“You drive me mad, Calista.”
Her nervousness leached away, leaving only love and need. She arched toward him in unmistakable invitation. Fear found no place in this incandescent moment. Her voice was firmer than it had been since she’d entered the room. “Make me yours, Miles.”
“My darling.”
Carefully he parted her legs and slid between them until she cradled him against her body. His hand found once again that place that set her quivering with pleasure. By the time he angled his hips forward, her breath emerged in ragged gasps and her body tightened, striving to reach an unimagined destination.
“I’m afraid,” she admitted. Not just because of what he was about to do, but because this joining would make her forever his, whatever anguish lay ahead.
“Trust me, Calista,” he said again and pressed into her body.
However much she wanted this, the experience was odd, disagreeable. She tensed against the invasion. He felt impossibly big, as though he’d tear her in two if he continued.
He kissed her deeply, hungrily. For a fleeting moment, she forgot that seeking pressure between her legs in the hot delight of his mouth exploring hers. She whimpered a protest when he raised his head to stare down at her through the shadows.
“I want you, Calista. I want you as I’ve never wanted another woman.” His voice was raw with sincerity.
In this precise moment, she had no doubt that he was hers completely, whatever challenges the world flung at them in the future. That flash of perception gave her the courage to tilt up toward him. “I want you, Miles. Don’t stop.”
He made a low sound of satisfaction, but still he was gentle as he inched further inside her. Gradually she became accustomed to his size and weight. Then just as she wondered if perhaps there was hope of pleasure, he moved more purposefully.
The sharp, sudden pain made her cry out. She muffled her distress against the damp skin of his shoulder. She dug her fingernails deep into his back as her body tensed for more discomfort.
For a long lightless interval, he remained motionless, his body joined to hers. She felt him drag each breath into his lungs. She felt each ripple of muscle as he adjusted infinitesimally to fit himself to her.
Slowly the searing pain subsided, leaving in its place a sense of unbreakable intimacy. Tonight she and Miles made vows with their bodies that they would repeat much less powerfully with words tomorrow before the vicar.
As if sensing her body’s acceptance of his possession, he began to move with luxurious enjoyment. All her love for him focused on this overtly physical act, this union, this gift they both shared. The sweetness extended beyond anything she’d ever imagined.
She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the rising tide of joy. The rhythm built until it pounded at the doors of heaven, carrying her toward paradise on a surge of unearthly sensation. At the height of her pleasure, she broke through into a place of dazzling brilliance. On a soft cry of rapture, she clenched around him, claiming him as hers, come what may.
As she floated softly down from the golden realms, held safe in Miles’s arms, Calista basked in a peace unlike anything she’d ever known.
Chapter Four
HE’D MURDERED ISABELLA?
Josiah staggered back to escape the preposterous accusation. Appalled denial kept him silent as he stared aghast at Isabella. But even while everything in him rejected what she’d said, the day’s confusing hints about his wicked reputation and his woeful fate slammed into him. Over and over. Until he wanted to scream “enough!”
“No.” The word emerged as a croak.
The unwavering certainty in Isabella’s eyes. The certainty combined with fear in a woman who would have faced down the devil without flinching. These, these almost convinced him.
Almost…
He could never have killed her. Never. Never. Never.
Nothing she did would stir him to violence. There must be some mistake, some misunderstanding. He clung to that one waning hope while all other hope drained away.
Like biting down on a cracked tooth, he tested the truth of her assertion against what he knew of himself. If he’d killed her, he’d feel it in his bones, in his blood.
No, on his honor, no.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, still in that artificial voice that didn’t sound like the man who had sworn to Isabella that he loved her and he’d devote the rest of his life to her happiness.
“Don’t you remember?” She regarded him with horror, as if the repudiation of his crime was worse than the act itself.
“I don’t remember because there’s nothing to remember.” In his desperation, he rushed toward her, but came up short when she cringed against the railing.