A Comfortable Wife (Regencies 8)

Excitement gripping her, Antonia did as he asked.

"No peeking," he said when she tried to glance over her shoulder.

The next instant, he dropped the box on the chaise and held his hands high over her head, a strand of sparkling stones strung between them.

Antonia looked up and caught her breath. “The emeralds from Aspreys!" Her words came in a whisper. "I wondered who had bought them."

'"Twas I." Philip lowered the necklace, setting it about her throat. He bent his head to fasten the catch at her nape. "They were obviously made for you—it was only right that you have them."

Her eyes on their reflection, Antonia raised fluttering fin­gers to the gems. "I.. .I don't know what to say." She sought Philip's gaze in the mirror; her dazed smile faded. "Philip—I can't wear them. Not yet."

"I know." Grimacing, he placed his hands on her shoul­ders, squeezing gently. "Keep them until we get back to the Manor. You can wear them at our betrothal ball—my gift to you on the occasion."

For a moment longer, Antonia held his gaze, then she turned. "Thank you." Reaching up, she twined her arms about his neck and, stretching up on tiptoe, set her lips to his.

For a fractional instant, Philip hesitated, then his hands slid around her silk encased form, smoothly gathering her into his arms. For a single minute, he savoured the freshness of her untutored caress, then desire welled; he parted her lips, confident of his welcome, eager for the taste of her sweetness. She responded as she always did, with simple, unrestrained passion, warm and enticing.

Antonia gave herself up to his kiss, swept up, as she always was, by the warm tide he so effortlessly called forth. When Philip gathered her closer, his head slanting over hers, she tightened her arms about his neck. Her senses drifted; beyond coherent thought, she yielded to the com­pulsion to press against him.

His hands shifted to her back, tracing the long lines, then dropped to her hips, firming gently, encouragingly. Unable to deny the urging of her senses, she responded, letting her softness sink against his hardness, thrilled, seduced by the unfamiliar excitement that welled within her. The kiss went on; the novel sensation swelled and grew until it filled her entirely.

An indescribable longing swept her.

Philip's hand at her breast felt just right; his gentle fon­dling eased the odd throbbing ache that had developed there. Then his fingers stroked and her knees went weak; Antonia clung to his shoulders, relieved when his arm tight­ened about her waist.

Then he was lowering her to the chaise, easing her down to the brocaded cushions without breaking their kiss. Un­willing to leave her realm of delight, Antonia clung to the caress, one arm about his neck. Her other hand fluttered along his jaw in pleading supplication.

Philip felt her tentative touch; accurately interpreting it, he devoted one part of his mind to appeasing her innocent hunger with gentle, lingering kisses while his fingers dealt with the tiny buttons of her bodice. As the closures yielded one by one, he tightened his hold on his passions, ruthlessly harnessing them. Step by step, point by slow point, he had been leading her down the road to seduction by the longest route he could devise. He knew precisely how far he would lead her tonight; that far and no further.

It was a point he made very clear to his surging, restless passions before the last button gave and he slid one hand beneath the fine seagreen silk.

Her breast swelled to his touch; her skin, soft as satin, smoother than the silk he brushed aside, burned him. As he gently closed his fingers about one firm mound, he felt her breath catch, felt tension grow then dissolve into desire. Her lips clung to his, urgent, entreating. She shifted beneath him, flagrantly wanton, deliciously divine.

Philip drank from her lips, fulfilling her needs even as his own raged. It was he who eventually drew back, raising his head to catch his breath.

Her skin flushed and aglow, Antonia lay relaxed against the cushions, her lids too heavy to lift, her lips throbbing and tender yet still hungry for his. She floated on a sea of dreams, cocooned by passion, her desire-drenched mind suborned by sensation.

Blissfully content, she sighed.

Philip's hand shifted; long fingers stroked her breast.

Antonia's eyes flew wide. "Oh!" Jerked back to reality, her stunned mind registered her position, reclining on the chaise with Philip beside her, one hand cupping her breast. "I. . ." She faltered to a stop, her dazed wits struggling to recall just what had transpired. What had she said? Done? "Oh, heavens!" Sunk in embarrassment, Antonia closed her eyes. Mortification swept her. "I'm so sorry, Philip."

Bemused, Philip nuzzled her ear. "Why sorry?" Bending his head, he touched his lips to the pulse beating wildly in her throat. "If anyone should be making apologies, it is I." He looked down to where her breast filled his hand. "But I've no intention of doing so. I wouldn't hold your breath in expectation of the event."

Antonia promptly drew in a deep breath; lips lifting, Philip bent his head.

"Philip!" Antonia's eyes flew open again; this time she was even more shocked. Her indrawn breath was trapped in her chest; her fingers tangled in Philip's hair as he con­tinued his shocking caress. She was suddenly very glad of the chaise; if they'd been standing, she was quite sure she would have swooned. As his lips, his tongue, continued their play, her wits whirled. “Good God.''

Hearing the weakness in her voice, Philip drew back, softly chuckling. "There's no need to be so shocked." He considered the evidence of her agitation, the rapid rise and fall of her bare breasts, with a certain masculine satisfaction. Looking up, he met her befuddled gaze. “We are, after all, going to be married shortly. Thereafter, we'll be doing pre­cisely this rather often."

Antonia's lips formed a silent "O".

Philip felt the tremor that rippled through her. Puzzled, he looked into her eyes, only to discover the most peculiar expression—surely it couldn't be anguish?—darkening the hazel depths. He frowned. "What is it?"

She didn't reply. Instead, her eyes glazed as, of their own volition, his fingers caressed the rosy nipple that had been the focus of his attentions thus far. He forced his fingers to stillness but could not bring himself to withdraw his hand from the soft fullness of her breast. Bending his head, he touched his lips to her temple. "You trust me, remember? So tell me."

Her gaze slowly focusing, Antonia blinked up at him. She parted her lips, then had to moisten them before she could speak. Speech, explanations, were imperative—before events got completely out of hand. "I. . . That is. . ." With an effort, she drew in a deep breath. "When you kiss me passionately—" She broke off, blushing vividly.