He gave a lazy stretch, all effortless grace. “We goto sleep, of course.” He sent her a sideways look. “Do you still want me to sleep in the drawing room? I can, if you wish.”
“It seems a little pointless, doesn’t it? Like closing the stable door after the horse has bolted.” She made a wry, self-mocking face. “You might as well stay here. If you want to, that is.”
“Of course I want to. Get under the covers.”
He stood and she tried not to stare at the glorious sight of his muscled chest and ridged abdomen in the lamplight. He really was a splendid specimen. Was he going to remove his breeches?
She scrambled up the bed and plunged beneath the covers. He leaned over and extinguished the lamp and she bit back a huff of disappointment as the room was plunged into shadow. She hadn’t even seen him naked!
His large shape was barely visible in the darkness, but she listened with bated breath to the intriguing rustle of fabric as he presumably removed his breeches and stockings.
The intimacy of the moment struck her forcefully. How many times had she imagined waking in the night to find Morgan in her room? She’d spun countless girlhood fantasies that were variations of this exact scene: Morgan climbing the trellis outside her window in Wales, sneaking into her moonlit bedroom to make love to her in secret.
Reality was so much better.
She stiffened as he pulled back the sheets and slid into bed next to her, but he gave her no chance to shift away.
“Come here, Harry.”
In one smooth movement he rolled her to her side, her back to his chest, and tugged her into the hot curve of his body. Her bottom fit snugly into the lee of his groin, his long limbs curled around hers perfectly. She could feelthe heat of his skin, his nakedness, burning through her thin cotton nightdress. Her senses reeled.
His left arm burrowed beneath her pillow, supporting her head, while his right arm draped over her waist and cupped her breast. One of his thighs insinuated itself between hers and she tried not to giggle at the unexpected tickly texture of the hair on his leg.
It was overwhelming, almost suffocating, but in the best possible way. She was surrounded by hard, male body, but instead of feeling threatened, caged, she felt… wonderful. Protected in the most basic way. Cocooned and cherished like some precious treasure.
Morgan pressed his face to the nape of her neck and let out a deep sigh of appreciation.
“This ismuchbetter than the drawing room.” He yawned and pulled her closer as if it was the most natural thing in the world for them to be lying here like this. As if they’d done it a thousand times.
Harriet stared blindly into the darkness, her thoughts a jumbled mess. Her heart squeezed a little at howrightit felt to be in Morgan’s arms. She felt like a ship that had braved the fiercest storm and now lay safe and sheltered in the harbor.
Every muscle in her body was sated and heavy. Her eyelids fought to close, but she resisted the exhaustion claiming her. She wanted to stay awake, to savor this incredible—temporary—feeling of being exactly where she wanted to be. She wanted to engrave every detail into her memory: the rise and fall of his chest against her back, the mind-fogging scent of his naked skin, the warm brush of his breath against her hair.
Happiness was such a tenuous emotion. She hugged it to herself, soaked it in, just as Morgan was hugging her body to his.
By morning this incredible dream would be over. Harsh daylight would interrupt the beauty of the night, and this quiet harmony between them would vanish.
How would he act tomorrow? How would she? They’d sailed completely off the map tonight, gone so far there would be no going back.
Her muddled brain couldn’t provide an answer. The pull of sleep was too great to fight. Harriet snuggled deeper into Morgan’s embrace and simply surrendered.
Morgan knew the exact moment Harriet finally fell asleep. He’d practically been able to hear her busy mind trying to sort through all the implications of what they’d just done, but eventually her body softened and relaxed against his. Her breathing deepened and she let out a tiny sigh of contentment, like a satisfied kitten.
His chest tightened as he cataloged the sensation of finally—finally—holding her in his arms.
Part of him was afraid to trust the feeling. He’d dreamed of this so many times, imagined this soul-deep feeling of peace, only to find himself roughly shaken awake, or roused with a bucket of cold water to the face by a surly prison guard.
No, this was real. As wicked and wonderful as the woman in his arms.
He allowed himself a soft, incredulous exhale, and tried to sort through his emotions. Amazement at how incredible it had been to finally join his body to hers. Chagrin, for acting little better than a rutting animal. At least he’d managed to stumble them to a bed for her first time and not sated himself against the wall like some lust-crazed idiot.
God, he’d never been so impetuous, nor so desperate. But Harriet had seemed tolikehis desperation. She’dencouraged it, goading him on, daring him. Matching him kiss for kiss, fire for fire. Her flame had burned as brightly as his own.
He’d always known they’d be a perfect match.
The feel of her curled up next to him, so small and yet so womanly, was everything he’d ever dreamed. Sleep had stripped her of her defenses, rounding her sharp corners, muting her sharp tongue and sparkling animosity.
A great surge of tenderness hit him as she made a soft little snuffle in her sleep. Awake she was bristly and formidable, but now he was reminded of how vulnerable she’d allowed herself to be. He felt honored by her gift, awed and gratified that she’d entrusted him with her body. And incredibly glad that he’d come to visit her tonight.
