He catches my appraisal and his eyes darken. He tosses the towel aside and stalks over to me, a filthy smile taking possession of his mouth.
“That’s not how I recall it.” Henry leans down, behind my chair, tugging the strap of my nightgown off my shoulder and kissing the now bared spot. Then he punctuates each word with another hot peck, climbing towards my neck. “I think you have always been too damn delectable for your own good, love.”
He drags his nose, up over my ear, giving me goosebumps with his breath, to my temple. “Mmm, you smell amazing.”
Then his simmering eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Christ, look at you.”
I groan and cover my face. “Uh, please don’t.” I drop my hands and turn towards him in the chair. “Do you know those crinkles I get around my eyes when I laugh? I realized the other day, they’re there all the time now. I’m so old.”
He makes a thoroughly disgusted sound and pulls me up from the chair. “That is some top-notch rubbish right there.” With his arms around me, he leans back, looking down at me.
“You are every bit as beautiful as the day I first saw you in that pub.” He chuckles. “When you stuck your book in my face and told me to smell it.”
I laugh, pressing my forehead to his chest. “You make it sound dirty.”
I feel his lips on the top of my head. “I like to think it was dirty. The best kind of foreplay. It certainly reeled me in.”
Henry runs his hands through my hair, leaning back again, looking at me adoringly. “But you know what—I was wrong. You’re not as beautiful as that day. You’re even more exquisite now.”
He kisses the tip of my nose.
“More beautiful than when I was twenty-five?” I ask doubtfully.
“Oh, definitely.” Henry sighs, and brushes my hair back. “You’re a woman now.” His knuckle strokes my jaw. “An incredible mother, an activist…”
I glance away, blushing, but Henry chases me with his gaze.
“…a beloved Queen.”
My eyes drift back up to his and his loving fingers caress my face.
His voice is low, rough with gentle sincerity. “Watching you become who you are has been the greatest privilege of my whole life, Sarah.”
The sweetest tenderness swells in my throat.
“You’re a king.” I tease. “I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be the greatest privilege.”
“No.” Henry shakes his head, kissing the inside of my wrist, where his name is etched beneath my skin. “No. Even more than that.”
And the emotion, the deep all-encompassing love that I feel for this man—my wonderful, precious husband—my darling, amazing King, expands in my soul and brings tears to my eyes.
I melt against him with a sigh. “Oh, Henry.”
He bends his head and takes my mouth in a kiss hot with passion and need. I feel his arms encircle my hips, lifting me up and closer. My hands skim over his shoulders and my hair falls around us, encasing us in a magical world that’s just he and I, and nothing else can reach us. And we taste each other deeply, kiss with the joy of the very first time and desperate urgency of the last.
Long moments later, I slide my lips across his perfectly stubbled jaw, nuzzling his ear.
And I whisper, “This is how Gilbert got here. I told you it was your fault.”
Henry laughs into my neck, devilish and unrepentant as ever. And then he carries me to bed.
The End…for now
If you haven’t checked out my other books, from the Royally Series, the Legal Briefs Series & the Tangled Series, you can find them all here: http://authoremmachase.com/books/
And for your reading pleasure, here’s a sneak peek at both TANGLED and SUSTAINED…
TANGLED
Do you see that unshowered, unshaven heap on the couch? The guy in the dirty gray T-shirt and ripped sweatpants?
That’s me, Drew Evans.
I’m not usually like this. I mean, that really isn’t me.
In real life, I’m well-groomed, my chin is clean-shaven, and my black hair is slicked back at the sides in a way I’ve been told makes me look dangerous but professional. My suits are handmade. I wear shoes that cost more than your rent.
My apartment? Yeah, the one I’m in right now. The shades are drawn, and the furniture glows with a bluish hue from the television. The tables and floor are littered with beer bottles, pizza boxes, and empty ice cream tubs. That’s not my real apartment. The one I usually live in is spotless; I have a girl come by twice a week. And it has every modern convenience, every big-boy toy you can think of: surround sound, satellite speakers, and a big-screen plasma that would make any man fall on his knees and beg for more. The decor is modern— lots of black and stainless steel— and anyone who enters knows a man lives there.