His smile was tender. “I said I wouldn’t ravish you, and I won’t.”
“Sit here on the rug,” he said aloud, moving his hands to her shoulders to nudge her down. When she complied, he knelt behind her.
Roslyn went rigid. “Drew…”
“Hush, sweeting. Let me warm you.” He slid his arms around her, along with his blanket. “You’re half frozen.”
Leaning closer, he eased her down so that they both lay on their sides, her head resting on his left arm, his bare chest pressed against her back, his loins cradling her derriere. Although her quilt still separated them, he knew she could feel his body heat.
He felt an inexplicable heat inside him as well, despite the chill of his flesh. It was possibly madness, what he was contemplating, but instinct drove him, not reason.
Gazing into the crackling fire, Drew found himself smiling at the irony. After so many years of eluding matrimony, he was about to make the choice irrevocable. He intended to make love to Roslyn here and now. To claim her for his bride.
His surrender seemed somehow fated, though, and shortly Roslyn would feel the same way. She was willfully deceiving herself, Drew reflected. She felt a mutual passion for him, he was certain of it, even though she stubbornly continued to deny it.
And before they left this cottage, he would prove it to her conclusively.
Chapter Eleven
– Roslyn to Fanny
Roslyn lay wrapped in his arms, not daring to move. She was conscious of how wildly her heart was thudding, how intensely her senses had sharpened.
The fire threw a welcome heat into the small room, yet the flames had little to do with her increasing warmth. Rather it was because Arden lay so close behind her, his hard-muscled body spooning hers, with only a quilt to separate them.
She’d been a little shocked to find him nearly unclothed. Her admiring eyes had riveted on the broad expanse of his bare chest, on the sinewed torso sculpted by firelight. His body was strong and graceful and even more breathtaking than she had imagined-sleek, golden, beautifully male. Seeing him like that had roused a giddy, fluttery sensation in her stomach, which had only compounded tenfold when he lay down with her before the hearth.
For the longest time they didn’t speak. Roslyn stared into the flickering flames, vaguely aware of the hypnotic effect on her taut nerves. The cottage had started to grow cozy, further lulling her. The storm continued to rage outside-rain pounding, wind moaning-but the sounds were muted inside. She could better hear the creaking rafters, the crackling hearth fire, her erratic heartbeats.
Behind her, Arden was nearly still…except for sifting a lock of her hair through his fingers. When he leaned closer to press his lips against her hair, Roslyn didn’t flinch as she ought, but her pulse raced even harder. Then he eased away from her, and she held her breath.
Moving with a languid grace, he turned her toward him, so that she lay on her back, looking up at him as he braced his weight on one elbow. His blanket had slipped down so that his shoulders and chest gleamed in the firelight, and so did his eyes.
She stared back, transfixed, her heart flipping over in her chest.
Reaching up, he touched her face gently, his hand trailing over her cheek and feathering over her hair. “You tempt me unbearably,” he murmured, his gaze locked with hers.
His gaze dropped to rest on her mouth. “I intend to kiss you, sweeting.”
“I know,” she whispered.
He bent his head to her then, his breath warm on her mouth as he began to kiss her. His lips moved slowly on hers, his pace unhurried, lingering. Even at that slightest pressure, heat kindled inside her. And when he leaned even closer, the heat from his body bathed her heightened senses.
Roslyn nearly moaned as a stabbing rush of longing assaulted her. Knowing she had to protest, she freed her hands from the quilt and pushed against his shoulders, fighting the dizzying delight he so effortlessly conjured inside her.
She was inexplicably disappointed, however, when his tantalizing kiss unexpectedly ended.
Arden lifted his head, gazing down at her as he peeled back the edges of the quilt that wrapped her body. When she would have pulled it back around her, he gently caught her wrists and drew them closer, pressing her palms against his chest, inviting her hands to explore the hard, tempting expanse. His flesh was smooth and hot; muscles rippled and played beneath satiny skin. She could feel the powerful thud of his heartbeat against his rib cage as well, which made urgent desire flare though her body.
She knew he desired her, too. Her hip rode against his loins, making her aware of his hardness through his damp breeches. There was no mistaking that he was blatantly aroused.
The knowledge made her heart pound harder, even before he began to caress her in turn. His hands moved slowly over her body, roaming from her bare throat down over the thin fabric of her chemise…her breasts, her belly, her hips, her thighs, her woman’s mound, then back up again to her breasts, his fingers teasing the tight buds of her nipples. He didn’t demand her surrender, though; he lured with soft touches, with erotic caresses. His expert, coaxing touch reduced her to shivering need.
Her fingers clenching desperately at the quilt, Roslyn shut her eyes, submitting to those clever, amazing hands.
“No, look at me, love,” he urged in a husky whisper.
Helplessly, she obeyed, even though all her instincts screamed danger. She was sinking under his spell again, her reservations obliterated by an intoxicating madness induced by his arousing ministrations. Every nerve came alive with delirious sensation as he deftly touched, explored, discovered. She was no longer shivering with cold but trembling under his hands, melting in a warm tide.
Yet it was his eyes that warmed her the most. The expression in his eyes held great tenderness. The way he looked at her made her feel cherished somehow.
Roslyn drew a shaky breath. This moment seemed like a dream, a fantasy, yet at the same time it felt supremely real. He was her haven from the storm. She felt sheltered in his arms, protected, treasured.
She had never experienced anything like it. Certainly not in the past four years. For so long she and her sisters had had no one to depend on. No man, at any rate. And here Arden was, making her feel infinitely precious.
Her breath faltered entirely when he bent to her again. He took her mouth slowly, thoroughly, his kiss deep and penetrating, as if he was determined to know every secret she had. To steal away every ounce of her willpower. His lips whispered promises of pleasure, of passion beyond her wildest dreams.
Surrendering her last meager defenses, Roslyn reached up and slid her fingers into his silky hair, sighing softly into his mouth upon realizing how completely he’d captured her.
When finally he drew back, she gazed up at him with passion-hazed eyes.
His voice was low and rasping when he said quietly, “I want to make love to you, Roslyn.”
She couldn’t deny that was what she wanted too. And even if she tried, she knew he wouldn’t believe her. His gaze was on her face, too perceptive, too knowing; the tantalizing offer of his body was hard against hers.
She gave up any thought of resisting. She desired him, there was nothing more to understand. He wanted to make love to her, and this time she would welcome it.
Yet he had other things in mind for the moment, it seemed.
He had unfastened his breeches and freed his rampant erection. Letting her gaze drop, Roslyn sucked in a
