Midsummer Magic (Magic Trilogy 1)

“I will do just as I please with you, wife. Now, finish your dinner.”

He saw she was sorely tempted to throw her tray at him, and said quickly, “Don’t do it, Frances, you’ll hurt your shoulder.”

She sighed, giving up the fond desire. “You are right about that, I suppose. Hawk, I wish to discuss this entire matter with you, reasonably.”

“All right,” he said agreeably. “You never know, my dear, perhaps after you have done your wifely duty by me, I might be very amenable to your women’s wiles.”

“What about my shoulder?”

He merely grinned at her sarcastic tone. “I shall proceed with great care, you may be certain of that. Indeed, I might just begin with your beautiful belly and never travel higher. What do you think?”

“I think you are a goat!”

“You’re blushing, Frances,” he observed blandly. “If I were to touch you right now between those lovely thighs of yours, do you think that I should find you quite ready for me?”

She tried to heave her dinner tray at him, but the pain in her shoulder made her drop it. A chicken breast landed in her lap and she felt bechamel sauce begin to seep through her nightgown. She growled in frustration.

Hawk laughed. “I don’t think I’ll call in Agnes to assist you, my dear. Most embarrassing, I should say. Now, you will hold still, I don’t wish you to hurt yourself anymore.”

She lay stiffly as Hawk cleared the food away. She saw him grin widely at the stain of bechamel sauce low on her belly. “Go away,” she said.

“I’ll clean you up, my dear. I shan’t tell a soul, I swear it to you.”

He returned with a damp cloth, and before Frances could protest, he was lifting her nightgown, baring her to the waist.

She squeaked.

“It seems a pity to waste such exquisite-tasting sauce,” he said, only to stop when she squeaked again.

“Hold still,” he said again, and began to wipe away the sauce. When he finished, he tossed the cloth aside, leaned down, and kissed her stomach. Frances sucked in her breath, and then expelled it when his fingers caressed along her inner thighs, slowly upward, until he was touching her. “Very nice,” he said, his breath warm against her belly. “More intriguing than the sauce, I think.”

“I shouldn’t like this, Hawk,” she said in a very worried voice. “I am ill.”

“Not here, you’re not. Hold still, Frances, close your eyes, and relax. I’m going to make you forget all about your shoulder.”

And he did. His mouth burned deep, making her shiver and groan, despite her best attempts to keep quiet. “That’s it,” he said softly, raising his head just a moment to look at her face. “Ah,” he said, quite pleased with his progress, and returned to his task.

When she cried out her pleasure, he thought the world a very perfect place.

“A gentled woman, how very nice,” he said, lightly stroking her limp body.

“I still don’t like you,” she whispered, wondering where her voice had fled to.

He ignored that, stripped off her nightgown, and tossed it to the

floor. “I would get you another one, Frances, but it would only get in the way.”

“Please cover me,” she said. “I ... I’m cold.”

“You were right about that shoulder,” he said, his smile turning into a frown. It looked awful. “God, Frances, you scared the hell out of me.”

“It looks worse than it feels, I promise.” She raised her hand and gently caressed his cheek. “I’m all right.” He kissed her palm, and for a long moment they were silent.

“You’re cold,” he said finally. He gently pulled the covers over her. He gave her a cup of tea laced with laudanum. When he saw she was on the edge of sleep, he undressed and climbed into bed beside her.

She was beyond protesting, of course, and he very gently settled her against him.

“How can you love someone you don’t like?”