Chapter 22 #3
The heavy words hung between them, cutting through the ghosts of the past. Penelope lifted one hand slowly. Carefully, she pressed her palm against his scarred cheek.
The moment her soft skin touched his face, Malcolm went completely, utterly still, as if he were afraid that breathing might break the spell.
“You did not kill her, Malcolm.”
His dark eyes closed tight. Just for a single, agonizing moment. When he opened them again, the raw hunger and vulnerability in them looked far rawer than anything she had ever witnessed.
Silence stretched between them, thick with a sudden, electric heat. Then Malcolm lifted his hand, covering hers where it rested against his cheek. The sheer, massive size of his hand startled her every time, his warmth enveloping her completely.
“You are shaking,” he murmured, his deep voice dropping an octave.
Their faces were very close now. Close enough that she could feel the scorching warmth of his breath brushing against her skin, making her dizzy. Penelope’s pulse stumbled violently.
“I have wanted to kiss you,” Malcolm whispered, his thumb tracing the soft skin of her jaw, “since the exact night I found you and your son on my property.”
Her mouth curved into a soft smile despite herself. “What is stopping you now?”
Something dark and fiercely possessive ignited in his eyes then. “Nothing, my Duchess. Nothing at all.”
His large hand slid to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her loose chocolate-brown hair, moving slowly enough that she could easily step back and stop him if she chose.
She did not move an inch.
The kiss began with more tenderness than she ever could have expected from a man of his size and violent reputation. His mouth moved against hers with a careful, agonizing restraint, as though he were holding something incredibly dangerous and powerful in check beneath his skin.
Penelope let out a small, breathless sound against his lips, her senses spinning.
Malcolm’s hand tightened slightly at the nape of her neck, anchoring her to him.
The kiss deepened instantly. A flood of pure, liquid warmth spread through her body, slow at first, then collapsing over her all at once.
Her fingers curled tightly into the crisp linen of his shirt, pulling him closer.
He tasted faintly of rich red wine, of rain, and of something entirely, intoxicatingly Malcolm.
The kiss turned fiercely hungry all of a sudden. It wasn’t rough, but it was far worse, it was a controlled, desperate hunger. The kind of deliberate passion that made her knees go weak because she could feel exactly how much raw, primal strength he was actively restraining for her comfort.
His large hand slid down the curve of her spine slowly, deliberately drawing her soft, curvy body fully against his massive, rigid frame.
Penelope gasped softly, a jolt of pure electricity striking her center as she felt the hard, unyielding length of his body pressed flush against hers.
Malcolm groaned quietly into her mouth at her surrender, a low, primal sound that vibrated straight through her chest.
His lips moved away from her mouth, blazing a trail of slow, burning kisses down her jawline to the sensitive skin of her throat. Heat bloomed everywhere his lips touched.
Penelope’s head tipped back helplessly, her eyes fluttering shut as she anchored herself to his broad shoulders.
“Malcolm.”
His name broke apart in her mouth when his large hand slid down over her waist, tracing her ribs, before moving upward to cup the heavy, aching curve of her breast through the silk of her shift.
He wasn’t grabbing; his touch was exploring, reverent, and gentle enough to make her entire body ache for more.
He looked at her then. He actually pulled back to look at her under the amber candlelight. He stared at her flushed face, her completely loosened hair, her swollen, thoroughly kissed lips.
Beautiful.
The word sat openly, undisguised, in his dark eyes.
Malcolm kissed her once more, a deep, bruising promise, before lowering himself slowly onto his knees on the rug before her.
Penelope’s breath caught sharply in her throat, her hands hovering in the air. “Malcolm…”
His large hands slid slowly up her calves beneath the heavy silk of her skirts, his warm palms tracing her skin with a steady, patient rhythm.
“You may stop me whenever you wish, Penelope,” he said quietly, looking up at her through his dark lashes.
Every coherent thought vanished from her mind completely when his warm mouth pressed a slow, devastating kiss to the soft skin of her inner thigh.
Penelope’s fingers flew to his broad shoulders instantly, digging into the fabric as a sharp flash of white-hot heat rushed through her veins so intensely she nearly swayed on her feet.
“God,” she whispered, her eyes tightly shut.
Malcolm looked up at her once, the raw intensity of his gaze nearly undoing her completely. Then his mouth moved higher, his tongue tracing a path of pure fire along her skin.
And Penelope stopped being capable of thought at all, completely drowning in the safe, overwhelming storm of his touch.