Practical Widow to Passionate Mistress (Transformation of the Shelley Sisters 1)

‘No. Not without care.’ Meg caught his hand and lifted it to cup one aching breast again. ‘I wanted you just as urgently and you made me feel so good, so very good.’ She had never felt that passion, that rightness before, but she could not say so, it felt so disloyal to the man who had, it proved, shown her no loyalty. She reached out and circled Ross’s erection with one hand, loving the way he closed his eyes at the touch, the sharp intake of breath as she caressed down and then up again using the flat of her thumb to tease the head until he moaned.

‘It will be fast and urgent again if you do that.’ He opened his eyes, dark and hot and full of wicked thoughts that spoke to her own desire.

‘We have all night.’ Meg sank to her knees on the discarded nightclothes and placed her hands firmly on his slim hips. She had never done this before, never wanted to; now all she desired was to pleasure Ross, show him, without words, how she felt.

‘Meg! Oh, my…Meg, stop that.’ Ross’s voice trailed off into a husky groan as she took him fully into her mouth to torment him, tongue and lips and teeth merciless. His hands locked into her hair as she gave herself up to wringing groan after groan from him. His breath was panting now, she could sense his fight to control himself, not to thrust. She was determined to overwhelm him, thought she had succeeded until his hands fastened over hers and he pulled himself free, dragged her to her feet and fastened his mouth over hers.

He lifted her without stopping the kiss, carried her, hands tight at her waist, until he lowered her to the bed, coming down with her to pin her to the heavy satin of the coverlet before sliding down between her legs, angling her with implacable gentleness until he could kneel and part her legs to kiss her, deeply, intimately, while she writhed and sobbed and begged for mercy.

But she had shown him

none and now that he had her, Ross was the stronger. Meg gave up struggling, let him take her and drive her into a completely mindless frenzy of delight, once, twice, before she was dizzily aware that his weight was over her again.

‘Ross.’ Somehow she forced her eyes open, looked into his.

‘You are a wicked woman.’ He settled himself between her legs, teasing her with small thrusts of his pelvis that sent shock waves through the sensitised folds he had been tormenting so exquisitely.

‘Stop teasing me,’ she managed to gasp, curling her legs around him to hold him close.

‘Tell me what you want.’ He nudged, pressing just a little, withdrawing, bringing her to the brink again and again.

‘You know what…Ross, please!’

‘Please what?’ Now she could hear the strain in his voice, see the veins standing out on his temples, feel the tension racking him.

‘Fill me. I need you, all of you.’

And then he gave her all, surging into the warm, wet heat that was aching for him, sobbing her name as she clenched around him, hungry for him, sheathing him as he drove her up and over the edge into mindless pleasure, staying with her until she screamed his name and somehow, despite her limbs locked around him, managing to pull free and find his own release, shuddering against her.

Ross heard the clock strike three and stirred, feeling the weight of Meg’s head on his shoulder, enjoying the tickle of her hair as it slid over his chest. His right arm had lost all feeling, her elbow was digging into his side and his body ached. He felt wonderful. And his thoughts were clear, not at all like those of a man who had just roused from the deep, dreamless, sleep that follows passionate lovemaking.

He knew what he wanted, he realised, and it was obvious that it was just under his nose. Literally. It was madness to make himself miserable by marrying a young woman with whom he had nothing in common simply for the sake of marriage and equally foolish to stay unmarried in the hope of falling in love. He was not convinced such a state was anything but a temporary brainstorm in any case.

Ross untangled himself with care. Meg grumbled in her sleep, then settled again as he slid from the bed, pulled on his robe and poured two glasses of claret from the decanter on the chest of drawers. He put one on the nightstand beside Meg, then pulled the coverlet up over her; he did not want those slender curves or the shadowed mysteries he had explored with such dedication to distract him.

Then he sat with his back against the bedpost at the foot of the bed and watched her sleep until the clock struck the half-hour.

‘Meg.’ It took a while, but eventually she woke, one sleepy eye peering at him over the sheet beneath a tousle of hair.

‘Ross.’ She scooted up in the bed and smiled, a ravishing smile of pleasure at seeing him that took his breath. ‘Come back to bed.’ The throaty invitation in her voice had him hardening on the instant.

He shook his head. ‘No. We need to talk.’ Immediately the warmth vanished and she regarded him warily. ‘There’s a glass of wine beside you.’ He raised his and toasted her with it. ‘To my lady.’

Her lips opened, she hesitated, then whispered, ‘To my lord’, and drank.

‘I need to go to London.’

Meg choked and put down the wine glass. ‘When?’

‘The day after tomorrow.’ She closed her eyes and he thought she murmured, Just two after all. ‘I’ve had yet another letter from my man of business up there about decisions I need to make. It is complex, so better that I speak direct with him and I cannot leave it any longer. Meg, come with me.’

She sat bolt upright, eyes wide open. ‘To London?’

‘Yes.’ Now he had to get this right, this question he had never asked before. ‘Meg, I want you to be—’

‘Your mistress,’ she finished and to his horror Ross saw the glint of tears in her eyes. ‘You want to set me up in a house in London.’

‘No! Meg, listen and do not interrupt me.’ The tears vanished as she glared at him and he almost laughed. ‘Meg, will you come to London and marry me?’