Marion Lennox - Royal Marriage Of Convenience

He’d never felt like this about a woman, and he wouldn’t mess with it for want of patience, or for want of restraint, no matter how much that restraint might cost. He wouldn’t risk her waking in the morning and reacting with horror at what they’d done. ‘This needs to be an act of love,’ he said, and as he said it he knew that it was right. Something was changing inside him. Something he hadn’t been aware could be changed.

She was smiling in the firelight, standing on tiptoes so she could kiss him. His hands dropped to her waist, and the feel of her silk-smooth skin…

If she was to move away she had to do it now, he thought, and his thoughts were getting a little blurred. He was offering her the chance to change her mind, but a man was only human. If she said no now…

She did no such thing.

She lifted one of his hands from her waist, lifting it high so the back of his hand was against her cheek. So she could feel the roughness of his skin against her. Then she moved his hand slowly down, gently guiding it so the palm of his hand was cupping her breast.

It seemed she had no doubts. For this night, she was his wife. For this night, their vows would hold.

The terrors of the night, overwhelming, appalling, out of their world, were slipping away now as if they’d been a bad dream. This was the reality, and only this. She put her hands up and touched his face gently, tenderly, never letting her eyes move from his.

‘Nick.’

He bent and he kissed her.

And in that instant, her world readjusted. The awful tilting somehow righted itself. For this wondrous moment, the horrors of the night and the bleakness of the past few years made way for…

For Nick. For loving. For wonder. Nick’s mouth was on hers, and he tasted wonderful. His hands were on her waist, tugging her against him. His hands were a man’s hands, big, strong, but caressing with a tenderness that made her want to weep. But the time for weeping was past. She was tracing the contours of his cheeks with her fingers, feeling the roughness of the beginning of stubble, glorying in his sheer masculinity. It had been too long since she’d held a man. Any man. She’d loved Max, but for years he’d been ill, and her touch had needed to be tender. She’d been the one doing the giving.

Not here. Not now. She could feel the strength in Nick, the unleashed power, and she wanted it, oh, she wanted it. But she’d never guessed until this moment how much.

He was deepening the kiss, and she gloried in it. Her lips parted, and her tongue did its own exploring. Her breasts were pressed hard against him, against the soft linen of his shirt, feeling the strength of his chest. Feeling…

All she was doing was feeling. All she wanted to do was to feel. He’d kept his trousers and his shirt on during all the troubles of this night, but she wanted them gone now. But to ask him to remove them-to remove them herself-was to break the moment. And how could she?

It was Nick who paused. It was Nick who moved back, just a little, holding her at arm’s length so he could look into her eyes. His eyes were dark in the firelight, almost black, and when he spoke his voice was deep and husky with desire.

‘This is love-making,’ he said softly. ‘Rose, what we’re doing, it’s because of love. I should say…’

She knew what he wanted to say. This was a marriage of convenience. A marriage for a month. He wanted no commitment, and he was an honourable man.

Too honourable. When she wanted this so much.

‘We can be in love only for tonight,’ she whispered, knowing it was what he wanted to hear. It was what she wanted herself-wasn’t it? But she no longer knew and she no longer cared. Tomorrow was for tomorrow. ‘For now, yes, I’m loving you. I just want you to love me. Please, Nick. Now.’

The ‘now’ didn’t quite work. For she couldn’t quite form the word before her lips were claimed again. Her mouth was being plundered by his, his hands were tugging her close, pulling her up against him, almost lifting her in a long, triumphant, loving kiss where the night dissolved around them and doubts were swept away, and there was only Nick in her world. And there was room for nothing else.

She closed her eyes, her whole body responding with sensual pleasure as he deepened the kiss. She was holding his face in her hands, aching for him to be closer, closer. His hands were in the small of her back, pressing her against him, sending shivers of ecstasy though her whole body. Nick…Her man.

Her hands slipped under the fine fabric of his shirt, tugging him against her, moulding to him, letting him take her weight as she gloried in the strength of him. For Rose, who’d had to be strong for so long, to let go now, to let this man take her…

This was some romantic fantasy that was suddenly, gloriously real. This was happening in truth and not in dreams. She’d married this man today. This was her husband. She had every right to demand that he take her, as he could demand that she surrender. Glorious surrender. Only it worked both ways, this surrender. She was plundering him as he was plundering her. As he was surrendering to her. He groaned softly into the night and she thought, yes, he was out of control and so was she, and this was their right.

His mouth was moving now. Still he held her against him so her feet were barely on the floor, but he had total control. He kissed her as she ached to be kissed. Her neck, her lips, her eyelids. She arched her neck and let him do as he willed, her body heating as she’d never known it could heat. Her whole world centred around the pattern he was making with his tongue.

He was lowering her now, to the rug before the fire, following her down, his hands, his mouth still conjuring their magic. But he was still in his clothes. She needed him closer. She wanted his skin against hers. She wanted his body, and this man was her husband. She had the right.

She pulled back, just a little. The flickering firelight was lighting his face, shadows and contours, illuminating the strength of his bone structure, showing the passion deep in his eyes. A passion that she was sure was matched in her own.

He watched her, intent, tracking every expression as her fingers unfastened the buttons of his shirt. She was lying full-length against him, side by side, and she could feel his breathing deepening as she made her way downward. Button by button. Slow but sure. There was no rush. She had all the time in the world, and this was her man.

His shirt was gone now, and she couldn’t think how. She didn’t need to know how. She shifted downward a little and pushed him back, just slightly, so he rolled onto his back and she could lie her cheek on his chest. His fingers caressed her hair as she kissed his chest. She found his nipples, one after the other, tasted them in turn, teased them with her tongue and felt him groan again. He was at her mercy. Her man. Hers.

She pulled herself over him so her body lay full-length on his. She tugged his arms up, holding them, then lowering her mouth so she could kiss him as he needed to be kissed. Then her own arms were captured and he pulled her upward, lifting her higher. She lay motionless, gasping her pleasure as his tongue found her breasts. Slowly. Slowly. He explored each breast and kissed them in turn, taking her sensory awareness to a new plane, a place she’d never known was there…

He rolled her sideways then, so they were side by side again. Her lips cried out a protest, but this time it was needful. His mouth claimed hers again, but she felt his fingers fumble for the catch of his pants. Yes. Her fingers moved to help him and his kiss stopped, and he gave a low chuckle of pure, sensory pleasure.

‘I can undress myself, Madam Wife.’

‘Not fast enough-my husband,’ she murmured, and she chuckled and tugged the zip down in one triumphant tug. Away. He’d have to do the rest himself, for as his trousers disappeared her hands stayed where they were.