It's In His Kiss

“Scaled the wall.”

“You scaled the-You what?” She ran to the window, peering out and down. “How did you-”

But he had risen from the bed and crept up behind her. His arms encircled her, and he murmured, low and close to her ear, “I’m very, very clever.”

She let out a nervous laugh. “Or part cat.”

She felt him smile. “That, too,” he murmured. And then, after a pause: “I missed you.”

“I-” She wanted to say that she’d missed him, too, but he was too close, and she was too warm, and her voice escaped her.

He leaned down, his lips finding the soft spot just below her ear. He touched her, so softly she wasn’t even sure it was a kiss, then murmured, “Did you enjoy yourself this evening?”

“Yes. No. I was too…” She swallowed, unable to withstand the touch of his lips without making a reaction. “… anxious.”

He took her hands, kissing each in turn. “Anxious? Whyever?”

“The jewels,” she reminded him. Good heavens, did every woman have this much trouble breathing when standing so close to a handsome man?

“Ah, yes.” His hand found her waist, and she felt herself being pulled toward him. “The jewels.”

“Don’t you want-”

“Oh, I do,” he murmured, holding her scandalously close. “I want. Very much.”

“Gareth,” she gasped. His hands were on her bottom, and his lips on her neck.

And she wasn’t sure how much longer she could remain standing.

He did things to her. He made her feel things she didn’t recognize. He made her gasp and moan, and all she knew was that she wanted more.

“I think about you every night,” he whispered against her skin.

“You do?”

“Mmm-hmm.” His voice, almost a purr, rumbled against her throat. “I lie in bed, wishing you were there beside me.”

It took every ounce of her strength just to breathe. And yet some little part of her, some wicked and very wanton corner of her soul, made her say, “What do you think about?”

He chuckled, clearly pleased with her question. “I think about doing this,” he murmured, and his hand, already cupping her bottom, tightened until she was pressed against the evidence of his desire.

She made a noise. It might have been his name.

“And I think a lot about doing this,” he said, his expert fingers flicking open one of the buttons on the back of her gown.

Hyacinth gulped. Then she gulped again when she realized he’d undone three more in the time it took her to draw one breath.

“But most of all,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “I think about doing this.”

He swept her into his arms, her skirt swirling around her legs even as the bodice of her dress slid down, resting precariously at the top of her breasts. She clutched at his shoulders, her fingers barely making a dent in his muscles, and she wanted to say something-anything that might make her seem more sophisticated than she actually was, but all she managed was a startled little, “Oh!” as she became weightless, seemingly floating through the air until he laid her down on her bed.

He lay down next to her, perched on his side, one hand idly stroking the bare skin covering her breastbone. “So pretty,” he murmured. “So soft.”

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

He smiled. Slowly, like a cat. “To you?”

She nodded.

“That depends,” he said, leaning down and letting his tongue tease where his fingers had just been. “How does it make you feel?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

He laughed, the sound low and soft, and strangely heartwarming. “That’s a good thing,” he said, his fingers finding the loosened bodice of her gown. “A very good thing.”

He tugged, and Hyacinth sucked in her breath as she was bared, to the air, to the night.

To him.

“So pretty,” he whispered, smiling down at her, and she wondered if his touch could possibly leave her as breathless as his gaze. He did nothing but look at her, and she was taut and tense.

Eager.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, and then he touched her, his hand skimming along the tip of her breast so lightly he might have been the wind.

Oh, yes, his touch did quite a bit more than his gaze.

She felt it in her belly, she felt it between her legs. She felt it to the tips of her toes, and she couldn’t help but arch up, reaching for more, for something closer, firmer.

“I thought you’d be perfect,” he said, taking his torture to her other breast. “I didn’t realize. I just didn’t realize.”

“What?” she whispered.

His eyes locked with hers. “That you’re better,” he said. “Better than perfect.”

“Th-that’s not possible,” she said, “you can’t-oh!” He’d done something else, something even more wicked, and if this was a battle for her wits, she was losing desperately.

“What can’t I do?” he asked innocently, his fingers rolling over her nipple, feeling it harden into an impossibly taut little nub.

“Can’t make something-can’t make something-”

“I can’t?” He smiled deviously, trying his tricks on the other side. “I think I can. I think I just did.”

“No,” she gasped. “You can’t make something better than perfect. It’s not proper English.”

And then he stilled. Completely, which took her by surprise. But his gaze still smoldered, and as his eyes swept over her, she felt him. She couldn’t explain it; she just knew that she did.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured. “Perfection is absolute, is it not? One can’t be slightly unique, and one can’t be more than perfect. But somehow…you are.”

“Slightly unique?”

His smile spread slowly across his face. “Better than perfect.”

She reached up, touched his cheek, then brushed a lock of his hair back and tucked it behind his ear. The moonlight glinted off the strands, making them seem more golden than usual.

She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. All she knew was that she loved this man.

She wasn’t sure when it had happened. It hadn’t been like her decision to marry him, which had been sudden and clear in an instant. This…this love…it had crept up on her, rolling along, gaining in momentum until one day it was there.

It was there, and it was true, and she knew it would be with her always.

And now, lying on her bed, in the secret stillness of the night, she wanted to give herself to him. She wanted to love him in every way a woman could love a man, and she wanted him to take everything she could give. It didn’t matter if they weren’t married; they would be soon enough.

Tonight, she couldn’t wait.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

He smiled, and it was in his eyes even more than his lips. “I thought you’d never ask.” He leaned down, but his lips skimmed hers for barely a second. Instead they veered downward, breathing heat across her until they found her breast. And then he-

“Ohhhh!” she moaned. He couldn’t do that. Could he?

He could. And he did.

Pure pleasure shot through her, tickling to every corner of her body. She clutched his head, her hands sinking into his thick, straight hair, and she didn’t know if she was pulling or pushing. She didn’t think she could stand any more, and yet she didn’t want him to stop.