Dunmore paused, running his hands through her lustrous silky hair. “I always dreamed I’d see your hair like this every night. That I’d be the lucky bastard who had the right to touch it.” He leaned forward and inhaled. “To smell it.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her tighter toward him, and he leaned over her, kissing her.
Their kiss deepened, and he rolled so that she lay beneath him. He groaned with delight to feel her softness and her warmth, one hand tangled in her hair, as the other roamed over her. He felt her quiver, and he groaned again, as he felt his passion for his beautiful wife grow. As he leaned forward, his lips trailing over her jaw and to her neck, he felt her rapid breath on his cheek and a soft cry.
He stilled. Every instinct in him clamored for him to continue with his passionate caresses, but a warning bell sounded in his mind at that cry. Raising his head, he focused on Maggie. On his precious wife. “Beloved?” he rasped. His astute gaze roved over her, and he froze.
Rather than passion, he realized she shivered in terror. Her eyes were clamped shut, and a fine sheen of sweat clung to her brow.
“Maggie?” He stroked a finger over her cheek and then cupped her face. “Maggie, look at me. It’s Dunmore. Your Philip.” He paused, as he saw her eyelids flutter. “Look at me, please.” When she opened her eyes, his breath caught at the depth of her fear. “Oh, my darling, I’m sorry.” Philip fell to her side. “I … It was thoughtless of me.” He no longer touched her, as though afraid any further contact with him would only provoke further suffering.
“No!” she cried out, following him and resting her head on his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him, shuddering when she felt him against her. “Please, don’t give up on me. Please.” She grabbed one of his arms and pulled at it, resting it against her back. “Please don’t be revolted by me.”
Dunmore enfolded her in his embrace, rocking her to and fro, while she rested on his chest. After kissing her on her head, he pleaded, “Stop, Maggie love.” He held on tight, when she shrunk at his words in an attempt to slink away from him. “Never think such things about me.” He waited until she raised her head, and he ran his hands through her long loose hair, gazing deeply into her tormented gaze. “I love you. I cherish you. The thought that anything I did harmed you is past bearing.” His eyes held unshed tears.
Maggie gazed deeply into his eyes. “I got lost for a moment,” she admitted, flushing with embarrassment. “I couldn’t control my fear.”
He nodded, his hand now stroking down her neck to her shoulder. “I wish you never had any reason to be afraid. I wish I’d been able to protect you.” His gaze shone with sincerity. “I’m so proud of you, beloved. You had the courage to believe in us and to marry me.”
She ducked her head a moment, before whispering, “I want to be with you, Philip, but I’m afraid.”
He arched up and kissed her, softly at first. He relished the feel of her soft lips, the sound of her gentle sigh of pleasure, as she softened into him. Soon the kiss had deepened, and he groaned at the feel of her hands digging into his hair, gripping his shoulders, her chest and hips pressed into him. He moaned again at the feel of her body all along his.
“Maggie, darlin’,” he gasped out, as he kissed her cheek and then her neck, as she arched her head back and gave him access. “Do you trust me?” When she opened her eyes and nodded, he smiled. “There’s more than one way to love, my Maggie. Let me show you.”
“Please,” she gasped, as his hands roved over her waist.
He smiled, meeting her gaze, now filled with passion and only a hint of trepidation. Soon they were lost to each other, any fears momentarily banished.
* * *
Maggie rested her head against Dunmore’s chest, her eyes closed in sleepy contentment, as his fingers played through her hair and over her shoulders. He seemed content to hold her and to touch her reverently, but a nagging doubt bloomed that he had not been satisfied by their lovemaking.
“You’re inventing problems where they don’t exist, Mags,” he murmured, the deep rumble of his voice echoing under her ear.
She propped her head up, so her chin rested on his chest, and she gazed into his eyes, frowning when she saw how guarded he was. Usually she knew exactly what he was thinking. She could tell he was happy or frustrated or about to lose his temper. Now all she could decipher was a hesitancy and a wariness. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispered, wincing as her voice emerged wobbly. She wanted to exude strength, but she felt weak and vulnerable, as she gazed at the man she loved.
“You already regret it,” he said in a flat voice.
“Regret making love with you?” she asked, leaning up and pressing her elbows into his belly, earning a grunt of discomfort from him. “Why would you believe that?” She shook her head, her wild mass of auburn hair flowing around her. “It’s because you regret it.”
“No!” he snapped, before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Never.” He paused, opening his eyes, so he could stare deeply into her gaze. “I will never regret a single thing
