Golden hair spilling in abandon on to her shoulders and breasts, a small silver cross on a blue ribbon at her neck. He bent over her, kissing her cheek as chastely as a boy and she smiled. His chest ached sweetly as she draped her arms across his shoulders, encouraging him closer, but he held himself away, intent on his own exploration. His hands slid across her ribs, then around her waist, measuring the span. So fine, so tiny. He traced her navel with a fingertip, shaped the curve of her belly with his palm, until his hand reached her most private place. He combed through the crisp fair curls. She shivered and his shaft pulsed in response.
Garrick eased his hand between her elegant thighs, nudging them apart. A faint murmur of protest escaped her lips. The way she played the innocent was so unbelievably erotic. A delightfully sensual act designed to trap him in her web. His need surged rampant and urgent.
He stroked the velvet softness of her inner thighs, caressed her cleft and found it slippery with her moisture. For him. It felt like a gift from the gods. A treasure beyond compare. Her eyes drifted open on a moan. He smiled down into her passion-filled face, seeking the tiny nub of flesh, desiring her pleasure above all else. He circled his thumb. Her expression softened and her eyes glazed over, then she arched her back and cried out deep and guttural in her throat.
No virtuous games now, just her body responding to his touch in mindless ecstasy.
Her hands stroked his chest, his arms, his back. His skin tingled and his blood flared wherever her hands caressed. Sweet heavens, he needed to be inside her. He lowered his head and kissed her, tasting, plundering her soft welcoming mouth, sucking at her lips, drawing her tongue into his mouth as he kneed her legs wider. Slowly, he dipped the tip of his finger inside her wet, hot passage and found her ready. Hot blood roared through his veins.
Cradled by her body, her inner thighs a soft support for his hips, he lowered his mouth to her wonderful breasts. Tightly furled, her nipple rubbed against his lips as he kissed and licked the soft, tender flesh. Then he suckled. She moaned. His groin tightened. He lifted her hips, reached down and guided his rigid shaft to her entrance.
She stilled beneath him, her eyes wide in wonder and the pretence of fear. It drove him to the edge of madness and beyond. He eased into her warm wet flesh, rejoicing in her heat tight around him. So damned small. Almost too small. Deliciously resistant. He thought he would die of pleasure. He moved slowly. He knew how to prolong his partner’s enjoyment, but now she struggled, deliberately exciting him beyond control, fuelling his masculine need for ascendancy.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth, gathered up her wrists and held them above her head, her breasts lifting. He kissed and sucked each nipple while she squirmed beneath him. So damned sexy. He thrust his hips forwards and she cried out in genuine pain.
He froze. ‘Bloody hell.’ He stared down at her. ‘Ellie?’ She shook her head, her face shocked. His arms and body shuddered with the effort of holding still.
‘Sweet Lord. Tell me this is not your first time.’ His body screamed a furious protest. His mind refused to grapple with the truth.
She nodded and swallowed, obviously scared to death. He groaned. What was done was done. He stayed still inside her, gasping for air, summoning control. If he left her now, hurting and afraid, she might never recover. He had to bring her more than pain, but she was rigid beneath him. No longer aroused, just afraid and tight and tense. She wasn’t pretending. He’d deflowered an innocent.
Hell and damnation. The realisation cut through him like terrible blades. He’d known. Deep down, he’d known. God damn it. The urge to strike out balled his fists.
He fought his rage, trembled with its force, beat it down until he could finally speak. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Trust me. I will try not to hurt you more. Sweetheart, kiss me.’
Her lovely mouth trembled. Tears welled in her eyes. Damn, they were joined together and he needed to gain her trust. He released her hands and, holding his torso completely still on his forearms, he lowered his mouth to hers. He placed tiny little kisses on each lip, barely more than a whisper. He could feel her warm breath on his throat, little gasps of terror.
His fault. He traced a path from her lips to her chin, across her throat. He nuzzled her neck, feeling her silky hair against his face, inhaling its light floral perfume. He ran his tongue around the edge of her ear and then softly probed the orifice. She shivered. She moved under him, he felt her arms encircle him. Felt her relax.
Sweat traced a cold path down the centre of his back as every muscle strained to hold his pounding need in check. He withdrew slowly, just a little, then slid forwards.
She lifted her hips, encouraging him now, welcoming him into her depths. Her courage humbled him. She was as brave as a warrior, and she was his.
‘Ellie,’ he groaned. ‘Hold still, for God’s sake.’
He heard her laugh low in her throat. ‘I’m all right,’ she whispered. She brought her legs around his waist. Unable to hold back, he thrust into her deeply, fiercely, and felt her rise to meet his every stroke.
She dug her fingers into his back. He welcomed the sting of pain and remembered to breathe.
Her heat engulfed him, making him forget all thoughts of restraint. He thrust faster, his body taking command. The storm built and swirled and raged and erupted in tearing, streaking light. Her back arched and she moaned sweetly and shuddered as she reached for heaven and found it. The edge of his abyss loomed close, hot and dark and welcoming. He withdrew from her body, spent his seed in the tangle of sheets and joined her on her downward spiral.
Panting, they lay together in heated bliss. He pulled her tight against his side, cradling her in the crook of his arm, stroking her until he was sure she slept.
Nom d’un nom. A virgin. If he had known, he would never have taken her. He shook his head in disbelief. Castlefield had not bedded her. Perhaps he scorned a mere servant, no matter that she had shown such love. He couldn’t help the feeling of triumph, even as he regretted her loss.
She’d given him, of all men, a treasure beyond price. He wanted to curl his body around her, shelter her from the world. The emotion tugged at a painful chord in the region of his heart. An emotion he couldn’t afford.
He gazed down at her beautiful face, so young, so fragile in sleep. He brushed her silky hair away from her forehead and kissed each eyelid, with its sweep of fair lashes against fragile skin. Satisfied, he held her safe, then drifted off to sleep.
Shadows filled the room when Garrick opened his eyes. He stretched, feeling the wonderful pull of muscle from head to toe. None of the familiar feeling of panic of something urgent he needed to remember. Had he ever awoken feeling so utterly relaxed?
Ellie stirred. He rolled on his side, kissed her cheek, then her mouth, savoured the honeyed taste of his woman. ‘Awake already, chérie?’ he whispered. The wicked part of his body responded to the thought of her awake. Not a good idea, not when she’d be sore. And he was expected at the Court. He hung over the side of the bed and retrieved his watch, squinting at it in the fading light. Almost seven. ‘I must hurry, if I want to be in time for dinner.’
Beside him, her body tensed.
He turned to face her, propped up on an elbow. ‘What is it, sweet?’
Her gaze slid away. ‘Nothing.’
In his experience, when a woman said nothing in that cool tone of voice