“Beautiful, Aideen.” There was no point denying such a blatant truth.
“Thank you,” she whispered, “the colour is a little dark for me, but–”
“I am not talking of the night-rail.”
A red flush caught her cheeks and he wanted to lave that heat from her skin. “I apologise for calling you a hellcat. It was…impolite for a bridegroom.”
“Are you?” she asked with a sideways glance, sipping and then slowly licking the brandy from her ripe cherry lips.
“No,” he admitted. “You are beyond doubt a hellcat. My very own exquisite hellcat.”
Her rook-black eyes flared at his possessive tone and he silently cursed.
There was only one way to occupy his insolent tongue and so he put the glass down.
She did the same.
Chapter Eleven
Distance is relative.
Tender or urgent?
Rakecombe knew which his body demanded but Aideen was a maiden despite her brazen tongue. He pressed a single finger to those red lips and they trembled beneath his touch.
For all her boldness, his hellcat was nervous. He caressed downwards with that one finger, across her neck as it arched, and along the edge of the material, until he met the ribbon at her breast.
Hooking a finger in the sheer silk, he pulled her closer, and their bodies brushed. He cupped that resolute chin and lowered his mouth.
Soft satin and warm temptation.
The kiss began leisurely.
Never before with Aideen had he taken the time to savour but oh, how he did now.
Brandy, chocolate and violets engulfed his senses and he wished he hadn’t been such a stubborn fool to abandon her this afternoon.
He could have picked the flowers from her hair, seen it fall loose, slipped that lilac wedding gown from her body with tender appreciation.
Not that the blue night-rail hadn’t turned his brain to pudding, and he slid a hand down her back, the material a teasing barrier to his desires.
Finally, his searching fingers found that stunning derriere and he palmed it, before pulling her tight to his body, mouth never leaving hers, breath forgotten as the storm built and their tongues tangled.
His wife gasped as their bodies fitted seamlessly. She must be able to feel his desire, his want, but she didn’t pull back, and that gasp hadn’t been maidenly shock either.
None the less, to ensure she knew exactly what was happening, he ground his pelvis against her softness whilst nuzzling her ear.
No protest came; instead, a low moan greeted his impudence, and he did it again – this time to assuage his own aching groin.
Never had he been so aroused, so heavy with need than at this moment. Nigh on a year had passed since he’d first met Aideen Quinlan and in that time, she’d oft disturbed his thoughts both by day and by night.
Their mouths met again, but restlessness replaced leisure and hands no longer caressed with ease but with potent fervour. His kiss grew rougher, but it was he that groaned as she nipped his lip and drew away.
Sooty eyes stared, glazed with passion, lips swollen, and he walked her backwards until she met the wall, the Cranford-red paper hangings a luscious backdrop to her midnight-clad form.
He envied that mask of silk clinging to her breast and thus yanked at the material until her pert nipple offered itself behind the gossamer band of the night-rail.
Vaguely, his brain implored him to be more circumspect with his innocent wife, that he lay her down and handle her with restraint, but this was Aideen.
