Chapter 7 #2
He lifted his head to peer at her through the shadows, looking too composed, while she, on the other hand, in the space of an instant, had managed to feel even more a fool for her outburst. She groaned, discomfited.
“I thought you would be relieved.”
The mere slant of his brows sent her heartbeat to bedlam. She shrugged, mentally attempting to compose herself. “Of course I am,” she lied.
His lips curved a fraction more, and she cursed him to perdition for it. “Truly?”
“Of course,” she said. “I only—”
“We could remedy it easily, if you so desire?”
Margaret froze. “Remedy?” Her voice sounded strangled, even to her own ears. She stared at Gabriel’s face through the shadows, trying desperately to read his expression. He sat straighter.
“I mean to say, if you should desire a kiss, after all…” His expression was perfectly sober, and more than a trifle compelling. “I am quite willing.”
Margaret waved him away. “How absurd,” she said, though her heart pounded like thunder at her temples. If, in truth, he couldn’t hear it, he must be deaf. “Why ever should you think I wished to kiss you?”
He leaned forward, and Margaret sucked in a startled breath over his advance. And yet... she didn’t withdraw into her seat. She swallowed convulsively.
“Perhaps,” he said, “because of the way you are once again ogling my mouth.’
“I am not!” Margaret argued, though she knew it must be a lie. She was decidedly aware of those lips, and not much else. In fact, scarce could she seem to remember even to breathe. She had to remind herself to exhale.
Her imagination? Or did it seem as though he leaned a fraction closer?
Margaret swallowed any words of protest as his hand reached out to touch her face.
.. so gently she might have thought his fingers formed of mist—a brush of warm flesh that made her breast swell with pent up emotion.
She shivered as the tip of his finger tapped her chin, before sliding down beneath, and ever so tenderly, cupping it and lifting her face to gaze evenly into his.
Margaret lowered her lashes, afraid to look into his eyes.
“No?” he asked, his voice no more than a whisper.
“N-No,” she croaked, but then she betrayed herself, closing her eyes.
And she couldn’t seem to move away as he leaned close.
Sweet, sweet love, what was it about this man that drew her so inexorably?
What was it that made her yearn to be so bold?
To be held by him? Why now did she longed to be kissed by those wickedly beautiful lips?
He sighed. “Perhaps ‘tis only me.”
“Only you?”
“Because I must confess… I cannot seem to stop myself from staring at your disconcertingly beautiful mouth.”
Margaret dared not breathe after his confession. “You cannot?”
“No,” he murmured. “I cannot.” And then he asked softly, his voice a caress in itself, “Would you deny me now if I begged you, pretty please?”
“Pretty please?”
Margaret’s thoughts simply would not coalesce; her brain seemed suddenly as mushy as the puddles she used to trample through as a girl…
Some glimmer of memory tickled her subconscious, but fled as quickly as it reared, leaving Margaret to feel an overwhelming desperation to chase it.
Gabriel moved closer, until their breaths were mingled like a warm, gossamer veil between them, and she thought perhaps he must be about to kiss her. And more, she had a perplexing feeling she wasn’t going to refuse him…
Her breasts tingled with anticipation, tiny prickles that titillated her and stirred liquid heat in her belly.
“Would you like me to kiss you, Maggie?”
Her body slumped forward, and she sighed, no longer able to think at all. His voice mesmerized her, delighted her, sent shivers racing up and down her spine…
“I believe so,” she said, lapping at lips gone dry. “Perhaps only once.” And then… and then… she could stop thinking about it once and for all…
Gabriel chuckled at her artless response.
Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. The sweet dew of her mouth shone on her lips, and his own mouth went dry as dust.
So much for good intentions.
So much for waiting.
So much for contracts.
Alas, but how could any man refuse lips as luscious as hers?
How could he be expected to turn away from this temptation when she sat so near, smelling so sweet?
How in God’s name could he refuse her, when the gentle rise and fall of her breast, and her quickened breath, were but tantalizing glimpses of the passion he knew full well lay tempered within?
He knew the fiery girl she had been, and suspected he would delight in the fire she hid.
After all, what chance had he of convincing himself that this could be wrong when it felt… so… right?
