Forever His(132)

“Gaston, “ she protested against his mouth. “If you keep picking me up, you’re going to tear out your stitches, and I don’t think the barber-surgeon would appreciate—”

“Burn the surgeon. I care naught for the ache in my shoulder, wife—it is the ache elsewhere that requires swift attention.” He nimbly opened the door. “And I will not make love to you in this chamber.”

He shut the portal solidly behind them.





Chapter 27


They needed naught more than a makeshift bed and a fire in the hearth. As he stoked the roaring flames, Gaston thought that his barren chamber had never felt so comfortable, so complete, even when it had been filled with rich furnishings and tapestries. Celine knelt beside him, on the thick pile of sable and wolf and marten fur throws he had gathered, gazing up at him. Awaiting his touch.

She wrought a spell on his room, on his life. Astonishing, the magic a wife could weave, simply with her presence. Her eyes sparkled with wonder and love, as if he were more worthy of worship than a god, more desirable than all the jewels and riches she might ever possess, more important to her than breath.

Had he once feared that she would make him less of a man? he wondered as looked down at her, his hand straying through her hair. She looked at him as if he were the light of sun, moon, and stars all in one. Never had he been more aware of his masculine strength, his warrior’s body, his muscle, hardness, experience, power. He saw it all, and more, reflected in her eyes, as the hearth flames made shadows dance around them in the darkness.

He knelt in front of her, sliding his fingertips over her temples, her cheeks, her neck ... lower.

Celine closed her eyes as he eased the velvet gown off her shoulders. “Every time,” she whispered, “you make me feel brand new.”

His throat closed. Had any king, any Saracen desert prince, any emperor of the East ever possessed such a treasure? She was sweetness and innocence. Pale as snow, delicate as spring’s first petals. And she was flame and intoxication. More potent than wine in his blood, hot as a blaze when she burned.

He kissed the bared hollow of her throat, inhaling the scent of lavender and thyme and roses that lingered from her morning bath. “This time, I want to make it last, ma chère. All night.”

“All night,” she agreed in a sultry whisper.

He slid her gown lower, gently pulling it down her arms, letting the jewel-bright fabric fall to her waist. She was glorious. Half-nude yet unashamed of her nakedness, her hair shimmering flame-red in the firelight, the tresses grown longer in her time here, curling beneath her shoulders. Her breasts trembled before him, full and taut, the rosy tips puckering to hardness even as he watched.

He could see her breathing deepen, felt his own match hers.

“I would tell you that you are as beautiful as a goddess,” he said reverently, touching her, running one finger slowly from the kiss-dampened hollow of her throat, over one breast, to the other. “But it would be a lie, for you are more beautiful. Even a goddess would envy you. Even a poet could do you no justice ... and I am no poet.”

For the first time in his life, he wished that he were. Wished that he had skill with words rather than with weapons. That he could describe the shy smile that his compliment brought to her lips, the sweep of her lashes as they lifted, the blush that colored her cheeks so charmingly. The beat of his heart became heavy, demanding.

He continued his slow path, down her ribs, lower. She felt like honey and cream. Sweet. Smooth. He rested his hand at her waist, caressing and kneading the flare of her hip as his eyes lingered over her. He longed to taste her, to take one of those trembling, proud peaks into his mouth, to hear her small gasps and cries of pleasure, leave the nipple glistening and hard from his kisses. Fighting the fevered urgency of his own need, he held himself in check. This would last, even if he died of it.

He grasped a fistful of the velvet piled about her slender curves. “Let me see you, Celine,” he commanded softly. “All of you.”

He held the gown as she rose. The heavy fabric slid down her legs, revealing each enticing inch in slow splendor. She left the garment at her feet, stepping out of it, truly a goddess of elegance and grace. Hearth fire and moonlight battled to bathe her skin in gold and silver.

She stood before him, ran her hands down her sides and up again, not brazen, but comfortable in her body. The curve of her lips told him she found pleasure in the way he looked at her. His rigid shaft felt almost painful as it pressed against the restriction of his leggings.

His every muscle taut, he caught her hand and pulled her down until she was kneeling before him again. She exhaled a small sigh at the feel of the furs against her nakedness, the sound like a warm caress all down his body.