She opted for less force and more precision. None of the balls bounced off the table, at least.
They played the game, but she only had her turns when she thought he deliberately missed shots. Whenever she went to shoot he helped her, his body covering hers and his long arms teaching hers where to go and how to attack the ball she chose.
“I am going to lose,” she said while she dipped low to try what would surely be her last shot. “You are supposed to let me win. Any gentleman would.”
He hovered again, his voice near her ear. “I assumed you would be insulted if I deliberately lost. Not that I could have even if I tried, since you refuse to obey my instructions.” He moved her hand on the cue’s back end. “If you would hold this stick as I said, you would have improved far more by now.”
“So I should hold the hilt firmly like this, but let my fingertips caress the tip so it slides through. That does seem more effective. The next time you tell me how to hold a stick, I will listen.” She aimed, but her shot did not even hit the ball because again he swatted her rump.
Only this time his hand remained there. “You have a ribald sense of humor for a well-bred young woman, Clara.”
She straightened, right up into his arms. “It must be the wine. Have I shocked you?”
He laughed and pulled her closer. “I don’t think you can shock me.”
“How disappointing. I tried hard to do so.”
“If you are determined, you will probably succeed someday.” He kissed her. “I suspect you are accustomed to having your way in most things.”
“I am too ignorant to know what my way is yet, in some things.”
He held her head to a fevered kiss. “We will rectify that soon enough.”
There was no more banter, no more game. That kiss never ended. She clung to him and soared into the excitement he spun as their kisses turned hungry and their embraces grasping. She thought he might lay her down right there on the table. She hoped he would. Instead he released her, then grasped her hand and sped her out of the chamber, pulling her along while he strode up the stairs.
He swung her into her bedchamber and sat her down on the bed. He discarded his coats, then knelt in front of her. While he embraced and kissed her, his fingers found her dress fastenings. Then he sat back on his heels. Eyes hot and face stern, he caressed up her legs beneath her dress. Long, firm strokes made her skin tingle with warmth. He pushed up her skirt.
“Remove your dress while I kiss you.” He bent to do just that on her inner knee.
She watched while she hitched her skirt up over her hips, then pulled the dress over her head. Her chemise remained bunched on her thighs. His kisses moved in that direction. Their effect stunned her. So did their path.
He had described this in the park—spoken of kissing her naked thighs again and again, until he finally enjoyed the most private kisses imaginable. Now, as sensual tightness spread through her loins and she pulsed mere inches from his head, she understood as she had not then.
“Are you going to—Are you—” Her breath kept catching with each kiss, and she could not get the words out.
He grasped her hips and moved her closer to the bed’s edge. “Yes.” He pushed her thighs farther apart. “Lie back.”
She sank back on the bed. Kisses, hot and devastating, moved yet higher on her thighs. He touched her, and the pleasure made her delirious. Then she felt the most intimate kisses imaginable, and she went mad until her consciousness crashed around her in an explosion of pleasure.
When sanity beckoned again he stood beside the bed, holding her legs while he thrust inside her. She looked down her body, then in his eyes. She watched the fury rise in him, then own him, and finally bring him to the only ecstasy people ever knew.
* * *
Adam stroked his fingertips up and down Clara’s back. Naked now, she lay beside him on her stomach, hugging a pillow that supported her head. Her eyes were closed but she did not sleep. His wandering fingertips kept making her smile.
She reached over and placed her hand on his chest, as if she sought reassurance he was there.
“You are beautiful, Clara. Your creamy skin is like silk and velvet. Your hair in this dim light is dark satin, except for a few light flecks where the light finds some of the red strands.”
“Do not stop. My pride is devouring your flattery. Normally when I hear comments about my appearance, someone is pointing out the flaws.”
“Impossible. There are no flaws.”
“What a charming liar you are. I have been told often that my mouth is too large. Surely you noticed.”
“I think your mouth is perfect, and erotic.”
She opened her eyes. “Erotic?” She puzzled over that. “Thank you for at least not hating it. Oneperfectfrom you weighs more than a hundred criticisms from others. Still, I think we can agree that the sister offered to you was the more beautiful.”
