A Proper Wife

She shook her head, smiling as best she could.

“Nothing,” she whispered.

Ryan knew it wasn’t true. In the diffused light of the hall lamp, he could see the jewel-like sparkle of tears on Devon’s lashes. He thought of that moment he’d penetrated her, of the delicate tracery of blood on her thighs, and he groaned with remorse.

“I hurt you,” he said, his voice edged with guilt as he drew her closer. “Devon, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No,” she said. “Oh, no, Ryan. You didn’t hurt me.” The warmth of his embrace, the joy of having him hold her close, brought a smile to her lips. “What happened was—it was wonderful.”

He smiled back at her. “I’d have gone more slowly if I’d known. But I had no idea—I didn’t expect—”

“That I’d be a virgin?” she said shyly, tracing the outline of his mouth with the tip of her finger. “Was I—Was it—Were you disappointed?”

“Disappointed?”

He thought of that moment when he’d realized that he was the first man to make love to her, the first she’d given herself to. Even thinking about it sent the blood pounding through his veins. He wanted her again, just as badly as he’d wanted her the first time, but it was too soon. Despite what she’d said, he’d seen the hint of pain in her eyes. So he contented himself with kissing her gently.

“How could a man be disappointed with such an incredible gift?” he said softly.

She blushed, and he could tell that his words had pleased her.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “People say—I mean, there’s something to be said for...for experience, isn’t there?”

Ryan’s gut tightened. People, hell, he thought. Only Bettina would offer such advice.

Dammit. Why would he think of Bettina now? She had been the reason Devon had gone into this marriage but she sure as hell hadn’t had anything to do with Devon being in his arms.

What had just happened was their own private miracle.

“I don’t see anybody in this bed but you and me,” he said softly. “You were wonderful.” He smiled. “As for experience—I’ll be happy to give you all you want, I promise.”

Devon smiled back at him, but her eyes were still solemn. “I suppose you thought—that you assumed—I mean, all things considered...”

“Forget what I assumed,” he said gruffly, stroking her hair back from her still-flushed cheeks. “I can be a pigheaded jerk sometimes.”

It pleased him to see the darkness in her eyes begin to fade.

“On the other hand,” he said with a little smile, “I won’t object if you try and persuade me that my self-analysis is faulty.”

Devon laughed softly. “Well, I wouldn’t call you pigheaded.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“No.” She buried her hands in his dark hair, brought his face down to hers, and kissed him. “You’re much too handsome to be compared to a pig.”

Ryan grinned. “Thank you—I think.”

He rolled onto his back, still holding her close. After a couple of minutes, he chuckled.

“What?” Devon said, lifting her head from his shoulder.

“I was just thinking about Frank.”

“About Frank? How did he get into this conversation?”

“It’s a long story, sweetheart. Let’s just say I’ve been walking around like a powder keg with a short fuse for days and days. Frank happened to be the poor bastard that unknowingly lit it. He never knew what hit him when I finally exploded tonight.”

Devon rolled onto her belly, folded her arms on Ryan’s chest, and propped her chin on her linked hands.