gilded chair and crouched before the fire, stoking it and throwing on more coal until heat began to fill the room. “I’m certain that had I not known Emily, I would not be able to appreciate you as I do. I would not have had the comparison required to recognize how perfect you are for me.”
She snorted softly. “You only thought I was perfect when you assumed I had forsaken motherhood.”
“And you,” he continued, ignoring her. “I doubt you would find my uncontrollable passion for you to be so welcome had you not been wooed with calculated seduction by Pelham.”
The silence that greeted him was rife with possibilities. He felt the spark of hope he’d tucked close to his heart expand into a blaze to match the one in the hearth before him.
He stood. “However, I think it is time to reduce this marriage of four into a more intimate union of two.”
Turning to face her, he found her sitting upright on the chaise, her face pale and beautiful, her eyes welling with tears. Her fingers were laced so tightly together they were white, and he went to her, sat at her feet, and warmed her icy hands with his own.
“Look at me, Pel.” When she met his gaze, he offered a smile. “Let’s make another bargain, shall we?”
“A bargain?” One finely arched brow rose.
“Yes. I agree to start anew with you. In every way. I will not burden our love with guilt from the past.”
“Every way?”
“Yes. Nothing held back, I swear it. In return, you will take down that portrait. You will agree to believe that you are perfection itself. That there is nothing-” His voice broke, forcing him to close his eyes and take a shuddering breath.
Parting the ends of her gown, Gerard nuzzled his cheek against the satin skin of her thigh and breathed in her scent, calming the emotion that overwhelmed him.
Her fingers drifted into his hair, stroking the roots, loving him silently.
“There is nothing I would change about you, Isabel,” he whispered, drinking in the sight of the mature beauty and inner strength that made her who she was. Unique and priceless. “Most especially not your age. Only an experienced woman could manage a man as overbearing as I can be.”
“Gerard.” She slid down beside him, and pulled him to her breast. There, she held him to her heart. “I suppose I should expect that any time you throw stones at my window, it is a herald to how drastically my life is about to change.”
“Yes, you should.”
“Wicked rogue.” Her lips curved against his forehead.
“Ah, but I am
“Yes.” She laughed softly. “That’s true. You are far different from the man I married, but your wickedness is one thing that, thankfully, did not change. You are just exactly the way I want you.”
He moved, cradling her spine as he lowered her to the floor. “I want you, too.”
Isabel gazed up at him, her hair a banner of fire, her skin as pale as ivory where it was revealed by the parted edges of her gown. His dark hand brushed aside the intruding material, revealing the full breasts and ripe curves he worshipped. He shoved his hand into his pocket and withdrew the ruby ring he had purchased for her. With shaking fingers, Gerard slipped it into place, kissing the stone before turning her hand and pressing his lips against her palm.
Heat swept across his skin like a hot breeze, nerve endings tingling to acute awareness, his mouth watering. Bending his head, he licked the softness of one nipple and then the other, parting his lips more fully and drawing her into his mouth. His eyes slid closed, his blood growing sluggish with desire and love, as he drank in her taste with long, deep pulls.
“Yes…” she breathed, when he bit gently down on the hardened crest, relishing as always the fierce need he had to devour her whole.
They moved languidly, in no rush. Every touch, caress, and murmur was a promise made. To forsake all others. To love one another, trust one another, and leave the past behind. Theirs was a union made for all the wrong reasons, but in the end it was one that could not have been more
Clothing fell away until their skin touched everywhere and he cupped her thigh and opened her, sinking the hard length of his cock into tight hot depths. Joining them more fully than the golden bands they wore ever could.
Gerard lifted his head and watched Isabel’s face as he pumped deep into her. Her soft whimper filled the air, made his balls draw up, made his arms shake as he supported his weight. She tossed her head restlessly, her heels in his back, her nails in his forearms. The fiery skeins of her dark hair were spread across the Aubusson rug, releasing the heady scent that intoxicated him.
God, how he loved this. He doubted he would ever have his fill of the sight of her helpless to her desire or the feel of her cunt so tight and slick.
“Sweet Isabel,” he crooned, freed for the first time from the desperation that had marked their past encounters.
He groaned. His name was a tactile caress when spoken in that throaty voice. Lowering over her, he pressed his mouth to hers, drinking in her gasps as he worked her with his cock in exactly the way she liked, stroking her with long, deep, slow drives.
“Oh God!” she gasped, her depths rippling around him, her back arching in the throes of climax.
“I love you,” he breathed, his mouth to her ear, his chest pressed to hers. Then he followed her, shuddering, spilling his seed in a rush of longing, giving her the promise of the life they would create together with boundless joy in his heart.
She met him stroke for stroke, his match in every way.
Sylvia Day
