Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

W ar raged inside Simon. Every part of him wanted Charlotte, even—he reluctantly admitted—his heart. But the trauma she'd confessed, the terror she'd experienced, cautioned him.

He didn't want their first time to be associated with something she dreaded.

"Charlotte," he said, stroking her face. "Perhaps now is not the best time."

She pulled away from him, the warmth in her eyes vanishing. "Because of what I told you?" The harsh, defensive edge to her voice delivered a warning.

Rather than rushing in headfirst to defend or explain himself, he paused and considered how she might have interpreted his suggestion.

"Well?" Her eyes snapped with fire.

Oh, he had definitely offended her. What had she worried about before she recounted her tale? Oh, yes. That he would think her ridiculous and laugh .

"I'm trying to say this and not muck it up further than I have."

Her whole body stiffened before him. "How hard is it to say you don't want me? Or is it that you don't wish to be with a coward?"

"A coward?! The same woman who faced a drunken Albie to defend a child? Who resisted the pressure from an uncaring brother to marry a man who would abuse her, risking her reputation? Who has delivered setdown after setdown to me?" He shook his head. "Coward is the last word I would use to describe you, Lady Charlotte Beckham."

He took her hands in his. "Perhaps I'm the coward, because I can't bear the idea of having you think of frightening storms each time I touch you."

She blinked rapidly. "What?"

"I want you to associate our coupling with happy thoughts. And, to be clear, I've never wanted a woman more than I want you at this moment." The truth of that statement spread through his veins like warm honey—comforting and sweet. Even the desire he had for Joy, both of them in the blush of youth, paled in comparison to what he felt for Charlotte. However, the partial truth was all he was willing to share. He withheld his admission of love. She would no doubt accuse him of being insincere and manipulative.

"Nothing would make me happier than for this infernal storm to be over," she said, her head tilted, as if listening.

He held his breath and waited.

No flashes of lightning or crashes of thunder broke the connection between them.

She gifted him with a broad smile, displaying her dimple. "Which I believe it is." Giving his banyan a little tug, she said, "And I'm still waiting for that kiss."

His lips tingled just anticipating it, and he licked them as she had done earlier. "Never let it be said I kept a lady waiting. "

A gentle brush at first, the kiss consumed him. He nipped at her mouth, his teeth grazing her full bottom lip. Sweet . Better than trifle. Better than anything.

When she ran her fingers through his hair, the spark of desire she ignited set him ablaze. Encouraged, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, more than pleased when she opened to him.

Tentatively at first, he darted his tongue inside, then grew bolder when she met him stroke for stroke. He groaned and broke the kiss. Slower . He played with a lock of her hair. "You kept it down."

She smiled, reminding him to give attention to her dimple. "I remembered you said you liked it down."

"I do, as well as this." He kissed her cheek that held her dimple, then nuzzled her neck. "You smell so good. Citrusy, like Drake's orangery." He breathed deeper. "Lemon and something else. Vanilla?"

"Yes." The richness of her alto, even more throaty and seductive than usual, rasped against his skin. Eyes glazed with desire studied him, the pupils so large as to make her already dark eyes appear black.

He cupped her cheek, cradling it in his hand like priceless crystal, then kissed her lips again, more insistently. With his other arm snaked around her waist, he pulled her closer.

But not close enough.

Lost in the kiss, he startled when she tugged on his banyan. When she broke the kiss, he chased her lips.

"Simon. Simon."

He blinked himself back to reality, dreading to hear her tell him to leave. "What?" His voice, raw with need, scraped like gravel.

"This floor is hard. Perhaps we should"—her cheeks darkened with a blush—"move to the bed?"

Simon bounded to his feet in the blink of an eye, firmly believing he'd never moved as fast in his life—and for him, that was saying something.

When he extended a hand to assist her, those big brown eyes stared at him, her mouth opening in a little O . Then she laughed, genuine and hearty, and it warmed him through to his soul.

"Eager are you, Mr. Beckham?"

Unable to help himself, he grinned. "You might say that."

When she slipped her hand in his, energy crackled up his arm. If a simple touch of hands affected him that much, what would it be like to be inside her, to feel her writhing and moaning in pleasure beneath him?

He couldn't wait to find out.

Charlotte's hand trembled as she slipped it into Simon's, but he didn't seem to notice. Determination tempered her apprehension. I can do this.

What she didn't like was not knowing what he expected of her. For the second time that evening, she wished her mother were alive to counsel her.

But it was too late for that. Simon pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her soundly again.

All thoughts of expectations and mothers raced from her mind.

The kiss was long and sensual. Decadent even, as if he imbued every wicked thing he intended to do with each brush of his lips.

