Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

H er mouth was warm and passionate, and he kissed her as he lifted her in his arms, finding it difficult to stop long enough to open the door. The passageway was in darkness, only a dull murmur of sound coming from beyond another door that led out to the front of the building. He kissed her again, before starting up the narrow, creaking stairs to the landing, and then stopped to kiss her once more.

Marissa wrapped her arms about his neck, her fingers twining in his hair. "Mmm." She ran her tongue along his bottom lip, as if he were a delicious dessert. The soft warmth of her body shifted in his arms. He tightened his grip and moved toward his chamber, ducking his head under the lintel as he pushed open the door.

His bed was turned down, the pillows fluffed up, and a lamp burned low on a table. Valentine carried Marissa to the bed and kissed her again, before he lay her down on the mattress. She sank into it with a gasp, struggling to sit upright, but he didn't give her time to escape.

She gave a squeak as he landed beside her and then they both went still, staring into each other's eyes.

It struck him, as it had the first time he saw her, just how beautiful she was, with her flawless pale skin and dark hair. Her thick, dark lashes swept down over her velvet brown eyes, then lifted again, and he looked deep inside her. This was a woman who had felt alone and isolated, who'd sought to follow her own dreams, and make her own happiness, with a determination and passion and intelligence that he couldn't help but admire.

She would make him the perfect companion. They would never grow bored with each other, and although they may well argue they would always find a way to compromise. Despite the brevity of their acquaintance he knew now he couldn't live without her, and he wasn't going to fight with himself any longer.

"I love you," he said.

The corners of her full mouth lifted, and that irresistible dimple appeared. He bent and set his lips to it, and then kissed her mouth. She arched up against him, slipping her hands inside his jacket and then, as if that wasn't enough, tugged his shirt out from his breeches and touched his skin.

He shuddered, feeling the rush of blood to his head and his groin, taking all thought of caution with it. He reached for the fastenings of her pre-historic gown, fumbling at buttons and hooks and laces. Finally he tugged it over her head and flung it to the floor. They were both panting now.

"You may as well be wearing a medieval chastity belt," he groaned, flicking a finger over her underwear.

Marissa glanced down at herself and giggled. Then her face grew serious and she said, "I wonder if Richard de Fevre's wife was forced to wear a chastity belt before he left for the Crusades?"

"Taking the key with him, do you mean?" he mocked.

She looked appalled. "Would he have done that, Valentine? Left her like that for years? And what if he didn't return, what then?"

Valentine smiled. "I think the idea was to leave a spare key with a trusted friend or servant, so that his wife could be released if he was captured or killed."

"How unfair," Marissa retorted.

"Unfair in what way?" he asked, beginning to undo the buttons of her chemise, one by one, disclosing her pale skin and soft curves. A dark rose nipple butted his hand and his mouth watered.

"Unfair that de Fevre would force his wife to take a vow of chastity, whether she wanted to or not."

He'd opened her chemise fully now, and was working on her stays, fingers trembling slightly in his haste to have her naked.

"Perhaps she wore it willingly, Marissa."

Marissa looked uncertain, seeming not to notice he'd now divested her of her corset and was working on the ties of her bloomers. "I don't think so. Women are not great believers in being uncomfortable just to prove a point. They're practical creatures."

That made him stop and raise his eyebrows.

"Really? So you think I am a romantic dreamer with no notion of reality?"

"I think you are a little removed from the outside world, but that's to be expected of a man who is an expert in roses."

He sat back on his haunches and stared down at her, then he folded his arms for added effect. She blinked. He waited.

"Why have you stopped?" she said in a little voice.

"I thought you must want me to," he retorted.

She smiled. That dimple again. His heart began to beat quickly in his chest, echoing the beat of his blood as he looked down at her charming disarray.

"I'm a little nervous," she admitted. "I talk when I'm nervous."

"I've noticed."

Now she looked contrite, but there was a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "What can I do to make up to you, Valentine? There must be something you'd like me to do?"

"Well . . ." He pretended to consider the question. "You could take off your stockings for me. Slowly."

She bowed her head submissively. "Yes, Valentine."

He watched as she stretched out her leg, and reached down to untie the ribbons holding the stocking up over her knee. Slowly she rolled it down, taking her time, arching her foot. His gaze was fixed on the line of her leg but then he noticed her breasts were rocking gently with each movement she made, and it was too much for him. He reached for her, planting openmouthed kisses on her, finding a turgid nipple and drawing it in.

Marissa clasped his head and held him to her, her head thrown back and her eyes shut as she gave herself up to the wondrous sensation.

He found her other breast, giving it the same treatment, and then he was pushing down her bloomers, while she wriggled eagerly, trying to help. Her skin was feverish, and he could smell the musk of her arousal. It only added to his own need.

