Forever His(96)

He kissed her in mid-pummel. A swift, teasing kiss that cut off her tirade before she could even get warmed up. He ended her tiny blows as well, leaning into her and capturing her between the hard muscles of his chest and the hard ivory- and lapis-inlaid wall. Celine struggled, barely able to believe she could be more furious than she had been seconds ago.

She finally managed to wrest her mouth away from his. “Stop that!” she cried breathlessly, shivering with the impact of his kiss and the feel of his muscular body pressed against her. “It’s not going to work. You can’t kiss me into not being mad at you!”

“Can I not?” He chuckled with inebriated humor, dusting kisses over her forehead and temples and nose. “Mayhap I am not yet doing it correctly.” His head dipped and he nuzzled the soft skin exposed by her gaping bodice. “Mmm. I like this new way you have of wearing your gown, wife.”

He rubbed his cheek against her there, his beard sending little shivers rippling to her most sensitive places. Celine held her breath and cursed herself for not retying the gown’s laces. “I—I wasn’t expecting company to swoop in! And I would appreciate it if you would swoop right back out again. Preferably through the door this—”

She inhaled sharply when he nudged her bodice out of the way just enough to expose one breast, the soft peak pinched to instant hardness by the touch of the night air, the attentions of his tongue, and the roughness of his whiskers.

“Gaston,” she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. “Y-you’re not thinking—”

“I do not wish to think,” he said thickly, raising his head to kiss her again. He made it a much deeper melding this time, a tender assault that sent her senses reeling. His lips moved over hers slowly, sampling and tasting her, not demanding a response but asking for one. He ignited a storm of dazzling light and heat, pulling her nearer to him until she felt herself melting, and him with her, until they were both nothing but a pool of warm, sweet rain.

A wolf howled somewhere in the forest below, a sound of wild longing carried on the wind, echoing the feelings set free deep inside her. The kiss tasted of exotic Castilian wine and unmatched hunger and an unspoken need that called to Celine more deeply than any touch. Without conscious thought, she relaxed her clenched fists, still trapped between their bodies, until her fingers were splayed against his chest, not pushing him away but feeling the muscles beneath the rough cloth ... and deeper still, his pounding heartbeat.

All her thoughts and objections unraveled, no and yes tangling until she couldn’t tell one from the other. It had been so long since she had touched him, felt his strength and power, known the fierce glory of his arms locked around her.

And his hands ... oh, God, his hands, so sure and yet so gentle, caressing her in that simple, extraordinary way that sent ribbons of fire unfurling through her. For so many sleepless nights, in so many uneasy dreams, she had longed for this: his mouth over hers, his hands on her body, all of it hot, sweet heaven.

Her anger and fear for him were tumbling away, like the empty flasks they had tossed into the moat. She struggled to hang on to those feelings, knowing they were her only defense against this exquisite ache he stirred within her, the dizzying need that she so wanted to drown in.

Anger and fear. Her only weapons against all the other feelings: the ones that threatened to make all sense, all caution, all the world fly away.

She tore her mouth from his. “Gaston, please ...” she begged, not sure what she was pleading for, trying desperately to remember. All she could think of was that her lips felt swollen and bruised and wildly sensitive, her chin rubbed raw by the silken abrasion of his beard. “You ... you don’t know what you’re doing. We can’t—”

“You are so beautiful by moonlight,” he muttered in that wine-thickened tone. Keeping her in place against the wall, raising his hands to her shoulders, he slowly pushed her loosened gown to her waist. He lifted one of her breasts in his broad hand, cupping the softness with an expression of almost innocent wonder. He ran his thumb over the tightened peak, drawing a ragged cry from her lips.

She tried again to wrest herself free, but be held her pinned. “P-please, go back to your room! You don’t want to do this. It’s a mistake—”

“You are too late,” he slurred. “Too late to save either of us, she. You are mine and I will have you.” He moved his thumb again, making her whimper at the heat coiling in her belly. “Have you not heard?” he muttered. “I am an unfeeling knave. I care naught for my mistakes. I take my pleasure where I find it—and I have found you, my lady wife.” He pulled her to him with one arm, his other hand suddenly at her waist, pushing her gown past her hips. “By all the blessed saints, I have found you.”