The question hit her like a slap. She bit down on her lower lip and stared up at him, understanding why he didn't look at her, why he stared, unseeing, at the bed behind her. It had never actually occurred to her, this question, so stark and ugly and terrifying, but she saw in an instant that it should have. It was the truth she'd failed to understand. I feel like spun glass in your hands, Selena.
Yes, she understood it now. Understood his devastating fear. It was not merely that a husband was out there, it was not even that he would come for Selena. It was the choice that she would have to make.
She wished that she could lie. Slowly, feeling sick and uncertain, she looked up at Ian. Leaning closer, she touched a hand to his cheek and forced his gaze down to hers. "If I understand this word honor, and the word marriage, I would be forced to return to this husband."
Pain glazed his eyes, gave his strong mouth a twist. "Yes."
"But I do not believe I have a husband out there, Ian. My heart is too certain of itself. God would not test me in so cruel and unjust a way."
Ian laughed harshly. "Ha. Such sacrifices are God's raison d'etre."
"All right. Let us suppose I do own a husband, and he is searching for me even now."
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"Yes." It was a whisper of an answer.
She leaned closer, her mouth a heartbeat from his. She was so close, she could smell the bourbon on his breath, could feel the whisper of his breathing against her lips. "Then we should love each other as best we can now."
He slipped his arms around her, drew her tightly against him. "If we go to that bed over there, Selena, it will hurt even more if your husband comes for you."
She laughed quietly. For once, he was the innocent, and she saw the truth. "Not more," she whispered.
He leaned down to her, kissing her lightly at first, then more deeply, claiming her with his tongue. One hand slid up from her waist, curled around her neck, anchored her to him. His kisses trailed away from her lips, rained across her cheek, to her ear, down the sensitive curve of her neck. There he paused, rested his lips against her throat. "I love you, Selena. No matter what happens ... I love you."
She heard the thickness in his voice, the rusty tone of the words, and wondered if he'd ever said them before. She understood at last the power of language. How a simple trio of words could make you want to cry. "I love you, too, Ian," she whispered.
He stood up and swept her into his arms in a move so sudden, it left her breathless. A laugh slipped from her mouth, her head fell back. The crafted copper of the ceiling glowed like sunlight in the candle's glow.
He took her to the bed and laid her down. He was back in seconds with the candle, murmuring something about wanting to see her, but she wasn't sure, didn't care.
He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants and shirt. The garments slid away from his body, puddled on the floor at his feet. Impatiently he kicked them away, then strode toward her, his naked skin dark and glistening in the candlelight.
She felt a rustle of fear.
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"Don't be afraid," he murmured, crawling into bed beside her, drawing her close. Lowering his head, he kissed her, a deep, passionate kiss that stole her breath and made her whole body tremble, then he rained kisses down her throat, kissed her breasts through the sheer silk of her nightgown.
Before she knew what was happening, her gown was unbuttoned. Cool air brushed her nipples. Then she felt the heat of his breath on her skin, the moist touch of his tongue.
She touched him, tentatively at first, suprised by the moist heat of his skin.
"Yes," he breathed encouragingly, "touch me.. .."
Her hands slid down his body, exploring, feeling, caressing.
He bunched her nightdress in his hands and peeled it away. His hands swept down her body, touching her in a thousand unexpected ways, making her shiver with excitement and ache with need. Places she'd never touched herself exploded with sensation beneath his practiced fingers. It went on and on, his ardent exploration of her body, until she thought she couldn't possibly take another moment of such sweet, exquisite torture.
He rolled on top of her.
Their gazes locked. He lay above her, breathing hard, his hair a tangled curtain of gold against his unshaven cheek. She saw a desperation in his gaze she didn't understand, a fear that sliced through her budding desire like a cold breath. He was thinking of the husband and he was afraid.
"Ian-"
He silenced her with a kiss, and she was lost again. Gently his hand glided down her body, pulled one thigh to the side and slid between her legs. His intimate touch sparked a flood of hot, pulsing desire. A tiny gasp of pleasure fell from her mouth, her arms tightened around his slick, moist back.
He slipped inside her.