“Jackson, focus.” On her body preferably. She was done with details except for those that could be decided with tongue and fingertips and other delicious parts.
“Is he dead?” Each word a fist, an arrow, a sword point, a swing with a deadly mace.
“Not that I know of. He was sentenced to be transported, but he… disappeared. His father is a marquess, and I assume money and connections helped him into a pretty little situation on the Continent somewhere.”
Jackson’s curls, usually sunshine yellow, had been pushed harshly back from his forehead in a dark burnished slick against his skull, and the change sharpened his features—cheekbones like knives, a jaw like stone, and lips that promised to know all the right words to kill a man.
He was danger, not just anger. He was retribution, a vengeful god from old brought to life to do her bidding. He could crush a man.
She wanted him to crush her to his chest. Enough talk. She slipped a quick hand between their bodies, found the bulge pressing against her belly and cupped it.
He hissed, threw his head back, revealing the sinewy strength of his neck.
His hand on her neck tightened, loosened. “I have many other questions, namely why you found yourself on a boat alone, heading to God knows where when you should have been in the bosom of your family, receiving support and solace, but… I’ve heard enough stories about them to make pretty accurate assumptions. More villains.”
That cracked her open as little else had. Mr. Stewart had sent rage ripping through her, telling Lord Eaden she planned to leave his employ had flattened her, but none of it made herwantto cry.
She could cry with Jackson, and he would wrap her up, keep her safe, and let her wet his shirt until she felt better. He wouldn’t expect her to be strong, but with him by her side, she would be anyway. No doubt clouded that fact.
Her throat full to choking, she pushed the words out. “Later, I plan to lie in your arms and cry. Great, unattractive heaves, mind you—”
“Gwendolyn—”
She pressed a finger against his lips. “But right now, I want something quite,quitedifferent.”
“Anything. Everything.”
“Make love to me. In the broad light of day. No more hiding.”
“Are you ready for that? Because once we do, I claim other daytime activities. Walks along the Brighton Pavilion, shopping on Bond Street. A wedding.”
“Yes.” No hesitation. Not today. Not in this moment. Hopefully never again.
One hand at the back of her neck, he pulled them both to sitting. “I think we should remove these wet garments. Wouldn’t want to catch a chill.”
“Always so chivalrous.”
His gaze prowled the length of her body.
Between them, no more secrets lay, and she had the sudden fierce intention that there be nothing else between them either. She came to her knees and wiggled, pulling her skirts, wet and heavy from beneath her knees. She dragged her sodden hair over her shoulder and turned her back to him.
He needed no instruction. She felt his fingers like points of fire on her back as he undid the tapes of her gown, as he slid the shoulders down her arms. Soon she knelt in a puddle of wet silk. Her stays came next, loosening under his touch and joining the gown in a muddled pile. And soon the light, almost invisible, chemise that clung to her body with wet folds joined both.
His gaze roamed her body. He ran a single fingertip down her shoulder, her arm, and he pressed a palm against her belly then smoothed it around her waist and down her skin to cup her rear. With his other hand, he grabbed the end of his cravat and tugged it, slowly undoing the knot at his throat. “Just so we are clear, luna my love, I do not care what name you sign in a wedding registry so long as it is alongside mine. I do not care if the beds you have slept in belong to a husband or devil or whoever else as long as you wanted that person there, and as long as you wantmethere from now on.” He unwound the wet linen and threw it to the ground. “Do you want to know what has changed between us?” His fingers tangled with the buttons of his waistcoat, and he flicked them out of the holes.
She nodded, body melting toward his. She did not care what had changed between them because it was for the better. Specifics no longer mattered. The only pressing point she could entertain was that which hardened at the apex of his legs.
He shrugged out of his waistcoat and pulled his shirt slowly over his head. Soon all but his pants and stockings and boots lay piled on the ground beside them. “What has really changed between us is us. I’ve always seen you—your strength and courage, that something scared deep inside—but I could not seeuseven though I wanted us. Wanted it like mad, wanted it with every breath I pulled into my aching chest. I’ve wanted us so bad I thought I might die if I did not get it. I know I seem a tame man, but I snarled every time I thought about you leaving.” He stood, a column of strength and power.
Tame? No. Restrained. The man had a world’s worth of self-restraint in him, and he’d used it all up, it seemed, and did not intend to wrap himself about with those chains anymore.
She leaned back on her elbows to look at him. Half of him shone molten in the firelight. The other half of him was draped in a stream of sunlight that pierced through a hole in the roof. Sun and fire and everything hot.
She wanted him. Now, tomorrow, all the tomorrows after.
Soon his boots were chucked across the floor, his pants too. And he dropped, naked and jutting, to his knees before her, laid himself at her side and gathered her into his arms. A gentle touch from a sun god.
“My luna.” He breathed the words into her jaw right below her ear. “I’m going to make you mine.”
