The Vicar's Widow

Heedless of anything but her body, her scent, and the feel of her skin, he slipped his hand inside the gown, felt the warm, smooth skin of her breast, swollen with desire, and her taut nipple.

Kate gasped softly in his ear as he squeezed her nipple between his fingers, and pressed herself against him, her body stretched the length of his, firm and supple and young.

Darien twisted again, rolling her onto her back and coming over her, one hand in her hair, long, golden-red hair that had come completely out of its carefully constructed coif. She was amazingly soft, astoundingly plush, and her breasts supple and ripe. Darien inhaled deeply, touched his lips to her neck, and shuddered when Kate whispered in his ear, “It’s been only you, too, Darien . . .”

Purely male instincts took hold of him—he was without conscious thought, filled with a longing so strong and powerful that he felt completely out of control. Her hand, her slender, perfect hand, slid to the nape of his neck, her fingers entwining in his hair, then down his arm, squeezing it, her fingers kneading the muscle, then inside his coat, feeling his rib cage, his back. Darien kissed her wildly, deeply, his heart and mind raging to be inside her . . . and he was, he realized, through the fog that had shrouded his mind and all common sense, just moments away from being inside of her.

He suddenly sat up, clawed his way out of his coat and waistcoat, ripped at the neckcloth that confined him, yanking his shirt from his trousers. Kate laughed at his determination and calmly unbuttoned her gown.

When she had freed all the buttons, Darien caught her hand, stilling her. He rose to his feet, then held out his hand to her. Without question, Kate put her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. No words were necessary; she lifted her arms in the air, allowed Darien to pull the gown over her head and lay it aside. “Are you frightened?” he asked.

“No . . . I am breathless.”

With a growl, Darien shed his shirt, kicked his boots from his feet, and loosened his trousers. He could scarcely bear to see her standing there in a plain cotton chemise and not touch her. So he put his hands on her shoulders and carefully pushed the chemise down her arms. It fell to the floor in a cloud of white, leaving her to stand before him, naked in her splendor.

She was beautiful. “Good God,” he muttered in genuine appreciation. She was so unlike any other woman he had ever known. There was no pretense about her, no cosmetic—she was curved in all the right places, round where a man desired it most.

“I knew you would be beautiful,” he said and palmed a dark areola that stiffened quickly with his touch; his fingers splayed across her breast and nipple and squeezed gently.

Kate gave him a terribly seductive smile, and Darien covered her mouth in a stupefying kiss as his hands found her waist. Kate lifted her arms, put them around his neck, and pressed her bare torso against his. A groan of ecstasy escaped him, and he suddenly and effortlessly lifted her in his arms, fell to one knee, and placed her on the cushions.

He quickly shrugged out of his shirt. She lay before him, watching him, as he had, on so many sleepless nights, imagined her. Golden, silky hair framing her. Firm breasts, a slender waist that curved into narrow hips, and long, shapely legs brought together in the gold triangle of curls. In the candlelight, her skin glowed radiantly.

Kate lifted her hand, touched his face. Darien shed his trousers, carefully lowered himself to her and kissed her, probing deeply within her until he could bear it no more. He lifted his head; her gaze slipped to his mouth, and she put a finger on his bottom lip, ran it lightly across.

He smiled gratefully; his pulse was now coursing hard in his neck. He moved lower, to her breasts. One hand floated down her side and across her flat abdomen as he moved against her, his cock thickening impossibly with only the contact of her skin. When his fingers brushed deliberately against the inside of her thigh, she inhaled softly.

Lying beneath him, Kate was not conscious of anything but his touch, both alarmed and titillated by the response it evoked deep within her. She gasped when he brought his mouth to her breast, but came out of her skin when his hand slipped between her legs and stroked the silken folds there. She was fast losing control, felt her thighs parting for him, urging him deeper.

It had been so long, an eternity perhaps, since she’d felt a man’s touch. Yet it seemed as if she had never known a man, not like this, not with her blood pounding in her ears and her heart beating hard in her chest. Then Darien muttered something incomprehensible against her breast and slipped his fingers deep inside her sheath, and Kate instantly lifted against his palm.

She was lost.

It was not supposed to be like this, she was not supposed to revel in her complete seduction, but she pressed against his hand nonetheless, a curious but familiar mix of pleasure and anxiety spurring her.