Delicious shivers trickled up her arm and spine at the thought as he teased her with his lips and tongue. Instinctively, she palmed a path up his chest, meeting hard muscle beneath the soft silk of his banyan. She clutched his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

"That's it," he whispered, his hot breath brushing against her already sensitive lips. "Don't think. Just do. Let your body lead you." He gave her lips a light peck, then leaned his forehead against hers. "But since it's our first time together, tell me what you like. What pleases you and what doesn't."

His request gave her pause. "I don't know what I like or don't like. Aren't you supposed to know those things?"

His answering chuckle sent her stomach somersaulting. Apparently, she liked that .

"I can tell certain things from your responses, but that's after the fact. And there are things in general women like, but not everyone is the same." He pulled away and gazed into her eyes. "For instance, most women love being picked up and carried, but you do not."

Why did his direct gaze seem like he peered into her soul? "I might like it."

Narrowed eyes and the rakish tilt of his head told her he didn't believe her. "Then why did you protest when I assisted you across the puddle? You practically took off my head."

"Because I didn't expect it. I don't like to be surprised. It makes me feel . . . out of control."

"Ah," he said and nothing more. "In that case, may I carry you to the bed, and we can resume things there?" He winked, and even that didn't annoy her as it typically did. "It was your suggestion after all."

Her mouth had gone dry at the mention of the bed, and she could only nod.

"Arms around my neck, if you please. And try not to strangle me."

Sliding her hands around his neck, she laughed, and he rewarded her with another kiss.

"There. That's not so bad, is it?"

She shook her head.

In one smooth motion, he lifted her in his arms, then strode to the bed in four long strides, carrying her as if she weighed nothing.

After setting her down next to the bed, he stepped back, his gaze traveling over her from head to toe and back again. The lustful expression in his eyes, as if he were a starving man faced with a feast of great delicacies, heated her from within.

"Damn, but you're beautiful." With one finger, he flicked a ribbon on her nightrail. "Mind if I take this off?"

She swallowed, forcing down the lump in her throat. "Can't we leave it on?"

He arched a dark brow. "Modest? Not something I anticipated from you. You're always so sure of yourself." With movements as sleek as a jungle cat, he came closer and leaned down, whispering in her ear. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Charlotte. Clearly, your body is as beautiful as your face."

"You haven't seen me yet."

A slow sensual smile crept across his lips, his gaze drifting down and snagging on her bodice. "I have an excellent imagination." He hooked a finger in the neckline of her nightdress. "You'll be more comfortable without all this material bunching up around you."

"We can't wait . . . just a little while?" She hated how her voice trembled. It would only support her early cowardly cowering.

Yet, his gaze softened, and he nodded. "Perhaps you'll be more comfortable if I lead the way. After all, you've already seen me au naturel." Without removing his gaze from hers, he unfastened the banyan and slipped it from his shoulders.

He turned, giving her a spectacular view of his muscled back, which angled down to a trim waist. Rather than tossing the banyan to the floor as she expected, he folded it neatly and laid it on a chair by the window. The care with which he performed the action tickled the back of her mind, as if she could trust him to be as considerate with her .

When he turned back, he merely stood before her, allowing her to fully appreciate the beauty of his masculine form. During the incident he spoke of, she'd averted her eyes so quickly, she'd really only caught a glimpse of him. But at that moment, she drank him in, no doubt the appreciation on her face matching his own when he gazed upon her earlier.

Well-formed, muscled shoulders, arms, chest, and stomach gave testament to a man who appreciated physical activity. A sculptor would take great joy in capturing Simon Beckham. But unlike cold marble statues, her husband was a warm, living, breathing man.

Dark lashes framed incredible blue as he studied her through hooded eyes. "Do you like what you see?"

Gooseflesh rose on her arms from his voice, low and laced with desire. Heat rose to her cheeks. Thank goodness he still had trousers on, keeping her blush to a minimum. She struggled for a retort, an insult if she could manage it, but all that sprung from her lips was, "You appear to be a fine specimen."

He blinked twice, then threw back his head in laughter. "There's a compliment buried in there somewhere." Stepping closer, he lifted her hand, holding it close to his chest, but not placing it directly on his skin. "Perhaps you would like to examine me to confirm your deduction."

Her fingers trembled as she lowered them to his stomach, but as she touched the hard planes of muscle, he sucked in a breath, and his pectorals twitched.

"Your touch inflames me," he said, his voice growing more gravelly. The blue of his eyes darkened to a dusky hue.

Power surged through her at his admission. Encouraged, she flattened her palms against him, the thrum of his heart quickening under her fingers. She continued a path up and over his chest muscles, across his shoulders and down his arms, thrilling at each tiny response she drew from him.

"You want control," he said. "You have it. Feel—and see— what you do to me with your touch alone." His gaze drifted down to the space between them.

And when hers followed, she saw the evidence he spoke of in the arousal straining at his trousers. A knot formed in her throat, and the heat on her cheeks built to a scorching intensity.