And she was his wife.
No matter that it was for convenience's sake, his body wasn’t aware of that distinction. His logical brain must have quit working some time ago, and besides, he’d craved this moment too long...
She couldn’t know how much he yearned to take, how much he needed to give—and yes, how much he craved this simple kiss…
Reaching out slowly for fear that he would startle her, he slid the tip of a finger across the velvety softness of her neck and felt her shudder.
His heart hammered as he curled his hand around her nape and pulled her close, anticipating the taste of her with a hunger that belied the gentleness of his touch.
She made some strangled sound at the back of her throat, and then a soft, whimpering sigh that heated his blood to a boil. His nostrils flared, reveling in the scent of her… an impossibly familiar scent. How was it possible that he could remember her scent so perfectly?
More than anything, he longed to taste her soft, luscious body.
.. every inch… inhale the scent of her into his long-deprived lungs.
He growled—a fierce sound of unrepentant triumph—as she allowed his lips to descend at long last to the mouth he’d only dreamt about much too long—and Lord help him, he was lost the moment he tasted her essence on his tongue.
In all his days, he couldn’t have expected how sweet she’d taste…
how supple her lips would feel beneath the play of his own.
In fact, nothing could have prepared him for the silky warmth of her mouth, and the glorious mysteries held within.
And he didn’t think he could stop with a single kiss…
No more could he do so than he’d been able to forget those bewitching eyes, or her brilliant smile, or her laughter, or the impertinent tilt of her head, and the stubborn lift of her chin.
But even more than her kisses, he craved her sweet, sweet laughter…
One kiss… just one.
So easily Margaret was undone.
She moaned softly as his lips coaxed hers—velvet steel against her pliant mouth, insistent and sleek, tempting her to open for him, like the petals of a flower to a hungry bee.
Instinctively, she slid her hands about his neck, entwining her arms there, and he groaned savagely, sending another delicious shiver down her spine.
That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. He swept Margaret into his arms, lifting her as though she weighed no more than a child.
No time for protests, no time to think. She found herself seated quite scandalously perched upon his lap, his arms bracing her for the onslaught of his mouth.
After a moment, he lifted his head and said, “You cannot know how much I have longed for this, Maggie. From the moment I laid eyes upon you.”
He bent again, closing his mouth over hers, and Margaret whimpered.
“Open for me,” he said, as he slid his tongue across her lips, persuading her with the soft caresses.
Margaret swallowed and did as he bade her, her body thrilling to his declaration…
to the intimate way he said her name. She thrilled as his tongue slid into her mouth, liquid fire between her lips, exploring. ..
Moaning, she tilted her head while his hands held her face in an intimate embrace that made her heart cry out for more—and more, and more, and more!
Never in her life had she been held so tenderly. Never had she perceived a mere touch could be so exhilarating. Never had she been kissed. Nor, in truth, had she ever imagined she would yearn to give her soul to the first man who dared to hold her.
“Give me your tongue, Margaret,” he whispered, and Margaret could do nothing but obey, offering it tentatively at first, then more boldly. But he might have asked her for anything in that instant, and she would have given it to him willingly.
He made some sound, part groan, part chuckle, when she thrust her tongue at him, and then ever-so-gently, he suckled... until Margaret thought she might die with the soul-stirring pleasure that spiraled through her body.
“That’s it,” he coaxed, abandoning her tongue to suckle at her lips.
Shiver upon shiver rippled down her spine as he nibbled at her lips, nipping and tugging with his teeth, and then suckling again to soothe the erotic sting.
A poppet in his arms, Margaret clung to him, afraid she might tumble backward into the undiscovered abyss of her own desire.
Wrapping his arms about Margaret’s waist and folding his hands at the small of her back, Gabriel attempted to reign in his lust... for her sake.
His heart pounded like cannon fire against his ribs. She was making this too easy… not that he wouldn’t normally appreciate such enthusiasm, he acknowledged to himself, but he wanted her with no regrets.
He should stop now, he realized.
He should drag her away and set her neatly upon her own seat, well out of his reach, but he couldn’t seem to make himself obey. The fingers curled about his nape clutched at him too desperately... those combing through his hair teased a bit too unmercifully.
