The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(80)
A second later she paused, their gazes meeting in the moonlight, but her eyes had gone dreamy as she looked at him. “This is it.”
“What?”
“I’ve always wanted to live within the pages of Tristan and Isolde’s story, and now I am. This really is the shining, beautiful moment I always envisioned.”
“I’m familiar with the tale,” he hedged, though he refused to admit to any similarity between their time together and such a tragic story. Tonight was not the night for honesty about their future or even honesty with himself. Tonight was about Isabelle.
She sighed as she slid her hands over his chest. “The sweet floral scent on the night air, I’m here alone with you… I’ve always wanted to have a romance like Isolde’s.”
That was what she wanted? He hated to poke holes, especially since she was running her hands over his body at the moment, but her thinking was somewhat flawed. “You’re aware that she marries Tristan’s king, has scandalous talk surrounding her most of her life because of her relations with Tristan, and then dies of a broken heart in the end, aren’t you?”
“That isn’t the important part of the story,” she whispered as she rose to her toes and brushed her lips across his. “Those are simply unfortunate details. For a time she had Tristan, and they slept in the trees.”
“And for a time you’re here with me in an overgrown garden,” he finished as he studied her. There was something more that she wasn’t saying, and he could guess it had something to do with the love she’d proclaimed to have for him before. It was odd that the sentiment that made him flee not too many days ago now made him pull her closer. And even more frightening for his sanity, he realized he wanted to hear those blasted words from her lips again. They were better off not speaking of it.
Words, in his experience, were dangerous things. They were to be avoided at all costs.
With that in mind, he kissed her—hard, the type of kiss that choked out all thought. Her fingers tangled in his hair. No confessions of love and tragic endings to romance this evening. The night was theirs, and he knew precisely how he wished to spend it.
He began gathering her dress in his hands, dragging the thin material up her body. But a heartbeat later, Isabelle grabbed it from him and ripped it over her head. The honest and open action would be surprising with any other lady, but not with Isabelle. She was the curious one who threw open doors to see what hid behind them, the one who gave her heart out with ease, and the one who stood before him now, bathed in moonlight with a look of anticipation on her lovely face.
He let out a harsh breath and pulled his shirt over his head in one swift motion, tossing it to the ground at their feet. He allowed his fingers to skim down her sides, slowly. There was no hurry, no ticking clock or place he needed to be. None that he cared about at any rate. He needed only her, and there was no burden of time between them tonight.
The moon cast a pale glow across her skin. He raised one hand to cup her cheek, unable to take his eyes from such a beautiful sight. “Moonlight suits you.”
“Have you ever wanted to dive into the silver light of the moon and swim about for a while?” she asked as she trailed her fingertips over the ridges and valleys of the muscles on his abdomen.
“Only if you’re with me.” Fallon couldn’t stay still any longer. He needed to touch her. Pulling her close, he lifted her from the ground and placed her on his coat he’d thrown over the stone bench. He crouched down in front of her to look in her eyes as he smoothed his hands down her sides.
Surprise turned to excitement as he watched her. She was exquisite. Cool light washed down on her body, pouring over her delicate shoulders and her arms. She held them spread to the sides, grasping the bench on either side of her rounded hips.
The moss covering the gravel around the bench cushioned his knees as he shifted to kneel before her. He ran his hands down the outside of her thighs, wanting to touch her everywhere—as much to feel her body as to prove to himself that she was real. “You look like a mythical creature come to life. I’m fairly certain this exact piece of statuary lives in a garden somewhere.”
“You’re perfect,” she whispered, her gaze on his. “You do know that, don’t you, Fallon?”
He shook his head. “You are.” Leaning forward, he captured her lips beneath his.
She slipped her hands up his arms, trailing her nails over his shoulders in tantalizing strokes as she matched the movement of his tongue. Forever—he could remain here forever with her. Even kneeling on moss-covered stones was worth it if he could just kiss her like this for the rest of his life.
When she finally broke their kiss, she had a dazed look in her eyes and drew in ragged breaths. He dragged his lips across the line of her jaw. She tilted her head back as he moved slowly down her neck to the swell of her breasts. Beautiful, round… He moved his lips over her soft skin, unable to satisfy his hunger for her. Her smooth curves glided beneath his mouth and his cheek as he drank her in and swam about in her moonlit body.
Everything about her was soft, inviting, and more than willing to discover the next secret this night possessed. Flicking the hardened peak of her nipple with his tongue, he glanced up to watch her reaction, only to see the desperation that must reside in his own eyes reflected back at him. She pressed forward in a quiet request for more of what he’d done to her in his bed last night, and he smiled against her. He wanted this and so much more with her. He wanted everything, and most of all he wanted it to never end. He moved his palms over her soft skin, learning every detail of her body with his hands and his mouth.