Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

“I’ve missed you,” she told him. And she had, every hour of every day.

“Nowhere near as much as I’ve missed you.” His throat worked as he swept her with a hungry gaze, from her loosely plaited hair to the froth swirling and eddying about her bare legs. “I’m going to kiss you, right here in the water. And then I’m going to make love to you on the riverbank.”

“That sounds lovely.”

He reached for her basket of watercress and unthreaded it from her wrist, stretching to place it safely on the riverbank. Then his hands went to the ribbon ties of her straw hat. He unknotted the bow beneath her chin and tossed the whole business aside.

Then … at last … he reached for her.

He touched one hand to her cheek and released a deep, full-body sigh. “Lily.”

A shiver swept her, all the way from the cool stream’s surface to her sun-warmed nape. She trembled. So absurd. He was her husband of more than eight years. Most days, she felt she knew him better than she knew herself.

Still, she trembled.

They smiled at one another as they slowly leaned forward, taking their time easing into the kiss. Because by now, they both knew better than to rush. It was drudgery, being apart for long weeks. But it was magic, reuniting after long weeks apart. A mere glance was exciting. The first brush of skin against skin was pure exhilaration. The first taste of each other was an exquisite blend of the familiar and the wild.

And wherever they were—be it London, or York, or the middle of a stream in Cambridgeshire—this first kiss meant they’d come home.