He searched her face. There was nothing but desire in those blue eyes, and he wanted her so badly—had wanted her forever, it seemed—but if he truly were the gentleman he claimed to be, he’d leave her bed and not return until he’d made her his countess.
“I love you, Juliet. I want you to be my wife. We don’t have to live at Steeple Cross, or even Kent. We can live in London.” He’d take her wherever she asked, wherever she wanted. His home would always be where she was. “We can go to Buckinghamshire, if you like, or bring your sisters to—”
“Shh.” She touched a finger to his lips. “I’ll go anywhere you are. I love you, Miles,” she whispered, her gaze holding his. “Please.”
That was… well, there was nothing more to say, after that. Every protest dissolved like sugar on his tongue. He dragged his thumb across her bottom lip, still reddened from his kisses, then leaned down, and lost himself once again in her sweet mouth, and the hypnotizing stroke of her hand against his swollen cock.
“Open for me again,” he whispered, a thrill of possessiveness shooting through him when she did as he asked without question, parting her delicious thighs for his seeking fingers.
He stroked her gently, coaxing her back to wetness before he began opening her to take him, probing carefully, and clenching his teeth against the temptation of her tight heat.
He wouldn’t hurt her for the world.
So, he held back, stroking and teasing her until a sigh left her lips, and she grew restless under his touch. Only then did he take her to the edge with one teasing caress after another, until she was crying out for him.
When her fingernails sank into the slick skin of his back, he tore his breeches off, sent them flying over the end of the bed, and settled between her thighs. “There will be a brief burst of pain, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
She smiled up at him, so lovely and trusting, and shook her head. “I’m not.”
As careful as he was with her, she let out a soft gasp when he entered her, and he stilled at once, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “It’s over, love.”
Yet he waited, hips still, working her sensitive bud until at last she relaxed around him, and gave a tiny, hesitant thrust of her hips. “It’s all right, now.”
Then he did begin to move in shallow, careful thrusts, his jaw tight with the effort of holding back, but soon enough she was moving with him, her head tipped back against the pillow, lips parted, a wondering expression in her eyes as she gazed up at him.
When she let out a soft cry and wrapped her legs around hips he let go, thrusting deeply into her until they were moving together as one body, one heart. He caught her fevered cries on his lips, breathing his own groans into her mouth as he edged them closer with every plunge of his hips.
He groaned as heat flooded him, pleasure gathering into a tight knot in his spine, but he held back, sweat beading at his temples until at last she let out a cry, and her body pulsed around him, tight and hot, taking him with her into a blissful release.
Afterwards, he tucked her against him, and pressed a tender kiss to her temple. A thousand words flooded his head—all the things he wanted to tell her, a thousand promises he’d make her—but then she sighed against him, her eyelids heavy over her beautiful blue eyes, so he simply held her close.
He had time enough to make her promises, and a lifetime to keep them.
So, he closed his eyes, and they drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep together, his arms wrapped around her, and her hand over his heart.
Epilogue
Steeple Cross, Eight weeks later.
“Shame on you, Lord Cross! Is this how you intend to win at bowls? By incapacitating your competitor?” Juliet made a show of trying to disentangle herself from the muscular arms wrapped around her waist, but her husband only urged her closer, his hard chest warm against her back.
“No, this is how I intend to have my way with my beautiful wife.” He swept her hair aside and pressed his lips to the curve of her neck, his breath hot against the sensitive skin. “Dear God, you smell good.”
“Do I?” She closed her eyes on a soft laugh, her breath hitching when he teased the tip of his tongue behind her ear. The man had the most sinful tongue in all of Oxfordshire.
Maybe all of England.
“Yes. You always do, like sweet cream. You taste like it, too.” He buried his face in her hair, inhaling. “I’m weary of bowls, Lady Cross. Surely, there must besomethingelse we could do instead?”
She turned in his arms to smile up at him. “You aren’t suggesting we abandon our game just so you won’t lose to me at bowls again, are you?”
“Certainly not. I would happily lose to you every day.” He dragged a finger down the line of her neck, a slow smile rising to his lips when she shivered in response. “No, I’m merely concerned you’ve had too much sun, and thought we might pursue an, er… indoor activity instead.”
“We spent all morning pursuing an indoor activity, my lord, and part of the early afternoon, as well.” It had been utterly delightful, too. She’d felt quite decadent, lounging in bed until the sun was high in the sky, laughing with her husband, tracing patterns on his bare chest with her fingertips and whispering in his ear until he’d tumbled her onto her back with a growl, and tormented every inch of her with that wicked mouth.
Indeed, she hadn’t the least objection to a return to the bedchamber, only she did so love to tease him, so she might see his lips quirk in that delightful smile that was hers alone.
“But you’ve had far too much sun, my lady.” He trailed his teeth from her earlobe to the corner of her lips. “Your skin is all flushed and rosy.”
