She caught the rhythm easily. Her breathing deepened and her hands on Miles’s arms tightened, her fingers digging into his muscles. His body surrounding her, warm, hard, sculptured, was all she was aware of as her whole body began to move sensuously.
“Miles,” she whispered, her hands moving to his hair. She was not gentle as she pulled his face to hers, sought his lips in a kiss such as she’d never dreamed of before. There was sweat on both of them, salty, hot sweat.
Elizabeth drew her knees up, clutched Miles’s hips and when she did, he entered her.
There was no pain as she was more than ready for him, but for a moment she trembled with the force of her reaction. Miles held still, also slightly trembling, until Elizabeth started the slow rhythm he’d taught her with his hands.
Slowly, together, they made love. After only moments, Elizabeth lost herself in a sea of passion she’d never known existed before. As Miles increased his speed, she locked her legs about him and gave herself up to her senses. With one blinding flash, Elizabeth’s body convulsed and her legs began to shake violently.
“Hush,” Miles soothed as he lifted onto one elbow and stroked her temple. “Hush, my angel. You’re safe now.”
He withdrew from her, pulled her into his arms. “My promised angel,” he whispered. “My angel of rain and lightning.”
Elizabeth didn’t understand his words completel
y but she did, perhaps for the first time in her life, feel safe. She fell asleep instantly, her body so close to Miles’s that she could scarcely breathe.
When Elizabeth awoke, she stretched luxuriously, feeling each and every muscle of her body, wincing when she pulled the torn skin of her knees. Her eyes opened and the first thing she saw was a long table covered with steaming food. She was sure she’d never been so hungry in her life. Grabbing Bronwyn’s plaid from the floor, she tossed it about her body haphazardly and went to the table.
Her mouth was full of a bit of poached salmon when the door opened and Miles walked in. Elizabeth froze, her hand halfway to her mouth as she began to remember the previous night. There was such a disgustingly knowing look in Miles’s dark eyes that Elizabeth began to grow angry. Before she could even sort her feelings, Miles casually began to discard the Scots clothes he wore.
What right did he—! Elizabeth thought, choking on the salmon as she tried to speak. But he did have a right. After the way she’d acted last night, he had every right to believe the very worst of her. But still she’d like to wipe that expression off his face.
Elizabeth didn’t really consider what she did, but beside her were two heaping platters of warm, soft tarts, baked to a golden turn, heavy with summer fruit. With a smile, her eyes locked with Miles’s, she slipped her hand under a tart and, still smiling, sent it flying toward him.
He wasn’t expecting missiles sent at him and the pie hit his collar bone, splashing his cheek, running down his chest in a warm ooze of cherries and juice.
Elizabeth knew that whatever happened now it was worth it for the look on Miles’s face. He was totally, completely, shocked. With her hand over her mouth to cover a giggle, Elizabeth sent two more pies flying at him, hitting his bare hip with the first one, the chair behind him with the other one.
Miles looked at Elizabeth with an odd expression, discarded the rest of his clothes and kept walking toward her.
The plaid Elizabeth had worn fell from her body and Elizabeth, eyes wide, began to throw pies in earnest, using both hands. She wasn’t sure but she thought she saw murder in those gray eyes.
Miles kept coming, only moving when a tart came flying at his face. His entire body was covered in a mixture of peaches, cherries, apples, dates, plums, all running down his muscular body in a glorious riot of colors—and flavors, Elizabeth thought irrelevantly.
When he reached the table, his piercing eyes held hers and she didn’t dare move. He bolted over the table to stand beside her and Elizabeth, breath held, looked up at him. But as she looked, a cherry, plump and juicy, ran down his forehead, his nose, and hung for just a second before plopping down onto the floor. Another giggle escaped Elizabeth.
Slowly, tenderly, Miles drew her into his arms. “Ah, Elizabeth,” he said, “you are such a joy.”
As his lips came near hers, she closed her eyes, remembering all too well the sensations of last night. He bent her backward in his arms and Elizabeth gave herself over to the strength of him. He had power over her. All he had to do was touch her and she began to tremble.
But lips did not touch hers. Instead, she received a face full of juicy, syrupy peach pie. As peaches ran into her ears, her eyes flew open. Gasping, she looked up into Miles’s devilish face.
Before she could even protest, with a wicked little smile, he lifted her and set her on the table—smack in the middle of the second platter of tarts. Fruit juice oozed over her legs, somehow did the impossible and traveled up her spine. Her hands were covered, peaches dripped off her chin, her hair was glued to her body.
With utter disgust, she lifted her hands, brushed them against each other, saw that did no good whatever, and on second thought, she ate two apple slices from the back of her wrist.
“A little too sweet,” she said seriously, looking at Miles. “Perhaps we should complain to the cook.”
Miles, nude before her, showed that his mind was not on the cook. Elizabeth’s eyes widened in mock dismay. It was difficult, if not impossible, to retain one’s composure while sitting in a puddle of fruit pies. She opened her arms to her sticky lover and he came to her.
When Elizabeth kissed Miles’s neck and came away choking on a cherry pit, their laughter began. Miles noisily began eating peaches from her forehead while Elizabeth nibbled plums from Miles’s shoulder.
Miles grabbed her, rolled onto his back amid a great clatter of dishes and the squish of food, and set her down on his swollen manhood. There was no more laughter as their thoughts turned serious and they made love with vigor, twice changing positions, ending with Miles on the bottom.
Elizabeth lay quite still on top of him, weak, exhausted, thinking she might die before she had energy to rouse herself.
But Miles, with a grunt, lifted both of them and removed a small earthenware bowl that had once contained a sauce of some sort from the small of his back, and flung it to the floor.