The Man From her Wayward Past

‘You were worth the wait,’ Luke assured Lucia as he freed the cravat from his neck. Flinging it onto a chair, he opened a couple of buttons at the neck of his shirt.

They were safe in the glorious bridal suite, where the floor was covered with fragrant rose petals, thanks to Maria and Concepción, egged on by Margaret. The evening party was still in full swing, and would carry on through the night … with or without their company. Without, being Luke’s choice. Lucia’s too.

‘You’re worth waiting for too,’ Lucia managed unsteadily, her breath coming faster as she leaned back against the wall to survey her new husband. ‘Are you going to take your jacket off and make yourself even more comfortable?’

‘What about you?’ Luke said, prowling closer.

‘I asked first.’ Reaching up, she checked the diamond spurs glittering in her hair. Start as you mean to go on, Señora Forster, she silently advised herself.

‘It’s nice to see my mother has retained her sense of humour,’ Luke observed, his keen stare following Lucia’s gesture.

‘Everyone has a different recipe for a good relationship,’ Lucia teased him, dodging out of reach when he tried to catch hold of her.

Luke’s eyes narrowed as he closed her down. ‘Are you avoiding me or luring me on?’

‘Which do you think?’ she said. ‘Perhaps I like to be chased.’

She screamed as Luke boxed her in. Thankfully he was a lot faster than she was, and soon had her pinned securely against the wall.

‘Hmm,’ he murmured, plucking the spurs out of her hair. Several hairpins followed, and Lucia’s hair cascaded down past her waist in an inky-black cloud. ‘You are seriously overdressed for the type of hunting I’ve got in mind,’ Luke observed in the stern voice she loved.

‘Why don’t you undress me?’ she suggested.

Moving her hair aside, she turned to present the back of her securely laced gown, which Luke unthreaded, whipping each lace free of its confinement with the skill of a gaucho. She was trembling with anticipation by the time the cool silk pooled around her ankles.

‘You’re certainly dressed for the occasion now,’ he remarked.

She should be. The bridal gown had the most brilliant corset built in, so she was naked underneath—other than for the blue lace garter her bridesmaids had insisted she must wear.

‘Aren’t you supposed to take it off with your teeth?’ she challenged, balancing her foot on the seat of a chair.

‘If I must …’

The garter was duly removed.

‘And now it’s your turn,’ she said.

Luke slid off his jacket.

‘And now your shirt,’ she said, settling down on the bed to watch him.

Tugging his shirt off, Luke tossed it aside.

‘Undo your belt.’ Her mouth was dry, Lucia realised. ‘Pull down your zipper. And now your shoes. Apologies … your cowboy boots.’

Luke kicked them off.

‘Off,’ she instructed, lazing back on the pillows as Luke toyed with the waistband of his boxers.

‘Nice,’ she murmured appreciatively.

‘Anything else?’ Luke’s lips tugged wickedly as he slid them down.

‘Not unless there’s a teeny-weeny you hiding inside the most magnificent body suit I’ve ever seen.’ Making a circular motion with her hand she encouraged Luke to turn around. ‘Perfect sex-slave material … You’re hired.’

‘Come here,’ Luke murmured, his amber eyes dark and watchful.

‘You come here,’ she argued, reclining on the bed.