Susan Wiggs - At The King's Command

“Stay with me,” she whispered. “Stay with me and hold me while I sleep.”

He was so stunned by her request that he forgot to be cautious. Before he knew what was happening, he stretched out beside her. He pulled the coverlet over her and held her tightly, her cheek against his chest, his chin resting lightly on her head.

He told himself this was only for a moment, only until she was calm and able to sleep again.

But an hour later he was still there.

Juliana slept peacefully, her breath soft against his throat, her small hand resting in the curve of his waist. Her slim leg draped over his thigh.

Stephen tried not to think about the fact that he was in bed with a beautiful woman. His wife. He had every right to kiss her, to touch her, to slide his hands beneath her nightrail and—He cut the fantasy short, and the effort made him ache. It had been so long since he had felt the softness of a woman’s breasts loose beneath thin lawn fabric. So long since he had listened to the breathing of someone slumbering nearby. So long since desire had stirred within him and then, lancelike, had stricken him with sharp arousal.

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