The Future King's Bride (The Royal House of Cacciatore 3)

‘I don’t know.’

He continued to stroke the silken strands. ‘My position dictates that I must be protected from threat—which means that my bodyguards must never be far away,’ he explained slowly. ‘But their position also dictates that they know their place, and now that place is to turn a blind eye to what happens. We shall not have the freedom of other honeymoon couples, Millie—I cannot, for example, make love to you on the edge of the shore, while the waves rock us with their own particular rhythm.’ He smiled as he saw the startled look on her face. ‘But we can create whatever fantasy we wish within this house. I think you will find that we do not need the stimulation of the outdoors or the lure of the forbidden—for us to travel to paradise.’

His words were a catalyst to the yearning which had been growing and growing inside her since the very first time he had kissed her and branded himself upon her heart and her body.

‘Will you show me how?’ she questioned shyly.

It was probably the most erotic thing that anyone had ever said to him—but he was aware that its allure lay in its innocent rarity.

He felt his blood thicken, quicken. ‘Oh, yes,’ he breathed, as he threaded his fingers luxuriantly in the golden silk. ‘I shall show you everything. By the end of our honeymoon you will know as much as any courtesan, Millie.’

Sometimes his words frightened her—like now—for they hinted at his past and mocked her for her own innocence. And she realised that, while she might be the pupil, she had to assert some of her own authority. She would not wait—mute and malleable as a puppet—while he called all the shots. For surely he would bore with always being the one to crack the whip?

‘Stop talking,’ she said urgently. ‘Kiss me. Properly.’

The contrast between her inexperience and her eagerness was like a starting pistol firing deep in his groin. All the pent-up desire he had buried for so long licked into life and he bent his head once more. Only this time it was not a light, grazing kiss, but deeper, drugging, soft and hard all at the same time, and filled with sensual purpose.

‘Oh!’ cried Millie, and this time he did not stop her when her arms reached up for him. She felt her lips begin to open and flower as mouth explored mouth with the excitement of a child being presented with a beautiful box and being told that, yes, she could open it.

He reached to cup her breast in his palm, could feel its small swell grow heavy, the nipple begin to point, and he circled his thumb round and round it, her soft moans of pleasure making him want to rip the dress from her body and bury his mouth there instead.

But he must take it slowly. Her initiation was important; it would affect how she viewed sex for the rest of her life. She had waited and he had waited, and their patience must be rewarded with a long and lavish feast.

He skated the flats of his hands down over her narrow hips, then changed direction, letting one lie with indolent possession over the barely perceptible curve of her stomach. He felt her move restlessly and he gave a low and predatory laugh as he moved, drifting his fingers between the fork of her legs and then drifting them away again.

‘Oh!’ she gasped automatically—the one word torn from her lips in a muffled protest.

‘Oh, what?’ he questioned lazily, still drifting his finger back and forth, back and forth.

But she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—her heart was thumping so forcefully that all she could do was nod her head, terrified by the strength of the feelings which were scorching the nerve-endings of her body, and yet terrified that they might simply go away again.

‘I think it is ti

me that we took your dress off, don’t you, Millie?’

With a practised, almost careless touch, he peeled the voile gown from her body and threw it aside, and then he stood back to look at her, appraising her scantily clad body as a connoisseur might appraise a painting.

Standing before him in just her underwear, Millie should have felt shy, but something in the increased darkening of his eyes filled her with a new and strange kind of power. For, yes, Gianferro was the expert, the seasoned lover, but she had something that he wanted as badly as she did.

Instinct, as well as skill, had made her a fearless and accomplished horsewoman, and instinct took over now to instruct her in the lessons of love. She raked her fingers up by her ears, lifting great handfuls of shiny gold hair, as if she were gathering sheaves of wheat, and the movement made her hips jut out slightly and emphasised the thrust of her breasts.

He sucked in a breath. ‘Beautiful.’ He slowly ran the tip of his finger down over his shirt. ‘Come and unbutton this for me.’

It was the simplest task imaginable, but never had a task seemed so impossible. Gianferro smiled as she fumbled at the buttons.

‘No need to ask whether you’ve done this before,’ he teased.

‘Don’t make fun of me,’ she begged.

‘But I’m not. I never would.’ His voice was serious because inexplicably he was moved. ‘It’s wonderful. Your innocence is all that a man could dream of.’

She pushed away the thought that it was what she represented, rather than the person she was, which made his black eyes gleam with such a soft, territorial pride, and concentrated instead on the newness and the excitement of the moment.

She’d never seen his chest before. It was olive-brown and silken satin in texture, crisp with dark hair, the faint line of rib barely visible. She touched a wondering finger to each nipple, then looked up at him to see his face a study of fierce concentration, as if he was holding himself back. His eyes opened again and he gave a little shake of his head, a smile which was almost rueful.

‘Come,’ he said huskily. ‘For I cannot wait much longer.’ And he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the vast bed, which both taunted and tempted her as he laid her down on it and slid the shirt from his powerful shoulders.

He kicked off his shoes and, enraptured, Millie watched as he unbuckled his belt and slid the zip down. But she closed her eyes when the trousers came off, for she could see the proud, hard ridge through the silk of his boxer shorts.