Unforgivable(30)

He led her into his sitting room and set about lighting candles as she settled herself on the small sofa. Before he could sit himself down, the footman was at the door with a decanter of wine on a silver tray.

“Have the fire in the bedchamber lit,” Gil murmured to him as he relieved him of the tray. The footman nodded and departed, and Gil closed the door softly.

He poured two glasses of deep red wine and approached the sofa.

“What shall we drink to?” Eve asked as he handed her a wineglass and sat down beside her.

He considered for a moment, then lifted his glass. “To new beginnings?” he proposed, hoping that this was indeed the beginning of something.

“To new beginnings,” she echoed and touched the edge of his glass with her own before taking a long swallow. She put her glass down on a little side table beside the sofa, and he stretched over her to do the same, thrilling even at the brief, brushing contact of his arm against her body.

“I want to kiss you very badly,” he confessed once he’d pulled back. “May I?”

She nodded, wide-eyed, and he inched a little closer, leaning forward to cup her face in his hands, keeping his eyes open and watching the exact moment that hers closed. It happened just as his lips first brushed hers, just as he inhaled her intoxicating strawberry scent again. He closed his own eyes then and allowed his mouth to discover her, to explore the shape and softness of her lips. When she parted them on a breathy little sigh, he brought her more firmly against him, tunnelling his long fingers into the soft silk of her hair, feeling the pins holding it in place loosen and fall away.

Her hands were trapped between them, but she pushed them upwards, her fingers drifting into the hair at the nape of his neck as she opened herself up to his kiss, gasping at the first touch of his tongue, eager and nervous at once.

She responded to his kiss like a maid. He wondered if her husband had ever kissed her when they’d lived together. Surely he must have done? Surely the lucky devil must have wanted to worship her every night with his mouth?

He pulled back a little and watched as she opened her eyes in a dazed sort of a way. “Nice?”

She flushed and gave a little laugh. “Yes, very nice.”

“More?”

Her smile faded, but she nodded. At the sight of her wary expression, he felt another of those unfamiliar pangs in his chest.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You look as though you’re about to go to your execution.”

“I’m sure,” she whispered, but she still looked nothing short of tragic, and Gil pulled farther back, frowning. The tragic look deepened. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her tone bewildered.

“I don’t want to bed an unwilling woman.”

“I’m not unwilling!” she protested. “I want this.”

“Do you?” He searched her face and still couldn’t quite make her out. He saw hurt, fear, determination. No desire. “You look terrified.”

“I am terrified,” she admitted. She swallowed before she went on. “But I’m hoping you can make it all right. I’m hoping you can—make me enjoy this.”

He paused, weighing her words. “Haven’t you enjoyed it before?”

She flushed. “Not really.”

He reached out and touched her cheek with his fingertips, feeling a wave of tenderness. “I see. Well, I’ll try my best to make it good for you. And if you don’t like it—anything about it at all—you must tell me, all right? And I’ll stop.”

She nodded, and a little of the tension went out of her face.

He leaned forward and kissed her again, taking his time. He made love to her lips, explored the soft crevice of her mouth, dipped his head to traverse the delicate line of her jaw and throat, making the journey in kisses. She leaned back against the couch as he seduced her with lips and hands and soft murmurs, gasping his name as he rained kisses on the upper slopes of her breasts.

When he reached for the fastenings of her gown, she went stiff. “Not here,” she whispered. “Let’s go to your bed.”

He raised his head and saw that her colour was up, her mouth still plump from his long, thorough kisses. “As you wish.”

In one smooth movement, he stood, slid an arm under her knees and swung her up into his arms. “Gil!” she laughed.

She was a lovely armful. His right hand curved against the swell of her breast, his left around the delicate crook of her knee. As he strode to the door, a strand of her hair tickled his face. He tried to blow it out of the way, twitching his nose theatrically.

“Do you want me to scratch your nose?” she enquired.

“Thank you, no,” he replied gravely “I have another itch that is much more pressing.” She laughed at that, but the husk of her laughter held a note of shock that amused him.