The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers 4)

“You should believe it. I love you, Venetia, utterly and completely. And I will love you forever, until my last breath.” His thumb brushed across her wet cheek with unbearable tenderness. “The truth is, I was afraid to love but more afraid not to. It wasn’t long after our wedding before I realized that I would be the greatest fool in nature if I let you go.”

Venetia closed her eyes, savoring this incredible moment. The pain, the sick feeling deep inside her, the fear, all had fled.

But Quinn’s fear still seemed to linger. “I collect,” he said hoarsely, “that it all comes down to one crucial question. Could you ever love me

in return?”

She gave a watery chuckle. “Yes, I could love you, Quinn. I do love you. More than you could ever imagine.”

The relief in his expression was priceless. “Thank God.”

His forehead pressed against hers. Then shifting, he sank his face into the curve of her neck and wrapped his arms around her in a fervent embrace.

For a long moment they remained that way, with Venetia absorbing his warmth, the steady, soothing beat of his heart. His hold was so incredibly tender. She felt infinitely precious, cradled against him. His hands smoothed over her back, her arms, in an absent, hypnotic caress.

Shortly, however, the heat seeping into her transformed into something more than comfort. She became keenly aware of the muscular hardness of his thighs beneath her, his scent, his increasing pulse rate.

Quinn must have felt her growing tension, for he muttered another quiet oath in her ear. “I want very badly to make love to you. I want to give you the wedding night you never had. But that will have to wait until you are well enough.”

Venetia pulled back so that she could see his face. The same longing that gripped her was reflected in his eyes. “I am well enough now,” she whispered.

Heat suddenly shimmered between them. And yet he seemed cautious, careful. “I don’t want to hurt you ever again.”

“You won’t. I promise.” Caught in the net of his blue gaze, Venetia held her breath.

Drawing her face closer, Quinn kissed her with such amazing gentleness that she wanted to weep. His lips were heartbreakingly soft, as though she were a fragile thing he feared to shatter. When he finished, she took his hand and brought it to her breast.

“Quinn, make love to me now….Please.”

“Yes.”

Between them desire smoldered, flared, in a shock wave of heat. Even so, he drew out his compliance. Rising slowly, he set Venetia on her feet and divested her of her nightshift, not letting her participate. Evidently he intended to provide her solace.

She stood quietly, looking up at him as he shed his own clothes. Candlelight highlighted his hair with gold and illuminated the perfection of his nude, muscular body.

For a moment, Quinn scrutinized her in return, visibly searching for signs of bruising and physical abuse. When finally he stepped closer, a sigh of need whispered from her. She yearned for the physical contact as he reached for her. His hands moved in a light murmur over her skin…yet they were strangely dispassionate. He meant only to comfort her, she realized. To remain detached, as if she were an invalid.

But she needed more.

What she needed was his passion. She needed the vital intensity of his lovemaking, the primal expression of life to chase away the threat of death.

“Quinn, make love to me,” she repeated, half demand, half plea.

“Hush, angel. Let me take care of you.”

His strong fingers cupping her pale breasts, he lowered his face to hers. His kiss was a languid, intimate knowing of her mouth, one that stole her breath away.

Her eyes misted with fresh tears at the healing quality of his kiss, but she still wanted more.

“Please…I need you.”

He drew her to the bed then and lay down with her, facing her. She could feel his gaze like a tangible caress, drifting over her.

At last he pulled her into his arms and enfolded her in his powerful embrace. Venetia clung to him, absorbing the hard, warm strength of him. She could feel the feather touch of his lips on her hair, her cheek, her throat, searing her, kindling the fires of desire inside her.

How could he be so gentle yet unleash such violent emotions in her? How could he remain so unmoved when she was burning?

Yet he was not as composed as he seemed. When he drew back, she recognized his effort at control in the lines of his handsome face. She wanted him to lose that control, but vexingly, he took his time.