Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Twenty-Two

G emma could not get over the sculpted beauty of her husband. He was like one of the statues she’d seen in a book in their library. She’d been quite young, and the book had mysteriously disappeared after she’d asked about it.

Her fingers itched before she gave in to trace the breadth of his chest, feel the muscles beneath her hands. She ached to slip them around his back, to feel the strength of him as she slid them lower until she could—

“Keep looking at me like that, and your first lesson will be very short.”

Her gaze shot up to meet his. “Your eyes are so dark and there’s something there I cannot define. What are you thinking?”

He groaned. “That, my dear wife, is desire.”

“Desire?”

“Aye. I cannot wait to let my hands caress the slope of your shoulders, feel the weight of your breasts in my hands before I bring them to my lips to suckle.”

A shiver raced up her spine as the knowledge that he wanted to touch her and explore her body the way she wanted to touch and taste him had her whispering, “Show me?”

He lifted her off her feet and gently placed her on the bed. His glorious body ranged over hers, pressing his hips to hers. She could not catch her breath. His lips trailed hot kisses from the curve of her shoulder along the line of her collarbone before she was distracted by an insistent throbbing inside that seemed to match the pulsing heat leaning against her belly.

His sharp intake of breath had her coming sharply back to Earth. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“My fault,” he answered. “I forgot about my hand.” His jaw was clenched against the pain.

“Mayhap we should stop.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “Once I’ve made you mine, Gemma.”

“I don’t want you to injure your hand further.”

“What if I promise not to use that hand?” The desire swirling in his eyes called to her, beckoning her lips closer to his.

Unable to resist, she slid her hands in his hair and moaned as his tongue slipped between her lips, tangling with hers for a moment before he swept it into her mouth, tasting her deeply, desperately until she was shaking with a need she could not name, nor explain.

“Colin,” she moaned.

His mouth left hers as he stared at her until she felt her body reacting in a way it never had before. “Beautiful,” he rasped, taking her breast into his mouth. Teasing, toying, tasting until he was suckling her with deep pulls that somehow matched the pulsating between her legs.

Before she could demand that he make the pulsing ache go away, he switched to her other breast and paid homage to it. His lips, tongue, and teeth driving her higher as if there were a pinnacle she somehow knew she had to reach. She moaned as he suckled her. The pulsating inside of her had her lifting her hips up off the bed to get closer to him.

His hand swept along the curve of her waist to the inside of her thigh. His tongue stroked hers as his fingers found the source of the ache she couldn’t name and began a rhythm as old as time, stretching, teasing, beckoning her to open for him.

As he prepared her to accept the length and breadth of him, she cried out in shock as wave after wave of ecstasy threatened to pull her under. With one bold, strong stroke, he drove into her, filling her to the hilt.

The shock of his invasion, and unexpected pain, held her in its grasp. She pinched his shoulder, hard, to get him to attention. “Are you finished? Can you please remove yourself?”

The need to laugh nearly overwhelmed him. He’d never felt the urge to laugh making love before. “Nay, Lass, to both questions.” He kissed her deeply, murmuring assurances that the pain would recede if she would relax and trust him. Open herself to him.

She pinched him harder.

He lifted his head, recognized the pain in her eyes and dropped his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry, Gemma.”

A tear spilled over before she could stop it.

“Having you here in our bed…I got carried away and forgot to warn you that the first time we made love there would be pain. It will ease. I promise.”

He hadn’t moved since the first time she’d pinched him. She sighed and wrapped her arms around him. “It hurts.”

“Still?” he asked, kissing her forehead, one cheek and then the other.

“Well, not quite as much.”

He kissed the tip of her nose and then her lips. “There’s more, love,” he told her. “Let me know when you are ready to trust me to take you to the stars.”

She snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”

His gaze met hers, and she sensed he’d accepted her words as a challenge. “Colin?”

“Are you ready for more?”

She shifted beneath him and didn’t feel more than a slight pinch of pain where it had been overwhelming. Lifting her hips up to his, she sighed when she felt him pulse inside of her. Magically, she felt her inner muscles pulsing around him.

“Oh my God, Colin!”

As if waiting for those words, he moved inside of her. Slowly at first, and then with a rhythm that demanded she pay attention and follow his lead, as if they were dancing. Tension built inside of her until she couldn’t hold on to it any longer.

“Don’t hold back, Gemma,” he rasped. “Trust me and let go.”

She did as he bade and let her body take control. She met him thrust for thrust as he drove home once more. His shout of ecstasy echoed hers as her fingers grabbed hold of his muscled backside to hold him deep inside of her.

The warmth of his seed filled her with wonder as surely as the love for this man had nearly overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes, holding the knowledge that he seemed to feel the same way to her heart. As she drifted toward sleep, she realized her husband had kept his promise and had taken her to the stars.

Gemma’s eyes opened slowly. Colin waited for her to blink and bring them into focus before speaking. While he waited, the pull of this woman tugged hard and deep in his gut. Her gaze met his, and a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years surfaced. When a much younger version of himself joined the group of young sailors on the deck, pulling together on the main sheet—the rope secured to the mainsail. He remembered watching in awe as the wind briefly caught the sail, luffing it a bit, until the canvas filled, propelling their ship forward by the power of the wind that drove them forward in a new direction. Home!

Gazing into her soft brown eyes, he saw his future. A future filled with purpose, love, and God willing, a babe or two with hair as black as night and eyes just like their mother’s.

“I love you, Gemma.”

Her eyes drifted closed as she whispered, “Not as much as I love you.”

He watched as her breathing evened out as sleep claimed her once again. They’d made love just a few hours ago for the second time. He was exhausted and knew if he closed his eyes, he would sleep past his dawn appointment.

Reluctantly, he slid from beneath the covers and stood by the bed, staring down at his wife. She was his viscountess, and he would protect her, and give his life if the Lord asked it of him.

He washed quickly, awkwardly only dampening the bandages wrapped around his hand. Dressing was more difficult than he’d imagined, and he was glad he’d awakened early. Clothed in black from head to toe, he paused at the door for one last look at the woman who was the keeper of his heart.

Descending the stairs swiftly, without making a sound, he had the door open as the rumble of carriage wheels slowing down reached him. The door opened and he climbed inside.

Garahan gave him the once over but wasn’t looking at his injury. “Faith, ye’re a lucky man, yer lordship.”

He was in too good a mood this morning to let the Irishman’s teasing bother him. “And well I know it.”

Garahan’s laughter lightened his heart as they discussed all the possibilities—every little thing that could go awry in the bleak hour before dawn.

As they drew closer to the field of honor, he had one last request to make of the man who would act as his second. “If anything should happen to me, Garahan—”

“Not a thing will happen that isn’t supposed to happen, yer lordship.”

“Exactly,” he agreed. “Promise you will see to it that no harm comes to Gemma, no matter the outcome of the duel.”

“Ye have me word. But won’t yer brother try to stop me from whisking her away to the duke and duchess at Wyndmere Hall?”

Moreland found he could laugh though death loomed in the mist-covered field before them. “Aye,” he agreed. “If I’m dead, Edmund will be your problem.”

They were laughing as the coach pulled to a stop.

Garahan climbed out of the carriage and looked around. “We’re early.”

“Better to be early and scope out all of the places you said O’Malley and Flaherty warned you about last night.”

“Aye, places to hide. They don’t trust Harkwell, and neither should ye.”

“I don’t.”

Garahan cocked his head to one side. “Hear that?”

Moreland nodded. “He’s coming.” Meeting the man’s gaze, he smiled. “I’m ready.”