"The question is, do I have the same effect on you?" Light as a feather, he traced a fingertip up her arm, then skimmed the neckline of her nightrail.

Tightness formed in her breasts and low in her belly. Her traitorous skin pebbled in answer.

His lips curled in a self-satisfied smile. "I believe that's a ‘Yes.'"

She fought her own smile. "You don't have to be so smug about it. I can't control what my body does."

Simon arched a brow at her, his low chuckle rumbling in the quiet air. "That's typically my argument. But you do have control over what you want to do . . . want me to do." As he leaned in, his warm breath tickled the sensitive skin of her neck. "Tell me where and how I should touch you. Is there a particular place you enjoy? That feels especially good?"

How could she think when he addled her mind? Words clung to her tongue. If released, they would serve as a confession to how little joy and pleasure she'd known during her life.

Yet, a small voice broke through her foggy brain, urging her to trust him—that he was worthy of her trust. Simon wouldn't hurt her.

Would he?

She licked her lips. "I don't know."

Both of his dark brows lifted as he jerked back, his previously hooded eyes widening at first, then narrowing. "You don't know what feels good?" A beat passed. "Charlotte, have you never pleasured yourself?"

Confused, she frowned. "What? "

"When you're alone at night, do you touch yourself"—his gaze drifted down between them again—"there?"

At that moment, the storm seemed a less formidable choice.

To Simon, it was a simple question. They were married and about to become intimate. However, Charlotte glared at him as if he'd asked if she'd ever murdered anyone.

"How dare you?! I'm not a doxy."

The hellcat had returned in full measure.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Charlotte." He cursed the propriety forced upon women that discouraged self-pleasure.

"I assure you, I have not, sir."

Frustrated, Simon blew out a breath and drew a hand down his face. He'd never had to take such care with a woman before, but he reminded himself this was about Charlotte, not him. "Very well, then allow me to help you discover what you enjoy. We'll learn about it together. But you have the final say in how and what I do. Agreed?"

"Agreed." She held out her hand, clearly wishing to shake as gentlemen did when reaching consensus.

But instead, when he clasped her hand, he brought it to his lips. "I seem to remember a favorable response when I did this." As he placed a kiss on the pulse point at her wrist, allowing his tongue to stroke her silky skin, his gaze locked on hers.

"Oh." In answer, her eyelids fluttered as the breathy sigh escaped her parted lips.

"What about this?" He trailed his lips up her forearm to the soft flesh inside her elbow and received a similar response.

"And this," he said as he nibbled on the sweet juncture at her neck and shoulder.

She licked her lips. "Yes. That is . . . lovely."

He wanted nothing more than to continue his exploration of her, but he stepped back. "I'm glad you approve. But to get the most satisfaction, both partners should participate. Remember, you're in complete control."

Her gaze flicked to his, and at first, she appeared unsure. But then her lips quirked in the Charlotte way he'd somehow grown to love. "I can do anything?"

Blast . His body on alert, he took a step back. "Such as? I should clarify that I abhor pain of any kind. The idea is to please your partner."

She stepped closer, her dark eyes boring into him. "Like this?" As she had before, she placed her palm against his chest, her delicate fingers raking through the sparse hair. When she rubbed a thumb across his nipple, it puckered, and he sucked in a breath.

The tease!

Desire bubbled in his veins. "You know very well that feels good. Might that be something you enjoy as well?"

"I am enjoying this." She delivered a wicked grin, then ran her hand downward, skimming the edge of his trousers and causing his stomach muscles to contract under her touch. She was like a drug he couldn't get enough of.

As much as he enjoyed sex—and make no mistake, he enjoyed it very, very much—this was different.

Better.

Best.

What superlative came after best?

And was it always as exciting when you loved someone?

"I meant you might enjoy me touching you like that. But first, I want another kiss." He leaned in and nipped at her lips. "Mmm," he mumbled, so enraptured with the taste of her he hardly noticed when her hand dropped to the buttons on his trousers.

Only the shaking of her fingers alerted him, and he pulled back. "Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked as she chased his lips.

"As you said, I've seen you unclothed before." Even so, her cheeks darkened.

Would she still think the grin he delivered ridiculous? Yet, he couldn't help himself. "True. But I'm . . . different now." At her perplexed expression, he whispered, "Larger. Erect." He nuzzled the sensitive spot on her neck. "Because of you."

Before he knew it, she unfastened the rest of the buttons, and his trousers dropped around his hips. He pushed them off completely, and they fell to the floor, exposing his arousal.

Charlotte's eyes widened. "Don't you wear small clothes?"

"I decided against them after my bath. The trousers were only for your delicate sensibilities." He nipped at her neck again. "Little did I know you would be so wanton."

And nothing pleased him more.