She turned to look up at him. His eyes appeared darker in the soft light of the flames, harder. If she had any hope of changing his mind, it vanished with the cold calculation and heated determination she saw on his face.
“How did you manage all of this?” she asked, stalling, delaying the inevitable.
“A florist owed me a favor.” He managed a smile, but the gesture was mechanical. “Do you like it?”
“It’s very pretty.”
“Good.” He cupped her cheek. “I want tonight to be perfect.”
Like their first time hadn’t been. Sadness made her feel raw. Maybe there hadn’t been candlelight and flowers or vows and wedding rings, but it had been perfect in its own way, to her at least.
Bending down, he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. She couldn’t stop the quiver that moved through her.
He pulled away. “Nervous?”
“Yes.” What was the point of lying? This wasn’t a honeymoon. Their circumstances were far from normal.
“Do you remember how you felt in the forest when I made you come in my hand?”
How could she not? Her stomach heated at the memory.
“This is going to be a lot more intense,” he continued.
Her heartbeat pulsed in her temples. “I’ve done it, remember?”
“I don’t. I don’t remember if I went easy on you or gave it my all.” Intent infused his tone. “I can promise you however, I will be gentle tonight.”
“Why, Joss, don’t hold back on my behalf,” she said in a catty tone.
“I did promise to make love to you.”
No fucking. Fear mixed with anticipation, tightening her body. The wetness pooling between her thighs was both unexpected and unwanted.
“Will you say yes?” he asked.
The same question he’d posed in Paris. Earlier, in the chapel, it had occurred to her. She’d thought it had referred to a different question then, to, Will you say yes if I asked you to marry me? Instead it pertained to this, to, Will you let me fuck you?
He waited patiently as she contemplated her options. Yes or no.
“You’re giving me a choice?” she asked.
“This I won’t force.”
Only marriage. “What if I never say yes?”
“I can be convincing.” His lips twitched. “I have my ways.”
“Seduction, you mean,” she said with a hint of bitterness, because hadn’t her girlish dreams of him already seduced her with false truths? Not that she could blame him for that. That blame was hers to carry, a mistake made by her foolish heart.
“Eventually,” he said, sounding much too sure of himself, “I will wear you down.”
Her answer was snide. “May as well just get it over with then.”
An answering challenge flickered in his eyes. “As you wish.”
Like a dog that had growled at a lion, she could only stand there, suddenly uncertain and not sure how to proceed, but Joss made it easy by saying, “Turn around,” and thereby taking the lead.
This was the true moment. She’d given him her verbal answer, but the choice weighed so much heavier when it came down to action. For a moment, she hesitated, fearing the consequences, but the sooner they started the sooner it would be over. Turning around, she gave him her consent.
Like in the chapel, his fingers manipulated the buttons of her dress, but this time his hands worked their way down from her nape, skimming a path down her spine. Ripples ran over her skin, waking goosebumps.
When the dress fell open around her waist, he said, “Lift your arms.”
She obeyed. With his hands on her hips, he turned her back to face him. Going down on one knee, he pushed the dress up her legs and hips, and, straightening as he went, finally over her head to leave her only in her lace underwear and the boots that didn’t match the wedding attire.
He threw the dress over the chest at the foot of the bed and dragged a heated gaze over her body before reaching for her again, this time to push the straps of her bra over her shoulders before releasing the clip at the back.
Her nipples contracted when he pulled away the underwear and let it drop at her feet. Their eyes met as he tore his gaze away from her breasts. The gray of his irises turned a shade darker when he cupped her breasts. She gasped at the contact, her breasts turning heavy. He stroked the tips with his palms, causing her stomach to flutter as they hardened. She didn’t expect the gentle pinch that extended her nipples. Satisfaction bled into his eyes when an unguarded moan escaped her lips.
A shiver ran through her when he trailed his fingers over her sides. More heat gathered in her core when he slipped his hands inside the elastic of her panties. Holding her eyes, he pulled them down her legs and waited in silent command for her to step out of them. When she’d obliged, he dragged his palms up her calves to her thighs and over her globes. The touch was light but confident. He knew what he was doing. He was a man exceedingly familiar with the body of a woman, and her inexperience only made her anxiety worse. This was unfamiliar terrain for her, a battlefield on which he had the advantage of knowledge. Her only comfort was that when it came to emotions, she was the more knowledgeable by far, enough to know emotions shouldn’t be a part of this. Ever.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, “every inch of you perfect. You know what I think?” His voice dropped an octave. “I think you were made for me.”
She wanted to contest that statement, but he scooped her up and lowered her onto the bed. Without a field of dirt and a bed of stones and thorns, she had no idea what to expect, definitely not the soft kiss he planted on her nipple or the swirl of his tongue around the tip. A gentle nip of his teeth made her cry out with a needy sound. Too late to stop it, she bit her tongue.
He
