Page 14 of Bedded Under The Christmastide Moon

It was heaven, yet burned like hellfire.

It was Brigham’s salvation, but would surely result in his being thrown into purgatory.

This was what he’d been longing for all these years; however, never did he delude himself into thinking he deserved it.

Melloria, his first and only love, pressed close; their mouths locked together as each struggled to hold on.

Her ripe mouth anchored them together as she pressed her body to his, claiming him as hers. Though Brigham had always known he belonged to her and only her. Her lips were lush and sweet, and he wrapped his arms about her waist to keep their mouths locked. As if sensing his heightened arousal, she ran her fingers up his neck and tangled them in his curling hair, holding his face to hers.

Her tight grasp on him was unnecessary, as he had no urge to let her go, no desire to allow her to slip away from him.

Tentatively, Brigham’s hands moved lower until they cupped her bottom, and he gently kneaded her rounded derriere gently as they deepened their kiss.

He wanted this moment to last forever—if only to delay the inevitable.

To avoid having to confess his failures in London and his regrets about having abandoned her all these years. His remorse for being gone when her mother passed away. And the heart of the matter, that he was too foolish to realize the import of it all until after everything he’d worked so hard for had been crushed. All these years he’d spent countless hours away from home. And when he was in residence at Hockcliffe, he’d droned on and on about his reform bills, the important men he’d met with, and the topics of discussion labored over during their meetings. All things that had been significant to Brigham, while Mellie suffered neglect at the hands of her estranged husband.

In response to his wayward thoughts, Brigham pulled her closer still, his knees touching hers through layers and layers of skirting and underpinnings, yet urging her thighs to spread. Oh, how he fought the impulse to dispel with the material that separated them, that kept his eyes and hands from the rounded flare of her hips and her from touching the corded muscle of his chest and shoulders.

They’d been wedded for years, but Brigham had never tasted the nape of her neck, never allowed his fingers to trail up her bare legs, and certainly never thought he’d ever have the right to have his lips upon hers.

Only in his dreams did he touch her like this—with reverence, adoration, and awe.

Brigham breathed deeply through his nose so as not to displace their mouths, yet the action served only to fill his entire being with her scent. So uniquely Mellie.

Not that of a berry or vanilla or even blueblossoms. No, the scent that clung to her was as if every flower, every blossom, every sweetness came together just for her; to blend as one to make her extraordinary fragrance. It was not something carried by any local mercantile, nor the creation of the esteemed Floris of London. Certainly, if he could bottle Mellie’s essence and sell the concoction, they would never see a day without immense wealth.

Brigham scoffed, breaking his lips from hers. He would never, ever allow another to get close enough to bask in her fragrance.

She was his. Had always been meant for him. Surely, he’d been created specifically to love and cherish her. The way their bodies melded together now was evidence of that fact.

They both panted hard as Brigham looked down into the green eyes that’d haunted his nights since before he recognized their connection. But what did he see therein?

Chapter Seven

Mellie could not remove her stare from Brigham. He was everything she’d always wanted. He alone was the one man who could provide her with protection, security, comfort—and, dare she dream… love. However, even in this moment, she sensed him retreating into his proper, gentlemanly shell. The mask he always wore in her presence.

He could not hide his desire for her. His need was evident. There was no masking the throbbing manhood in his trousers or the scorching arousal apparent in his intense stare.

The time gifted to them did not allow for games or distractions. She would not stand by while Brigham sidestepped her and denied them both what they so evidently needed.

Tightening her arms around his neck once more, Mellie brought his lips to hers as she pushed to her tiptoes. Besides a chaste kiss in their youth, she’d never kissed another—and she certainly enjoyed kissing Brigham, as well as the power she felt as he melted in her arms during their embrace.

For once, she was taking the lead in their relationship. She was in control, and she dictated when, where, and how far this intimacy went.

She was a vixen, a siren, utterly wanton…and Mellie didn’t care a whit.

Brigham’s touch did this to her. It was as hot as the blaze in the hearth and thawed the frozen bits of her heart.

With their mouths pressed close once more, Mellie parted her lips, and immediately, his tongue shot forward, exploring and tangling with hers as, all the while, she nestled her body closer to his. But his hands no longer remained on her backside, caressing and massaging her trembling flesh. Instead, with aching slowness, he moved his palms to her waist and slid his light touch up her sides to the curve of her heaving bosom. Despite her many layers of clothing, Mellie felt his fingers as they journeyed upward—felt the heat of his touch.

She sighed into his mouth as he reached behind her and popped her buttons from their holds—one at a time with swift fingers. Never once did he pull his lips from hers, and never once did the rhythm of their kiss veer off course.

Blessedly, her bodice loosened, giving Mellie the opportunity to breathe in deeply. When her chest expanded, her breasts pushed more firmly against his chest, fighting for space as Brigham took not even a step away from her.

The warm air provided by the hearth washed over her now bare skin at her shoulders.

She pulled back a mere inch. “Brigham?”