“Not me.”
Dara’s lips parted in surprise at his swift, emphatic response. He moved toward her, reaching to cup her face in his hands. “I prefer you even when you are soaking wet and smelling of the lake.”
He meant his words as a declaration, of how much he cared for her. Instead, she countered, “It isn’t fair that you have gone to such lengths to rescue me from my own rash behavior.”
“Maybe I’m not rescuing you.” She was so perfect for him. “Maybe I’m rescuing myself.”
“Oh, Michael—”
“Dara, will you stop debating and kiss me?”
And she did.
She lifted on her tiptoes, curled her fingers in his neckcloth, and pulled him down to her. Their lips met and she kissed him, fully, completely, and, blessedly, without reservations.
Michael wrapped his arms around her, making their kiss long and deep. When his tongue brushed hers, she responded, catching him, savoring him, and it was almost his undoing.
Doubts evaporated.
He swung her up in his arms and carried her down the hall to his room. The door was open. That clever Teddy had even turned down the covers. Michael stood her on the mattress. For once, she was taller than him.
She placed her arms around his neck and kissed him, leaning her body against him. She held nothing back, because she was Dara. She met life with everything she had to offer.
He untied the laces of her dress, enjoying the feel of her curves beneath the material.
After tugging at his neckcloth, Dara tossed it to the ground. She bent her knees so that she could unbutton his waistcoat. This gave Michael the opportunity he wanted to remove the sweet daisies attached to pins and let her hair tumble around her shoulders.
Her hair was glorious to him—a blend of gold, deep molasses brown, and light toffee. It was longer than he imagined, falling midway down her back. The strands felt like silk as he combed his fingers through them.
Her lips found his. Her kiss became eager as she shoved his jacket and vest down over hisshoulders. She let the clothing fall to the floor as she turned her attention to his shirt. She freed it from his breeches. “Help,” she whispered against his mouth.
It was his pleasure to obey. He stepped back and lifted his shirt over his head. With a low hum, she wrapped her arms about his neck and flattened her breasts against him. He could feel hard nipples beneath the layers of her dress, and he was done with being patient. He wanted her, in a way he’d never desired a woman before.
He lifted her skirts and sent her dress to join his clothing on the floor around them.
Dara was a vision in her thin chemise and petticoats. She was perfection. He kissed her neck, tasted the sensitive skin under her chin, and worked his way to one of her delicate ears. Dara all but melted into his arms.
He sat on the mattress, pulling her down into his lap.
She had to feel the strength of his erection, to realize how aroused he was, but she did not balk. Instead, while he started untying the tapes holding her petticoats to her chemise, her fingers slipped under the edge of his breeches. They twisted the first button free. And then another.
And that was it.
They became serious now, shedding clothes and helping each other until they were both gloriously naked. She was more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. His wife. His perfect, lovely wife.
He leaned her back against the pillows, his desire for her more than evident. He settled himself beside her and kissed her ear, her neck, working his way to her breasts.
She was so responsive. She gasped when his teeth caught her earlobe between them. When his mouth covered her nipple, she cried out. Her legs opened to him as if with a will of their own.
So he had to touch her. What he wanted was to taste her. He held back. They would play again later. In fact, he promised himself he was going to make love to her every day of their lives together.
She gave as good as she received, and there was something bewitching about a woman who wasn’t afraid to touch and explore his body. It took all his skill to maintain his control.
Her hand smoothed over and cupped his buttocks. She arched and moved with a sensuous grace, her skin against his creating a delicious fiction.
It took little to please her—the heat of his mouth on her breast, the slide of fingers as he tested her tight wetness, the play of their tongues. Her skin tasted like the sweetest cream.
At last, Michael knew he could not hold himself in check any longer. The time had come.
