Celeste found her dressing gown and threw it over her night rail. She cracked open the door, expecting to see Beatrice. Instead, Oliver slipped into her room.
He had taken off his neckcloth, and his shirt hem hung outside his breeches as if he had started to undress, then changed his mind. He still wore his boots. His hair appeared as if he had been dragging his fingers through it. He appeared miserable, his expression tense.
“I need to talk with you about what happened this afternoon,” he said. “I feel there is more to be said.”
A flood of emotions washed over her, the strongest being hope. A joyous hope.
Suddenly, she understood what Bea had been trying to say. So, she let her heart decide. She grabbed hold of his shirt, the material soft in her clenched fingers, pulled him down, and kissed him with the full passion of her being.
Oliver was stunnedby her kiss.
Only moments ago, he had believed he was going mad with worry because he’d upset her again. He’d wondered if he would ever do anything right when it came to Celeste. He had no difficulty pleasing other women or maneuvering them toward what he wanted.
But Celeste wasn’t other women. She was unique, special… and he couldn’t risk losing her. Because one of the realizations he’d had while he’d been furiously pacing his room was that he loved her.Allof her—the tilt of her head, the sound of her laugh, her determination, her honesty, her passion.
He’d always assumed the concept of “love” was for fools and poets. He’d thought it a fantasy. However, in this moment, inthis kiss, Oliver came face to face with the possibility thathewas the one who hadn’t understood. Nothing in this world meant more to him than Celeste. He wanted her respect, her trust, and for her tolovehim in the way he loved her.
And so, when she pulled him into a kiss, he wrapped his arms around her, lifted her up so that not even her toes touched the floor, and let his kiss speak for him.
Her arms tightened around him. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Oliver carried her to the bed. He had a thought that he would leave her there, but that was not what happened. He was so lost in their kiss that when his legs hit the bed, the two of them fell forward onto the mattress. He twisted at the last moment so that he didn’t fall on top of her. Instead, he rolled over onto his back, carrying her with him.
The kiss broke.
She didn’t scramble away. Instead, she looked down at him, one hand on the mattress, another on his chest. Her hair created a golden curtain around them.
For a long moment, they stared into each other’s eyes.
Gently, he combed the silken strands of her hair back from her face. Then, cradling her face in his palms, he kissed her again, deeper, fuller, the way she deserved to be kissed.
His tongue touched hers. Celeste gave a small start as if this was unexpected, and then she mimicked him, the tip of her tongue stroking the length of his.
The sensation of it went straight through him to the very willing and ready member pressed against his breeches. He needed to stop this before they went too far. He meant to rise from the bed, but instead, he rolled over, bringing her beneath him. She held fast. Her legs parted, and he found himself nestled against the heart of her.
Oliver thought he would explode. She wasn’t being deliberately provocative, just open and straightforward as shealways was. She desired him. He could feel the heat of her, even through the layers of her dressing gown and night rail. He wanted to touch her skin.
One more kiss, and he knew he would be powerless to control himself.
Celeste gaveher love full rein. It didn’t matter what happened on the morrow. She didn’t care what anyone thought. Her body sang with the pleasure of touching him. She ached for him and for what onlyhecould give her.
He was her forever.
When his lips found her ear, she thought the sensation would send her flying through the ceiling. When his hand covered her hard nipple, and his lips found the other, sucking on it lightly through the material, she gasped and never wanted him to stop. He knew every hidden sweet spot, and she liked letting him explore her body. In turn, she experimented with the tricks he’d just used, enjoying his response to her touch.
She nibbled at the juncture of his neck and chin, reveling in his reaction as he gathered her to him. When she tugged on his shirt, he helped pull it off. She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his back. Her fingers slipped under his breeches and grazed the top of his buttocks. She wanted more. She wanted all he had to offer.
Did she know what she was doing?
Oh, yes.
She let her fingertips travel around his waist until they were tantalizingly close to that hard line of his desire. She found a button. She twisted it. Her movements were clumsy. The button wouldn’t give.
He pushed himself up, bracing himself on his forearms. “We should stop.” His voice sounded husky.
The moonlight hit the hard, masculine planes of his chest and shoulders as he started to move away from her. She threw an arm around him. “No.”
“Celeste—” he started in a warning voice, but then the tips of her fingers slipped beneath the waist of his breeches and found the smooth, velvety head of his maleness. He sucked in his breath. A surge of warmth and need gathered between her legs. She moved her hips, her breasts had gone hard and full, and she yearned for him.
He began unbuttoning his breeches. She bit back a moan of desire as his manhood sprang to life, finally free of restrictions. He levered up and sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. First, one hit the floor, then the other. Celeste ran a hand up and down his arm, needing to touch him.
