Practical Widow to Passionate Mistress (Transformation of the Shelley Sisters 1)

‘Of course you were,’ Meg retorted. ‘Any man of courage would have done. It doesn’t make you evil or worthless—it makes you brave and worthy.’ His eyes were still bleak. ‘You had a tragic accident when you were a boy, you were thoughtless and heedless like all young men—but you cannot punish yourself for that for the rest of your life. Were you a good officer?’

‘Yes!’ He drew back, affronted. She almost smiled.

‘A worthless killer doesn’t make a good officer. I’ve seen the difference, don’t forget, every day for years, following the army. Ross, the fact it affects you so only proves that you aren’t steeped in evil, that you aren’t in the grip of some bloodlust. They will fade, those memories, the dreams will go in time. You didn’t dream on the ship or you would have woken me.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ He stared at her, the bleakness fading. ‘Perhaps you are my cure.’

Perhaps I might be part of the medicine, Meg thought, watching his face, seeing the nightmare drain away. This was the real Ross Brandon, here in front of her, not the dark, brooding man who had come back to a home he rejected and a duty he loathed. This was the man who had comforted her, even though she had thrown his father’s memory in his face; this was the man who was prepared to show her his vulnerability as well as his strength. And she wanted him with every fibre of her being. Years of being prudent, sensible, seemed to melt away and she was Meg the dreamer again, Meg who believed in fairy stories.

How had she ever thought him cold and brutal? There was so much warmth in those dark eyes now, so much gentleness in those big hands. So much potential for happiness.

And there was beauty in those sculpted muscles, in the sheer physicality of the man in front of her. It was time she understood all the joys of lovemaking, a voice inside told her. She leaned forwards and kissed him on the mouth, her lips telling him without words that she needed him.

He responded gently, silently answering, his kiss full of doubt. ‘Meg,’ he said when he pulled back from her, ‘I thought you must be afraid of me. I have given you reason. I want you, but I thought I was too big, too ugly, too much of a brute for you.’ He gestured away her protest. ‘I thought you could not stay with me for myself, not as my lover, so I had to offer something else, suggest a business proposition as my mistress.’ He shook his head. ‘I have not been thinking very clearly about anyone but myself, these past few weeks.’

‘With reason. I understand. Make love to me, Ross.’ He went very still. The candlelight was golden on the plane of his chest and he seemed to have stopped breathing. ‘Not as your mistress, just as the two of us, here, tonight. I don’t know about tomorrow, I can’t think about that.’

He shook his head as though he did not believe her. ‘I am wrong for you. I should never have asked you to be my mistress. You deserve a handsome young man, not a battle-scarred, ghost-haunted—’

‘If you say killer again I will slap you,’ Meg threatened. ‘I do not want a handsome boy.’ She laid her palms flat on his chest and felt his shuddering intake of breath, breathed in the scent of hot, aroused man and the salt still on his skin. ‘I know all about self-centred handsome young men. I want a real man. Tonight I want you.’ And I love you. I love you.

Ross sat quite still as she slid her hands down his chest towards his waist, her fingers ruffling the dark hair as it narrowed towards his navel. The twisted sheet covered his loins and she let her hand drift further, holding his eyes with hers as she moulded her hand round the hard heat beneath the linen.

‘You have such faith in my self-control,’ he murmured. ‘Just don’t…Ah! Don’t move your hand.’

‘No?’ she queried, experimenting with a teasing stroke.

‘No,’ he growled, moving faster than such a big man should be able to. Meg found herself on her back, her robe and nightgown stripped away and Ross kneeling over her. ‘Meg, I do not think I can manage subtlety here, or any self-control. Not now, I want you too much. If you are going to change your mind, say so now.’

‘Do you remember telling me on the ship that if you wanted me flat on my back under you, that it would happen?’ He paused, his eyes hot on her. ‘Well, I have thought about that—often. That is what I want, Ross and I do not want to wait either.’

In response he simply threw the sheet aside and knelt between her legs, nudging them apart to give himself room. Oh, my God. Naked and erect he was as magnificent as she had dreamed he would be.

‘Tell me if I hurt you.’ Meg closed her eyes for a moment as his weight spread down over her. His erection pressed into the flesh of her belly, branding it, wrenching a gasp from her lips. Then he took some of his weight on one elbow as his hand slid down, teasing into the slick heat between her sea-cold thighs. ‘You are ready for me.’ It was not a question, she was utterly aroused already and they both knew it.

‘Take me, Ross. Please.’ She watched his face as he moved against her, nudging, gentle, still unwilling entirely to accept her word. Meg dug her nails into his shoulders and lifted her legs, wrapping them around his hips as he thrust, filling her utterly with one stroke. ‘Aah.’ Nothing had ever felt so right, so perfectly meant.

Ross dropped his head so his forehead rested against hers, their breath mingling. Then he began to move and she cried out, rising to meet him, surging with him, arms and legs tight in an effort to join with him utterly, be absorbed into him, to take him into her. She looked up into his face, rapt, taut, and she lifted her hands to pull him down to her so their lips met. And then his mouth was ravaging hers, his tongue filling her, his breath sobbing into her as the tension mounted and tightened and he lifted her off the bed, pushing up on to his knees, pulling her with him so he impaled her impossibly, totally, and everything broke around her in a shattering climax and exploding colour was eclipsed by total blackness.

Chapter Sixteen

Ross was lifting her, laying her down. There was a shout of ecstasy as he convulsed against her, then they were still, the only sound in the room their breathing. His hands drifted gently over her flanks, up to touch her face. ‘Meg,’ he murmured, then his head settled against her shoulder and she realised he was asleep.

Ross was heavy and hot and they were both sticky with salt and sweat and sex. It was, Meg decided as she floated on a hazy dream somewhere between sleep and waking, quite perfect.

She managed to free a hand and stroked his hair, feeling the shape of his skull, elegant under her fingers. ‘I love you.’ She felt herself slip into sleep. ‘I do love you.’

‘Meg. Meg, sweetheart, wake up.’ She blinked her eyes open and found Ross bending over her.

‘Mmm.’ She reached for him. Now they could be slow, could explore, discover, linger over their loving.

‘It is four. The clock has just struck. You have to get out of here.’

‘Oh.’ The blissful, sensual mood vanished. Meg sat up amidst the tangled wreckage of the bed and surveyed the room, lit by the morning light t

hrough the unshielded glass. Ross, naked, was standing in the middle of it, hands on hips. A sight to stare at quite blatantly.

‘What is it?’ He smiled at her, his teeth very white against the black morning stubble.