“They are rather entertaining for filthy urchins.”
“No, it is more than that,” she said firmly, then tilting her head to one side, she met his gaze squarely. “You should be a father.”
He gave a choked cough at her words. “Good god, kitten, tossing apples to stray children is considerably different from being a father.”
She reached out to touch his arm. “I am not referring to your habit of tossing apples, Hawksley. I mean that you truly appreciate children. Most gentlemen in your position would call for the Watch to have them hauled away, but you come up here to simply listen to their laughter.”
He lowered his gaze to where her pale fingers lay against the black material of his jacket. As always he was struck by her sheer delicacy. The force of her considerable will made it easy to forget just how tiny and fragile she truly was.
Unable to resist, his hand shifted to cover hers. A strange combination of tenderness and fierce desire surged through him at her nearness.
“I suppose I have never given much thought to having a child,” he confessed.
Her expression softened with sympathy. “Not surprising after your experience with your own father.”
He drew in a slow deep breath as he allowed his gaze to drift over her slender form. In his mind he imagined her growing thick with his child, her hands gently rubbing her rounded belly.
It was an image that should have terrified him, no doubt. But instead a sense of absolute wonder filled his heart.
A child. His child. With this woman.
Yes. It was right.
“Actually, I believe it has more to do with the fact I never met a woman whom I desired to be a mother to my children,” he informed her, shifting to sweep her off her feet and cradle her close to his chest. “Not until now, that is.”
Her eyes widened as her arms instinctively encircled his neck. “Good heavens, Hawksley, what are you doing?”
Stepping through the door to the shadowed attic, he paused to regard her with open yearning.
“I want you, Clara.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “No, it is more than want. I need you,” he admitted with stark honesty. “May I make love to you?”
Her eyes readily darkened, but she could not prevent a small grimace. “Here?”
He chuckled as he promptly headed for the nearby stairs. “Perhaps we could find someplace a little tidier.”
She snuggled into his chest, her expression dreamy. “That would be nice . . .”
Nice? A smile tugged at his lips as he easily moved down the stairs and toward his nearby chamber. He had never thought of taking a woman to his bed as nice.
Pleasurable. Satisfying. And always transitory.
But with Clara it was nice. She offered more than a temporary ease to his sexual needs. When he touched her it filled him with a sense of wonder that no other woman had ever offered. And the desire to hold her close long after his needs were satisfied.
Entering his chamber, he firmly shut the door and carried her to the bed. With care he lowered her onto the blankets, his desire blazing to life at the sight of her tumbled silver hair and flushed cheeks.
She was so beautiful. So exquisite.
And his.
Reverently he settled himself beside her, stroking his fingers through her satin hair.
“I could lie here next to you forever,” he husked in low tones.
She smiled faintly. “I fear you would soon become bored.”
“Bored?” He offered a wicked chuckle as he shifted to tug free the ribbons on her bodice. “I assure you, kitten, becoming bored is the very last worry upon my mind.”
Her breath caught as he tugged down the sleeves of her gown and then the thin shift beneath to reveal her beautiful breasts.
“This seems rather . . . decadent to be doing in the midst of the day,” she murmured with a faint blush.
“Mmm . . . the decadence has only begun, kitten,” he whispered as he dipped his head down to take a rosy nipple into his mouth.
Her sweet moans filled the room as he slid his tongue over the hardened nub, making his own blood race with sharp-edged excitement.
He wanted to make love to her for hours. To stretch out her pleasure until she was pleading for release.
Unfortunately, he had only to touch her for his own body to become as randy as a school lad in his first throes of passion. With a low groan he yanked down the bothersome clothing that impeded his touch, leaving her attired in nothing more than her stockings and sensible boots. Ridiculously, the sight only inflamed his desire, and trailing his lips down her stomach, he wrestled to rid himself of his own clothing.
Oh, Hawksley, you are in a bad way, he told himself, nibbling at the satin skin of her hips and thighs.
A woman’s scent shouldn’t make a hardened rake’s head spin. Nor should his shaft be hard and aching with the need to thrust into her simply because she was near.
Lowering himself farther, Hawksley burrowed himself between her parted thighs, gently parting her folds to stroke his tongue into her damp heat.
“Hawksley.”
Clara’s soft cry echoed through the room as her fingers sank into his hair. He laughed softly as he continued his intimate caress, skimming his hands up her stomach to toy with her straining nipples.
Within moments she was arching off the bed as she moaned in pleasure.
“Oh . . . please . . . Hawksley . . .”
“Yes, kitten.”
Finding her center of pleasure, Hawksley gently sucked and stroked the tender nub. He experienced a heady sense of satisfaction as she writhed beneath his touch, her fingers yanking at his hair. She made no effort to attempt and disguise her enjoyment of his touch. Or to make him plead for her favors. She was as sweetly honest about passion as she was about everything else in her life.
“Dear heavens,” she gasped, then suddenly she stiffened, and with a rasping cry she reached her climax.
With a lingering kiss upon her inner thigh, Hawksley pressed himself upward, entering her with one smooth thrust.
His teeth ground together as her tightness clamped about his erection. Oh . . . God. She felt so damnably good. As if she had been made just for him.
Burying his face in her hair, he greedily inhaled her female scent.
“I will never tire of you, kitten,” he whispered in her ear. “Never.”
Her arms wrapped about him as Hawksley steadily stroked himself into her heat. She was soft and welcoming and everything he desired in a woman.
Keeping his pace steady, he reached down his hand to find her pleasure point, teasing her back to full arousal. Her nails clenched his back and her breath quickened in response.
Pulling back, he reveled in the emotions playing over her delicate features. She had never appeared more lovely, with her lips slightly parted and her eyes smoldering with desire.
All too quickly the tension built within him. As much as he wanted to prolong the exquisite pleasure, he was unable to halt the gathering climax.
Lifting himself onto his hands, he pressed himself ever deeper, listening to her soft pants as her hips lifted to accept him. Her hands shifted to grip his surging hips, pulling him ever deeper as together they exploded in searing delight.
Sucking in a rasping breath, Hawksley collapsed on top of her, shuddering as a warm peace enfolded him.
This was how a man was meant to make love to a woman, he told himself with a contented smile.
It was how he intended to make love to this particular woman for the rest of his life.
Hours later, Clara absently toyed with the food upon her plate.
In many ways she was utterly content. What woman would not be, she wryly acknowledged. A day spent in bed with Hawksley was surely the stuff of dreams.