bit obedient, and her forthrightness would drive him wild if he didn’t find a way to—tame?—suppress?—accept?—deal with this debacle.
Heat was a slow boil through his system. What had those claims to her sister—her braggadocio—meant? She had no need to trap him, as her sister had plainly laid out. She was his, he was hers. The distance he’d perfected in the past months now swept away with their uttered vows. Need shuddered through him.
He flexed his hand. He would bed her, tame her—a low groan rumbled through him—accept her. She was his, he was hers. “Perhaps you should retreat to the bed, madam. We have business to transact.”
Shocked. She was shocked beyond words based on that adorable gaping mouth. A point in his favor.
The key to subduing this fiercely independent woman was keeping her off balance. He took a menacing step forward. “The bed,” he reiterated softly, dropping his silk robe to the floor.
Her eyes widened but he didn’t detect fear; just fascination as her gaze roved his body. His cock stiffened as if her fingers grazed him.
Her stunned expression snapped to his face.
The blood simmered beneath his skin.
He matched her step for step as she backed to the bed. A slow and predatory dance until the bed prohibited further retreat. He reached out, drew the back of his finger lightly up her arm. She quivered beneath his touch and the heat in the chamber soared. He leaned in and set his lips against the graceful column of her neck.
Her breath hitched and released against his shoulder. The simmer ratcheted up.
He grasped her upper arms and pulled her against his chest. The gossamer fabric scraped his skin, but the softness of her breasts could not be denied. He dropped to his knees and suckled her nipple through the delicate material.
Her fingers clutched in his hair.
He moved his mouth to the other breast. The alcohol he’d imbibed roiled through him. He wanted her, and it excited him. The manipulations—whether by agents of the Crown, Society, or his own wife. He was consumed with her scent, the taste of her skin.
He came to his feet in an unsteady lurch. “Is this your only… garment… of this sort?” he ground out.
“No,” she whispered.
He ran the tip of his finger over the top edge of the bodice, attempting to rein in the overpowering emotional turmoil. Her skin was so smooth. He stopped at a button and flicked it open. But there were hundreds…
He lifted his gaze to hers and stilled.
She was a mesmerist. A white witch that had him wanting to fall once again to his knees and kiss her dainty toes. His vision wavered and he gripped her bodice as his control teetered on a precipice of sheer air.
He drew in a shallow breath to counter his fragile equilibrium. All that did was assault him with the heady fragrance of jasmine, renouncing all resolve. An inner vigor rippled within. He swept her off her feet and dropped her in the center of the mattress.
Again, his vision wavered. He fell on top of her, slanted his mouth over hers. Her mouth parted and he didn’t hesitate. His tongue grappled with hers. Any gentleness was beyond him.
He rubbed his chest over her. The delicate night rail she wore barricaded his cock for entrance to her body. His desperation grew. The nagging logic plagued the farthest reaches of his brain… take it slow. But her grip on his shoulders, her tongue dancing in tune with his, stroke for stroke, overrode common sense. The brandy, the champagne, doing their part for suppression.
He tore his mouth from hers. “I-I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, mortified by the slur he failed to control. He planted his knees on either side of her and rose. Those billions of buttons shifted from one in place to three down the front of her body.
Finesse was outside his abilities. He fingered the part at the top and, with another breath, ripped it right down the center, exposing her breasts, her flat stomach, her rounded thighs.
“My lord?”
“No. You are mine. Bought and paid for,” he growled.
