Chapter Forty-Four

H e'd been thinking of kissing her all morning. And all the night before, if he were honest. And each and every night since he'd first met her. Those desires were ever present in his mind, always hovering on the periphery of conscious thought. Wanting her was as inevitable and instinctive as taking his next breath. The moment the door closed behind them, he reached for her, hauling her against him.

She came to him eagerly, without a hint of hesitation. As she molded her body to his, he could feel every lush curve, all the glorious crests and valleys that made the female form such a delight. And somehow, despite having enjoyed those intimate delights with so many others, with her it was an entirely different experience. As cliche as it sounded, every time was like the first time. There was a wonder to it that he had thought himself too jaded by all that he'd experienced and all that he'd witnessed to ever feel such a thing again.

Trailing his lips from hers, he pressed kisses to her jawline, the delicate shell of her ear, then down her neck to the arc of her collarbone that was barely visible above the neckline of her gown. As he did so, he worked the buttons at the back until the fabric sagged, falling from her shoulders to her waist. The undergarments she wore were not intended for seduction. They were serviceable, practical, and for all that were still undeniably alluring.

"It isn't exactly how one dresses for their wedding night... or day, for that matter," she mused.

"If you find your present attire objectionable," he suggested, as he freed the simple bow to loosen her stays, "there is only one solution... discard it. All of it."

It didn't surprise him in the least when she accepted his challenge. With a shrug of her shoulders, the restrictive undergarment fell away. Her petticoat followed, and then her chemise. She was nude, save for her stockings and garters, while her hair was still neatly pinned back. But he wanted it free. He wanted to feel it tangling around their bodies, brushing against his skin, feather-light and all the more arousing for it.

Joss plucked one pin from her hair and then another, until the mass of it tumbled down her back. Then he retreated one step, just to look at her, to take in all of her. "Beautiful... too beautiful for some battle-scarred wretch like me."

She shook her head. "Your battle scars tell the story of your life, of who you are. That makes them beautiful to me. Now, it's time you removed your clothing. I refuse to be the only one so exposed."

Joss shrugged out of his coat, then his waistcoat came next. The simple neck cloth he favored followed close behind. He didn't stop until he was stripped down to only his trousers.

"You won't offend my maidenly sensibilities," she offered.

"No, but I might severely damage my own pride if... if I were too eager." He settled on that wording with no small degree of thought. Hettie wasn't a virgin, but that didn't mean she understood all the particulars of carnal relations. And some things were better learned from exploration than explanation.

He pulled her against him again, marveling at the silken texture of her skin, the suppleness of her flesh. It spiked his hunger for her to an almost unbearable degree. He claimed her mouth in a searing kiss and, even as he did so, walked her backward toward the bed. Once they reached it, he spun them around until he could sit. She followed him down, sprawling across his lap as he'd intended. It gave him access to every part of her, and he intended to exploit that benefit fully.

*

Hettie sighed in delight as his hands roamed over her body. He touched her everywhere—stroking, caressing, teasing. And every touch only served to make her more eager, more desperate for him. When his mouth covered the taut peak of one breast, his tongue swirling over her sensitive flesh, she arched against him, offering herself more fully. She wanted to seduce him. She desperately wanted to be the kind of woman who could lure and ensnare a man... but he would be the only one she would use such wiles on. Indeed, he was the only man she could ever imagine having such intimacies with.

"Is there some reason why you do not feel inclined to hurry?" she asked him.

He laughed, his breath fanning over her skin in a way that made her shiver. "It's a rare thing for a woman to complain that a man is taking his time."

"We can take our time... next time. I've spent my whole life waiting to feel this. To feel anything." It was a painful admission, but an honest one. She'd wasted years in a loveless farce of a marriage to a man who was as incapable of being a husband to her as he was unworthy of being one. And while she had no illusions of love between herself and Joss, they did have passion. He desired her. Surely that was a place to start.

When he lifted her off him and bore her back onto the bed, the weight of him pressing down on her so gloriously, she knew that she had succeeded in her efforts of persuasion. Within seconds, her stockings and garters vanished, discarded somewhere in the room along with the remainder of their clothing. His trousers were gone, as well. She could feel the rigid length of him pressing intimately against her.

If, Hettie thought, she were a more morally upright sort of woman, she'd have been appalled at her own eagerness. But she wasn't, and appalled was the furthest thing from her present feelings. She gloried in it, savoring the sensuality of his nearness, of the startling contrast of their bodies and the glorious ways in which they simply fit together.

Slipping her hand between their bodies, she gripped him gently and guided him to the part of her that ached so desperately for him. Words were no longer needed as he pressed himself inside her, filling her up and soothing the emptiness that seemed to gnaw at her.

Hitching her legs higher on his hips, she let her head fall back as a soft cry of pleasure escaped her. She gave herself up to it, to him—allowing herself to be swept away on that haze of passion until they both found that perfect moment of release.