He didn't. "If the bedroom is ready, Simpson, I'll thank you to make yourself scarce and see that everyone else does as well." While the man walked off in one direction, he carried Corinna in another. "You'll meet the rest of the staff tomorrow, mo chroí."
She wondered what he meant by the bedroom being ready. "We're inside now, so you can put me down."
"I think not." Holding her close, he carried her through a dining room with blue walls and a crystal chandelier. "I'm finding I rather like carrying you."
In truth, she rather liked being carried. No one had carried her since she was a child, and the pure romance of it made her head swim. It made her heart sing. It made the blood pump through her veins at an alarming speed.
Sean swept her through a drawing room carpeted in blue with blue sofas. "I don't want a tour," she said breathlessly. "Just take me to your bedroom."
"Our bedroom," he corrected in a tone deep with meaning. He carried her past a library with white columns and plush ultramarine-blue velvet chairs, and on into a small, cobalt-blue lobby. "There's another wing and two more levels you can see tomorrow."
"I expect all of those rooms are blue, too?"
"Except for Deirdre's. I don't know what color it is. Maybe you can tell me."
"Not tonight," she said, thankful his sister had gone to Daniel Raleigh's house.
"I haven't any paintings," he said apologetically as he started up a grand staircase with a blue runner. "You can buy any paintings you want and hang them wherever you'd like."
She turned her face into his neck, inhaling his clean, soapy scent. "I don't care about paintings, Sean."
"And everything doesn't have to stay blue. You can have the rooms repainted any colors you'd like. You can have the furniture reupholstered or buy new."
"I don't care what color the rooms are." She was melting. His heat seemed to penetrate her skin, making her liquefy in his arms. "All I care about is you," she told him as they finally reached the master bedroom.
Set before a huge blue-toned tapestry, the bed was covered with a plush, sapphire blue counterpane and piled with lighter blue pillows. He walked to it, laying her upon it so gently, so reverently, that every bone in her body seemed to dissolve.
When he stepped back, her breath caught. He was so very male, so strong and toned, so darkly handsome. He looked better than a Greek god, but even better than that, he was the best man she'd ever known.
And she saw what he'd meant by ready. Candles flickered everywhere—on the windowsill, along the marble mantel, atop every piece of furniture—bathing the room in shadows and dancing light. Dozens of them. He must have set them about before leaving to marry her, must have instructed a servant to light them when they arrived. Like a Minerva Press hero, she thought, her heart doing a slow roll in her chest.
"Oh, Sean," she breathed. "It's a wonderland."
"Every bride should have a wonderland, mo chroí."
Sean thought she was a wonder herself, a vision in a simple white dress, those brilliant blue eyes hazy with desire. His necklace glimmered silver against her skin, and he found himself staggered by the raw possessiveness he felt at the sight. He couldn't believe everything had worked out so he could have her—it seemed a miracle, and much more than he deserved.
He planned to go slowly and savor every moment. Before he touched her where she wanted, he intended to drive them both completely senseless.
He wanted this night to be perfect.
He slipped off her shoes, untied her garters, drew her stockings down, a sensual slide of silk. Slowly, watching her watch him, he removed his own clothes. Slowly he lowered himself to meet her, slowly he cradled her face in his hands, slowly he kissed her. Just a taste, a slow brush of mouths before it deepened and became long and slow and languid.
Slowly, slowly, he reminded himself, maneuvering his hands to unbutton her dress. Slowly he nudged it off a shoulder. Slowly he tasted her there, nuzzled her warm skin, breathed in her fragrance, heady and overwhelming.
He had such a need for her, a terrible hunger that made it hard to stay gentle. Through her dress he felt every tantalizing curve. He felt her quickening, felt her trembling, flooding his senses. He would never get over the wonder that a simple man like him had been gifted with such perfection.
I won't be touching you anywhere more intimate for quite a while, he'd said, and Corinna's husband was a man of his word. In his quest to make this night perfect, it was a very, very long time before he touched her where she wanted.
For forever, it seemed, he just kissed her. Kissed her mouth and her cheeks and her chin, trailing down to her throat. His utter lack of urgency proved transfixing. Feeling dreamy, feeling his slow pace drizzle into her, she tilted her head back in surrender and allowed him to take her where he would.
Sweet torture it was, sweet torment. Sliding her dress off, he teased through her chemise, rolling her over, rolling her back, searing heat following his fingers. He drew her chemise off and explored her bare skin, his hands and his mouth and his tongue going everywhere but where she wanted them most.
Every place he touched her she felt a glow, a swath of sensation that claimed her body and robbed her mind. Murmured endearments tumbled off his tongue while his hands went between her thighs, stroking and caressing everywhere but where she wanted.
Candlelight danced as pleasure mounted, becoming unbearable, unendurable, unbelievable. Trembling with need, she reached down to give him the same. Stroking gently, she felt steel sheathed in silk, learning the length of him and the breadth of him and imagining him inside her. A glimmer of excitement darted through her, and her hands