Bloody hell, he didn’t want to stop.
Reason began to fade. His vision blurred.
His mouth grew parched, and he sipped urgently from her mouth to quench his ungodly thirst. Try as he might to disengage, his hands took on a will of their own, unclenching at her back, and sliding to her waist..
. such a deliciously small waist. He tested the circumference with his hands, then danced his fingers back up along her ribs, discovering each one by turn, stopping only when his thumbs reached the curve of her breasts.
For a long, torturous moment, he envisioned himself bending low, ripping her bodice with his teeth, tasting her passion on her skin…
and then lowering to her belly... ripping at her clothes, until she lay naked…
and purely by those thoughts, he was nearly undone.
Burying his face against her soft throat, he groaned aloud, commanding himself to stop.
Margaret sighed, oblivious to his torment, and curled up like a wee-kitten in his lap, saved by the many, many layers of her skirts from discovering his lascivious intent.
After all, she trusted him to keep his word—to kiss her and do no more. He held her for a long while, stroking her cheek with a thumb, and finally, he cleared his throat. “Are you sleepy?”
“A little,” she confessed, sounding sated, though he was anything but.
He needed something to take his mind off his baser thoughts, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. Giving himself a mental shake, he asked, “How about we play a game to pass the time?”
Perhaps he could jog her memory.
She didn’t stir. “Game?” she asked with a breathy sigh. “What sort of game?” She yawned and started to rise, but he held her fast.
“Stay,” he begged. “Rest a while. It’s been a long night. We’ve a long way to travel. I was thinking we’d play a game to better know each other. I will say a word. You tell me the first thing that comes to your mind.”
She settled back, peering at him between thick, dark lashes, scrutinizing him. “I always liked that game,” she confessed.
He had to resist the urge to answer, “Yes, I know.”
“Good,” he said. “We’ll play awhile and then be home before you know it. Laughter,” he began.
“Laughter?”
“That’s my word.”
“Children,” she said at once. “That was easy.” He smiled when she cozied herself into his lap, making herself more comfortable.
“My turn.” He smiled at her enthusiasm. “Blue,” she said.
“Sky,” he answered. “Play,” he countered.
“Work.”
Gabriel frowned at her response.
“Books,” she said.
“Boring,” he answered, and chuckled.
She laughed as well. “Not so boring,” she demurred.
“I rather suppose it depends on what you might be reading. The books I read are quite tedious,” he maintained. “Kisses,” he offered.
“Nice,” she said, without pause.
Gabriel smiled. “Regrets?”
“None.” She sighed, too, and cuddled deeper into his embrace.
“What about you?”
“What do you think?” he asked, then dared to tickle her ribs with a finger as he used to do.
She giggled. “Stop. Stop! You’re not playing right. You cannot answer my question with another question! Nor was that one word, it was four. You must answer properly.”
“No.”
She lifted a single brow. “Was that no, you will not answer properly? Or no, you have no regrets?”
“No regrets.”
She laughed again, this time unrestrained. “Did you see that look on the parson’s face when you refused to kiss me? I dare say, he didn’t know what to make of us.”
“I’m quite sure,” Gabriel said, smiling.
She giggled, and quieted. For a long while, the two of them sat together in silence, lulled into a sweet languor by the rocking coach and the soothing darkness.
Inexplicably, they sat together with the comfort of two lovers accustomed to sharing the same breath. But Gabriel wanted more than to be her lover, he wanted her heart as well. “Friend,” he said, after a long moment.
Her brows knit but she remained silent.
“Friend?” he said again.
She didn’t respond.
“Margaret?”
Still, she didn’t respond, and Gabriel glanced down to see that her eyes were closed. Neither did she move, nor did she seem to be breathing.
Had she fallen asleep?
Damn, but he was enjoying her answers nearly as much as he relished the feel of her in his arms… after so, so bloody long—too long.
“Brat,” he said, and then settled back against the carriage seat with his delicious burden cradled in his lap. Gad, she was his wife—after all this time. He grinned over that fact, and leaned back against the carriage, closing his eyes to enjoy the feel of the woman in his arms.