His Wedding-Night Heir(37)

And Nick, in turn, had insisted on a traditional honeymoon, even if it meant working long hours to clear his desk in preparation.#p#分页标题#e#

In the fortnight leading up to the wedding she'd hardly seen him at all, so it had been a major surprise when he'd arrived at the flat one sunlit afternoon, only a couple of days before the ceremony, and announced he was taking her on a picnic.

It had occurred to her, as she changed into shorts and a white cotton shirt, that this was the first time since he'd proposed to her that they would be alone together for any length of time, and she'd felt her throat close in excitement and trepidation.

He'd found them a sheltered spot under a tree, a few yards from the water's edge, and spread out a rug and cushions. The food had been simple enough—-cold chicken, crusty bread, cheese, fruit and a bottle of wine—but Cally had thought she'd never tasted anything so wonderful.

Nick, stretched out beside her, had been relaxed and un-alarming, his grey eyes warm with laughter as he chatted to her about everything and nothing, making her forget her shyness as she responded to him.

'I think we should drink a toast,' he said at last. He filled her glass with wine and handed it to her. 'To us. Soon to be man and wife.'

She tried to raise her glass with similar smiling insouciance, but suddenly the significance of what marriage to him was going to mean came home to her, and her hand jerked nervously, disastrously, sending most of the wine down the front of her shirt.

'Oh God, I'm so clumsy.' She grabbed at a napkin, but his hand took her wrist and held it. She saw his grey gaze turn smoky, and, glancing down, saw what he was seeing. The damp shirt was clinging to the delicate uplift of one rounded ultra mamelled breast, outlining the nipple—revealing her as if she were naked.

'Cally.' His whisper of her name was husky. He moved, taking the dripping glass from her hand, pulling her into his arms. His mouth brushed hers lightly and sweetly, the tip of his tongue exploring the curve of her lower lip, probing gently, while the long fingers encompassed her breast with a sensuous purpose that sparked an answering tremulous ache deep within her.

Helplessly, she felt her nipple rise and harden under the stroke of his thumb, and her head fell back against his supporting arm, allowing his lips to travel down the line of her throat to the opening of her shirt. Tantalisingly, he allowed them to hover there for a long moment, the warmth of his tongue caressing the cleft between her breasts as if he was sipping the spilled wine from her skin.

Then he moved back, to put his mouth to hers, parting her lips with pleasurable mastery. His kiss was deep and unashamedly sensual, and her body arched against his in involuntary response, her breast thrusting avidly against the subtle play of his fingers.

Still kissing her, he slid his hand down to her bent leg, caressing her bare knee then sliding upwards with aching slowness over her thigh to the edge of her brief shorts, where he paused. She felt the breath catch in her throat as the moment became endless—unendurable. As her ungiven body clenched suddenly in a need she'd never experienced before.

'Darling.' He raised his head to look down at her. There was a note in his voice she'd never heard before either. A look in his eyes she'd never seen, making her weak—molten with longing. 'My beautiful girl...'

He bent to kiss her again, then tensed, turning his head sharply and listening. And Cally heard it too—in the distance, but fast approaching—the high-pitched barking of a dog.

Nick sat up, pushing the dishevelled hair back from his forehead, then lifting Cally so that her back was against the trunk of the tree. He handed her back her glass. 'We seem to have a visitor,' he said, his voice laconic.

The dog, a Jack Russell terrier, came bundling across the grass towards them, his stump of a tail wagging furiously. He paused a few feet away, still yapping excitedly, then sat up, waving his paws in the air.#p#分页标题#e#

Cally could hear voices calling, and someone whistled, but the dog stayed where he was, bright eyes fixed on the remains of the picnic.

'So you have to be paid to go away, is that it?' Nick sounded amused. He tore off a piece of chicken and tossed it to the dog, who wolfed it down eagerly. 'Now clear off,' he added. 'If you know what's good for you, you appalling mutt.'

The dog gave the food another long, regretful look, before deciding to reluctantly obey the increasingly agitated whistling and trotting off.

Silence returned, but it had changed to a different kind of quietude. The bark of the tree felt rough through Cally's thin shirt as she leaned against it eyes closed, attempting to control her breathing. And to hide, she realised, her sick disappointment. Because the moment had passed, and she knew it with a pang of utter desolation.