“Seriously? Even when we’re old and gray?”
He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “Yes.”
Her eyes were still wide and brimming with wonder. “Seriously?”
“If you wish it.”
“Ian, I can’t think beyond tonight.”
“Then don’t. Just feel. The night is young, and I’m not anywhere near done with you yet.”
She snuggled against him once more, her body wrapping around his as he continued to hold her in his embrace. She was slight and slender, yet there was something heavenly in the way she fit beside him. Something perfect. She wasn’t too big. Wasn’t too small. She was Dillie, the temptress of his fantasies.
Exploring Dillie’s body, finally seeing her in all her naked glory—and her body was undeniably glorious—had been his wish for longer than he cared to admit. He’d thought the fulfillment of his fantasy would satisfy his curiosity and allow him to move on. He’d marry her, of course. Provide wealth and respectability. Most important, he’d regain control of his wits, no longer aching for her as he had been these past few years.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
He wanted Dillie.
More than he ever had before.
And he damn well wasn’t going to be satisfied with just one night.
She nudged him, bringing him back from his thoughts and casting him a soft, Dillie smile. “I’m ready for the next step. This is rather a lot of fun.”
***
The butterflies in Dillie’s stomach had always fluttered in a frenzy at the sight of Ian, but as he lay beside her, holding her close in his muscled arms, they were beyond frenzied and caught in paroxysms of delight. Never in her wildest imaginings had she ever thought this moment would arrive, nor had she expected it to be so wonderful.
Nor had she expected Ian to be so wonderful, but he was.
She could see that he had been affected as well. There was a gleam of confusion in his eyes, those beautiful gray-green eyes that never revealed more than amused disdain but tonight revealed a small corner of his hurt and empty heart.
She reached up and kissed him softly on the lips, loving the warmth of his mouth. He’d touched her as intimately as a man could touch a woman—as far as she knew—and despite his rakish reputation, she’d never felt used, never felt that her body was merely a vessel at his disposal, to be discarded once he’d had his fill.
He’d touched her, kissed her, slid his tongue inside her and teased her over the edge, always with affection and consideration. “What comes next, Ian?”
“This.” He ran his fingers through her hair again, brushing the long strands over her shoulder and then easing her onto her back against the soft horsehair mattress. He removed his trousers, revealing the hard, manly length of him, and allowed her to look her fill before he moved atop her. He propped most of his weight on his elbows so that they sank into the mattress on each side of her.
She smiled as she felt the weight of his hard body pressing down on hers, his chest against her breasts, his long legs covering hers, and then all rational thought fled as he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her with enough heat and passion to set the entire inn afire. Blessed saints and holy crumpets!
He smiled when he ended the kiss, the smoky emerald gleam of his eyes promising something wonderful, promising to guide her to someplace she’d never been.
In that moment, Dillie knew she would follow Ian anywhere. Across a windswept sea. Atop white-crested waves. Along green valleys and majestic mountaintops capped with snow. She wanted to be with him for the rest of her life.
But Ian wasn’t the forever sort.
He would lose interest in her eventually; perhaps he had already lost interest. Perhaps he had never been interested. Rakehells were good at convincing women they were special. Yet all of this felt real to her.
She wasn’t certain what this was. For the moment, she had Ian to herself, but for how long? Only tonight? She refused to think beyond the next sunrise. However, if there were consequences to this night, she would write to him at once and agree to marry him. It was one thing for her to remain a ruined spinster, but quite another for her to bring a child into this world out of wedlock. She wasn’t that foolish.
Nor was he. In truth, she knew he’d be at her doorstep with special license in hand before the ink had dried on her letter. He didn’t love her, but he felt he owed her. Ian was the sort who always paid his debts.
His tongue scraped lightly against her teeth. She parted her lips to allow him entrance, eager to surrender to his promise of pleasure. “Dillie. Sweetheart,” he said in a moaning whisper, and then his tongue was in her mouth, plundering and probing her depths. She wasn’t exotic or mysterious. She wasn’t intriguingly deep. She was simple and obvious, often walking around with her heart exposed.