She had calmed by this point, her great green eyes studying him intently. “I do not want to be made of stronger things.”
“I know. But you are nonetheless.”
“Will you answer me one question, then?”
“Anything.”
“Do you love me?”
“I would suspect so.”
There had been no hesitation in his answer and it shocked her. Her tears returned; he could see them welling up and spilling over again. He wiped the tears away gently as she struggled with her composure.
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“Then let me hear it once from your lips and I will never ask again.”
“I love you, Elizabeau.”
She ran a finger down his cheek and across his full lips, studying the handsome lines of his face. It would probably be her one and only time to do so, and she did not take it lightly. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “I do not know why, or how this has happened, but it has and I am both devastated and ecstatic.”
He closed his eyes tightly, briefly, before refocusing on her. “You have a destiny to fulfill,” he whispered huskily. “You will remember that. We must both remember that.”
He tried to get up but she wouldn’t let him. Her arms were winding their way around his neck, her face looming close to his. Rhys’ heart began thumping against his ribs, knowing what was about to happen but too weak to stop it. He didn’t want to stop it.
“Then kiss me so that I will have something to remember of you, something no one can ever take away from me,” she whispered.
He didn’t hesitate. His lips descended on hers, gently at first, but with increasing ardor. It was the most natural of kisses, one that he had been waiting all of his life to experience. He could taste her sweetness and it made him want for more as his tongue tenderly licked at her before prying her lips open and invading the delicate folds of her mouth. Her tongue was a delicious morsel to suck upon and he did so hungrily, feasting upon her flesh as he had never feasted before. The more he tasted, the more he wanted.
She was back down on the grass, still in his arms, still being ravaged by his mouth. Every suckle, every lick, held unimaginable tenderness and power. Elizabeau could do nothing more than submit; Rhys had control and he used that control to make her feel more deliriously happy than she ever thought possible. She memorized the taste of him, the feel of his lips against hers, knowing the memory would have to sustain her for a lifetime. She suddenly couldn’t bear to part with him. She wanted to know this joy, this passion, for always. Even when he tried to pull up, she refused to let him go.
He kissed her until her lips were swollen and raw. Neither one of them had any concept of time because the passion they felt negated any sense of the moments passing. Rhys knew, as every delicious second ticked away, that he was digging himself deeper and deeper into something that would be horrifically difficult to pull out of. But the more he tasted her, the more he touched her, the more he didn’t care. She consumed him.
A dog barked somewhere close by and he was startled out of his passion. His head came up, the brilliant blue eyes scanning the landscape for both the dog and the reason for his bark. But he saw nothing. Still, it was enough of a pause for him to pull together what remained of his senses. He looked back down at Elizabeau, her luscious hair spread against the damp grass. She gazed up at him with those miraculous green eyes and he felt himself weaken again.
It took a great deal of strength to resist the pull. He pushed himself up onto his knees again and lifted her up next to him.
“Let’s go back into the house,” he said quietly. “Before they come looking for us. Dylan is as curious as a cat and is probably already stalking around looking for me. I should not like them to find us lying in the grass in a less than appropriate position.”
She regained her feet with his help, brushing off her surcoat of the grass and moisture. “What does it matter how they discover us? We’re married, are we not?”
He lifted a dark eyebrow at her. “Be that as it may, I still do not want them to find us kissing passionately in the grass. It would be enough for my mother to expect a grandchild in exactly nine months, not to mention the fact that I would spend hours explaining such things to Carys and Dylan. At their age, everything inflames them.”
Elizabeau smiled at him as he helped her from the wet grass. “I know I should be concerned, but I am not. I only care about my feelings for you.”
He sighed quietly, taking her cold hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “And I should probably apologize for my lapse in self-control but it would do no good. I am not sorry in the least.”