She wasn’t listening. Reaching for the letters, she tilted that head, no doubt scowling, focusing, planning for all the things she couldn’t bloody control. None of it mattered. Why didn’t she see that? A growl grew in his belly along with a need to teach her, to show her, to make her understand.
Because she planned to move him back inthere, and he… he didn’t think he could. Every time he considered it, a fresh swipe of claw marks appeared over his chest, ripping through skin and muscle and bone, slicing through his heart. She planned to control him, and he… he couldn’t even control himself.
He’d thought he could. But even that one razor sharp emotion he’d kept locked away since the day of her note asking for a kiss had been slowly rising, growing. He wouldn’t be able to control it soon, push it down and ignore it.
So she should not be able to control him.
He stood, taking her with him, pulling her off into the garden.
“Where are we going?” Her hand tight in his, she stumbled, righted herself.
“To practice a bit of spontaneity.” To prove to her chaos ruled and plans solved nothing.
And to help him forget. For a little while, of what he’d have to tell her, didn’t want to tell her.
She tugged away. “Spontaneous? Me? No!”
“Caro? Timid? Never.”
“Not if I have a solid plan in place!”
“Even if you do not. I’ll prove it to you.” His hand firmly clasping hers, he pulled her beneath a large tree, a cracked stone bench resting at its trunk. Branches hung low, cutting them off from the world, and the sweet warm smells of summer burned around them. Shadows drenched bright blooms, and a tepid breeze rustled leaves, dropping one white petal. It drifted, landing in her dark hair, an earthy summer star. He sat her on the bench then stood before her. Breathless, lips parted, face flushed, she looked up at him. Her bodice was lower today, and her luscious breasts rose and fell, testing the boundaries of propriety.
The boundaries of his damn patience.
He placed a boot on the edge of the bench, right next to her skirts and leaned over her, caging her in. “I have a sudden and desperate need, wife. For you. Sate it.”
If spontaneity involvedFelix standing like some demigod before her… she might be able to enjoy it. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, those shirtsleeves rolled to give her mouth-watering glimpse of his forearms, the light hair dusted there. He was imperious and impossibly beautiful.
She hiccupped. Not a real one, but a mortifying sound that revealed her surprise. “I… I do not know what to do.”
“You’ll figure it out. You’ve had a week in my bed, after all.”
“B-but that’s at night! And in the morning before we rise. The appropriate times for such… activity.”
“Any time is an appropriate time when your husband is hard for you, love.”
She knew her mouth was flopping open like a fish’s. She knew her gaze had traveled south to fixate on the growing bulge in his buckskins. Her heart thumped like a drum.
“We’re outside,” she said meekly.
He stepped closer. “Here. Now.”
She glanced over her shoulder and through the garden brush toward the folly. “We’re so close to the mattress. That’s the proper—”
His hand clutched the back of her neck, his body towering over her, crowding her. “The woman who dressed as a man to find a husband, hesitating to fuck in a garden?”
She squeaked. “That… that wasplanned.”
“Here, Caro-mine.” His voice softer. “Now. No plans.”
Seduction into chaos.
Seduction, too, into trusting him.
Holding his gaze, she dropped off the edge of every good plan and into an ocean of the unknown. Let the waves of lust guide her. And nothing else.
They guided, first, her fingers to the button of his fall. They shook, silly things. She’d touched him there, sliding her hand between their bodies as he kissed her senseless, stroking him and squeezing him before he thrust inside her, making her scream his name.
