Charming Sir Charles (Dashing Widows 5)

He leaned forward and kissed her. A tender kiss with none of the tumultuous passion that had just transported her to paradise.

So why should this almost chaste kiss have the power to slice her heart in two?

She blinked away foolish tears and hoped the gloom hid them from Charles.

Small hope. He cupped her face and kissed her again with more of the poignant tenderness that vanquished all her defenses. “Lie with me, my darling, just for a few moments.”

Sally struggled to remember that this was a mere interlude, and once they left this house, the rest of her life waited to claim her. The rest of her life held no place for this breathtaking lover, years younger than her.

She braced herself to speak the fatal name. “But if Meg…”

“She said she’d be a couple of hours.”

“We need to talk.” But the shameful truth was that Sally didn’t want to talk. Not yet. Not ever, although she knew that was an impossible wish.

“Yes, we do.” His expression turned somber, and she shivered as if a ghost passed through the air above her. “But not this very minute.”

For a long interval, she stared into his face, tracing every inch with her eyes so that she could carve him on her heart just as he looked now. How could she deny him? He offered her an irresistible chance to linger in this golden heaven, even if just for a little while.

Trouble lay ahead, but trouble could wait.

She gave him a tentative smile, then squirmed around until her back pressed into his chest. His musky male scent surrounded her, as he drew her into the shelter of his body and shaped one possessive hand around her breast.

“I won’t let you fall,” he murmured in her ear, making her shiver as his breath brushed across her skin.

Silly girl she was, she so wanted to believe him. Which was absurd when she’d just fallen most convincingly.

But that unwelcome thought couldn’t pierce her contentment as she cuddled up against Charles. She rested in the arms of the man she loved. For now, that was enough.

* * *

Charles stirred and opened his eyes to impenetrable blackness. There was no interval of confusion or disorientation. His beloved, warm and soft and messy after their wild, astonishing, unforgettable encounter, slept with him.

He buried his nose in the soft tumble of her hair, breathing deeply of her intoxicating female scent. He felt drunk on Sally Cowan. Even in his most extravagant dreams, he’d never imagined that she’d give herself to him with such sweetness and generosity.

He had no idea what time it was, and nothing on God’s green earth could lure him away from Sally to find his coat and dig his watch out of the pocket. He felt pleasantly weary, every muscle weighted with sleep and lingering satisfaction.

After that astounding climax, they both must have tumbled into a deep sleep. The chaise, which had earlier seemed cramped, now seemed just right. Sally’s long slender body fit against his as if she’d been created to lie in his arms.

They were still dressed, at least in theory. Her skirts bunched against his thighs, and her bodice drooped to give him access to her pretty bosom. He’d managed to button his breeches before he dozed off, and his crumpled shirt lay loose around his hips.

With a stab of surprise, he realized he hadn’t even delayed to take off his boots. He’d wanted her too much to think of anything else.

He tightened his grip on her waist, and his hand curled more firmly around her breast. He loved her neat little breasts with their tight, pink nipples. Nipples that tasted like strawberries.

A reminiscent smile curved his lips, as his mind turned to coaxing Sally into another bout. Idly his thumb toyed with the pointed peak, and he bumped his hips against her bottom. His cock rose hard and heavy, eager to be inside her once more.

He still couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Amazing how a man’s fate could turn upon a sixpence. He’d started the day wanting to cut his throat because he was convinced he’d lost her forever. Now he lay crammed up against his darling, basking in a happiness he’d never known before.

What a rare, extraordinary gift that happiness was. Although the real gift was the woman in his arms.

Sa

lly shifted subtly so her tangled hair drifted across his shoulder. Her hand rose to cup his hand where it held her breast. His smile widened, as he tilted his head to kiss the lushly scented curve where her neck met her shoulder. She smelled of crushed flowers and female satisfaction—and a trace of sweat.

She made a drowsy sound of appreciation and shifted back against him. Then startling him, she suddenly went rigid and wriggled until she broke out of his hold.

With a cry, she tumbled off the narrow chaise and ended up crouching on the floor beside him.