"I do," he said.
But first he wanted to put his hands on her luscious derrière.
He did that, and then he used his hands to yank her against him, and after that a fever seized him, raging in his blood. Now that he'd touched her, he had to touch her everywhere. His hands skimmed her hips, her sides, her breasts, and he was kissing her. Kissing her mouth and nipping at it, claiming her with lips and teeth and tongue. He was mad for her. He'd always been mad for her, it seemed, but now she was his, and he was going to have all of her.
Somehow they made it to the bed and rolled there together. Somehow the wedding dress came off, and Rachael was tearing at Griffin's clothes, frantic to get her hands on bare flesh. She'd thought she'd been in control of this relationship, but something had been unleashed in the man she loved, unleashing a wildness in her, too. She wasn't surrendering herself to him, not exactly. Maybe they were surrendering to each other. It didn't signify, and she didn't care.
She ran her hands all over him, feeling his muscles jump beneath her fingers. Then she used her lips and her tongue, tasting his skin, savoring his flavor, warm male with a hint of salt. He dragged his own mouth over every inch of her, her neck and shoulders, her breasts and belly, taking what she was furious to give.
She'd always been destined to be with him. Realizing that now, she cursed herself for all the wasted time, all the months she'd spent suppressing her feelings, thinking of him as a cousin or a brother and concentrating on things that didn't really matter. Happy as she was to have discovered new family, the person most important to her had been by her side all that time, and she was grateful beyond belief that she'd seen the truth before it was too late.
He was poised above her now, his intense green gaze burning into hers. What she saw there made her heart squeeze. Passion and desire, yes, but also devotion and understanding. And bountiful, beautiful love.
"This might hurt," he whispered.
"I don't care," she said, and she didn't. She wanted to join with him. She wanted to belong to him, and she wanted him to belong to her, pain be damned.
She wrapped her legs around his lean, bare hips, pressing herself closer, feeling an incredible urgency where he was ready to enter her. Slowly he lowered his head, and when he kissed her, she tasted her future. A future filled with possibility and wonderful days and endless, blissful nights.
She felt glorious, and he felt hot against her hands, against her body. His mouth felt feverish and sent a matching fever singing through her. Her world narrowed to one of pleasure and give and take, and when he finally slid home she held tight and knew she would never let go.
ALTHOUGH SEAN'S house was but a few minutes' walk from Hampstead Heath and the High Street, Corinna found herself amazed when the curricle started up the long, serpentine drive. The property seemed in a different world, the setting idyllic, a picturesque, pastoral landscape. As they approached the classical villa, the sun was setting low on the horizon, its last rays glinting off many glossy arched windows in the creamy white building.
"Oh," she breathed, "it's beautiful."
"It's glad I am it pleases you, a rún."
Sean's melodic Irish lilt went right through her, and her veins thrummed with anticipation. She snuggled against him with a happy sigh. "We're almost there. You'll be able to touch me."
His arm tightened around her shoulders. "I'm touching you now," he pointed out.
"Not where I want."
"My straightforward Corinna." His low laugh rang into the night as he slid his hand down her arm, stopping at her elbow. "Here? Is this where you want me to touch you?"
"Not quite," she breathed on a frustrated sigh.
He slid down to her hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb on her sensitive palm. "Here, then?"
"Sean…"
His fingers brushed along her side and down her hip to the outside of her leg. Liquid heat pooled in her middle. "Closer?"
"Oh, yes," she said.
He shifted to rest his hand atop her thigh.
"You're getting closer," she whispered. His palm felt warm through her thin dress, and at the teasing sensation her stomach did a flip-flop. "I feel like I've been waiting forever."
His hand went to the reins as he pulled the curricle to a halt. "Well, you're going to be waiting a lot longer, críona."
"What?" She watched him agilely leap down and come around to her side.
"I want this night to be perfect," he said, reaching up for her. "I won't be touching you anywhere more intimate for quite a while."
It sounded like a promise or a threat, but he had to be fooling. Knowing he wanted her as much as she wanted him, she laughed when he scooped her into his arms rather than setting her on her feet. "Put me down."
"Oh, no," he said, striding toward the house. "They say the husband must carry the bride over the threshold to protect her from evil spirits."
She marveled that he carried her so easily. He was so strong, so masculine, so muscular. Feeling the heat radiating from his body, she linked her arms about his neck. "Do you believe in evil spirits, Sean?"
"I believe they're a good excuse to carry you." He pressed a warm kiss to her mouth as the door opened, revealing a portly, gray-haired servant. "Good evening to you, Simpson," Sean said, stepping inside. "This is your new mistress, Lady Corinna Delaney."
Simpson kept an admirably straight face as he shut the door. "Welcome, my lady."
"I'm pleased to meet you." Corinna glanced around the entrance hall, a square room with a polished wooden
