The Heiress Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 3)

“Where?”

He heard her breath suck in sharply. “My breasts,” she said, lightly stroking her fingers over his chin. “You’re still clothed, Colin. That isn’t fair.”

“Forget fairness for the moment,” he said, gently clasping her arms and pulling her against him. He wasn’t about to let her see him naked. It would probably make her forget her passion. It would probably scare her out of her mind.

“I think your breasts can wait a bit,” he said, and, still careful not to touch her anywhere that would make her tremble and shudder, he kissed her mouth, and again and then once more, his hands cupping her face, his fingers sliding through her hair, holding her head still for him. When she was squirming against his thighs, very lightly he cupped her left breast in his warm palm.

“Oh!”

“You’re quite nice.” His knuckles were rubbing lightly over her nipple. “Lie back against my arm.”

She did, staring up at him. She watched him lean down even as his arm brought her upward, and when his mouth closed over her, she nearly yelled with the power of it. He smiled, tasting her sweet flesh, quivering himself, but experienced enough to keep it from her. His sex was hard as a stone and he wanted her very much, so much that he considered briefly just carrying her to the bed, and coming into her. Surely she was ready for him now. But no, he was a fool even to consider it for a moment.

He stopped himself and kissed her breast, fondling her with his fingers and his tongue until he knew she was very ready for him. His hand flattened on her belly and he felt the muscles tighten. “Now, I want you to close your eyes, sweetheart, and just picture in that lively mind of yours what my fingers are doing.”

He didn’t hold back now. His fingers found her quickly and he began a rhythm that was at once deep and gentle, light and urgent. She had no chance to object, no chance to feel embarrassed. All she could do was feel how her body was jerking, her legs clenching, then opening to him, and he saw those feelings clearly on her expressive face. She stared up at him, her eyes vague and bewildered. “Colin,” she whispered and ran her tongue over her lower lip.

“Come along now, Joan. I want you to think about what my fingers are doing to you. I’m going to kiss you and I want you to let yourself go and cry out in my mouth.”

At that moment, he eased his middle finger into her and nearly cried out himself at the wondrous feeling of her. He kissed her as if he would die without her and he wondered vaguely in those moments if it wasn’t true. His fingers were on her swelled flesh again, stroking her, caressing her until she stiffened and pulled back. He looked at her face and smiled at her,

painfully. “Yes, sweetheart. Come to me now.”

She did, from one moment to the next, she was gasping, her legs stiff, such sensations pulsing through her that she couldn’t begin to understand what was happening to her. Whatever it was, she prayed it would never stop. It was so strong and so deep and he was there, staring down at her, that smile in his eyes, and he was saying again and again, “Come to me, come to me . . .”

The feelings crested, flinging her into a world that was fresh and magical, a world that held her now and would never release her. She quieted. His fingers quieted, soothing her now, no longer inflaming her.

“Oh goodness,” she whispered. “Oh goodness, Colin. That was wonderful.”

“Yes,” he said and there was both pain and immense pleasure in his voice and he never stopped looking at her, and now he leaned down and kissed her, softly, lightly. Ah, the bewilderment in her Sherbrooke blue eyes, and the vagueness and the excitement. It pleased him, pleased him to his soul.

Sinjun drew a deep breath. His pleasure, she thought. He hadn’t received any pleasure from her. Would he hurt her now? Oh no, he wouldn’t ever hurt her again. But his pleasure . . . Her heart slowed. Her eyes fluttered closed. To Colin’s chagrin and amusement, she was asleep in the next moment.

He held her for a very long time in front of the warm fire, looking down at her, then into the dying flames, and wondering what this woman had done to him.

When Sinjun awoke the following morning, she was smiling. A silly smile, one that was absurdly content, one that held only one thought, and that thought was of her husband. Of Colin. God, she loved him. Suddenly she stilled and the smile slid off her face. She’d told him she loved him, loved him from the first moment she ever saw him, and he hadn’t replied. But he’d given her such pleasure that she’d wondered even as she prayed it would never end if she would die from it.

She’d told him she loved him and he’d said naught.

Well, she’d been a fool, but she didn’t care. It seemed ridiculous to her now that she would hold back anything from him. He cared for her, she knew that. Now he knew that she loved him. If it gave him power over her, then so be it. If he used the power to hurt her, so be that as well.

She was herself. She couldn’t change. She was a wife, Colin’s wife. God had given him to her; she would never hold back from him. He was, quite simply, the most important person in her life.

Still, when she entered the Laird’s Inbetween Room some forty-five minutes later for her breakfast, she felt flushed and nervous and embarrassed. Colin was there, seated at his ease at the head of the table, a cup of coffee in his hand, a bowl of porridge in front of him, a curl of heat rising from it. The bowl sat on a beautiful white linen tablecloth she’d bought in Kinross.

Her brothers weren’t there. Neither of the wives was there. The children weren’t there. Neither Aunt Arleth nor Serena was there. There was a bloody castle full of people and they were alone.

“Everyone finished thirty minutes ago. I’ve been waiting for you to come down. I didn’t think you would appreciate a full table.”

Was that ever the truth, she thought, pinned a smile to her mouth, and walked in, head up.

He grinned at her like a wicked potentate. “I thought perhaps you’d want to speak to me about how I made you feel last night. In private, naturally. I thought perhaps you’d be disappointed because I only brought you to pleasure one time. I’m very sorry you fell asleep, Joan, but I was too much the gentleman to wake you and force you to climax yet again. You’ve been ill, after all, and I didn’t want you to have to feel too much like a wife all at once.”

“You’re very kind, Colin,” she said. She met his eyes and she flushed. He spoke as boldly as did her damned brothers. She never colored up like a silly chit when they were outrageous. She willed her tongue into action; her chin went up. “I’m not disappointed, husband, but I did worry about you. You were too kind. I told you, I would be your wife, but you didn’t allow me to give you any respite.”

“ ‘Respite,’ ” he repeated. “What a gloomy word to use for screaming, thumping sexual pleasure. ‘Respite.’ I must mention that to my friends and see what they think.”

“I would that you not do that. It is a rather private matter. Very well, I will take back ‘respite’ and be more like my brothers. I’m sorry you didn’t have any sexual screaming, Colin.”