He nudged her thighs apart and began to stroke her slick flesh, playing with her, causing her to gasp and moan and press against him, seeking the release she knew he could give her. But this time Valentine knew it was going to be different. This time he was finally going to claim her.

He knelt above her, and began to remove his jacket. Now that he was no longer touching her, Marissa opened her eyes, pushing her hair back out of her face, where it had tumbled wildly. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes gleamed softly. He drew his shirt over his head and tossed it after the jacket. Then his hands went to the buttons at his waist, while she watched with flattering attention.

His body was hard, straining toward her, and she reached out to grasp him in her hand, moving closer, focused on what she was doing. As he looked down at her, wary and yet excited almost beyond control, she began to lap at him with her tongue.

Valentine felt desire roar through him, drowning out everything, as her warm lips closed over the head of his cock. Bending over him as she was, he could see the smooth line of her back, the bones of her spine drawing his eye down to the rounded curves of her bottom.

He knew he could let her have her way, spill into her mouth, and she would not be shocked or outraged. But such pleasures were for later. Now he just wanted to take her as he'd dreamed of so often.

Gently he lifted her, hands spanning her waist, and as she gazed at him with passion blurred eyes, he began to kiss her mouth. She tasted of him, and there was something arousing about that, if he wasn't already aroused nearly beyond bearing. She fell backward into the soft mattress, taking him with her, and their bodies slid and pressed together, naturally shifting into the best fit.

Her nipples were hard little beads against his chest, and he bent to kiss her breasts, his hand reaching again for the heat between her thighs. She was ready and he put the head of his cock against her, easing himself the first inch. She didn't stop him or stiffen, rather she seemed to melt around him, urging him on to fulfillment.

"You must be patient," he said in a hoarse voice. "I don't want to hurt you."

He pushed further, feeling the resistance, and waited until any discomfort had passed. She groaned, hands sliding down to his buttocks and clasping him urgently. He was deeper now, and suddenly her maidenhead gave and he slid up to the hilt, nudging at her womb. She jolted and he felt her breasts rising and falling quickly, her hands still on him.

"Marissa," he said, hoping she was unharmed, hoping all was well.

She moved, just a little, experimentally, and when it didn't seem to hurt, she moved again. Her hot, tight body clenched around him and he groaned and thrust against her, his control slipping. Her breath was warm against his shoulder, and he felt her teeth nipping at him.

"Minx," he managed, as he began to move against her, with a mixture of urgency and tenderness.

Her breathing was quickening again, but this time it was passion, and he felt the telltale signs within her as her pleasure began to peak. He shifted slightly, nudging deep inside, his rhythm quickening, the muscles of his buttocks and thighs tightening with the effort. And then she began to cry out, arching her back and clutching at him frantically. With a groan of relief he let his own control slip, and felt himself spilling within her, the ecstasy shaking him and tumbling him, so that he clung to her.

* * *

"Valentine," Marissa whispered.

It was some time since either of them had spoken and she wouldn't have now except that she felt the need to say something.

He grunted, his hand resting on the curve of her hip, his face in her hair. He'd rolled over onto his side, his body still connected to hers, and held her in his arms while they caught their breath. Marissa could feel the tingles and tremors in her body still, the momentous pleasure they had experienced together. If she'd ever doubted they were meant for each other then she did no longer.

"You don't regret it?"

He lifted his head and opened one eye, peering blearily down at her. "Good Lord no! What a bloody silly question."

"Well, it was you who said only a cad would ruin me," she said mildly. "I thought I should ask."

He chuckled and hugged her closer. "I'd only be a cad if I didn't marry you after I'd ruined you."

"Is that a proposal?" she said quietly.

"Will you marry me, Marissa?" He was smiling but there was a seriousness in his expression that told her he was in earnest.

She could have accepted immediately; it was on the tip of her tongue to do so. But she wanted to wallow in the moment, enjoy the pure bliss of knowing her future happiness was certain. And, if she was really honest, there was still a tiny kernel of doubt. Her practical side was telling her, loudly, that she'd sworn never to marry a botanically inclined man, and here she was considering spending the rest of her life with one.

You'll be standing on rainy hillsides with freezing fingers while he ignores you and croons over his latest find . . .

No, he wouldn't do that!

Defiantly, Marissa nuzzled against his throat, enjoying his scent. Her leg was resting on his thigh, and now she felt his cock twitch against her. He moved as if to draw away, probably believing once was enough for a virgin, but she was not having that.

"First, can we do it again?" she asked innocently.

"Minx," he growled, clasping her in his arms.

" Your minx," she said, with the sense that she was burning her bridges, and then gasped as he began to show her all over again how wonderful they could be together.