A Most Dangerous Profession(73)

He held her waist and slowly lifted her, then slid her back down, and she moaned. They found a steady rhythm, their breathing growing more erratic, the pressure building until Moira gasped out his name and threw herself forward to rock hard back and forth. Suddenly, she stilled and gasped his name as she gave way to the wave of pleasure that engulfed her.

Robert immediately followed, erupting with deep tremors that he thought would never stop.

Moira collapsed against him, and they clung to each other, breathing heavily, their hearts pounding together. She felt so good in his arms, so peaceful and right. He was almost afraid to move.

There had been too few of these moments in his life, when he’d felt completely at peace, and he wanted to hold on to it for as long as he could. He rolled to his side and held her against him as he ran his fingers over her silky skin, luxuriating in the warmth that radiated from her. The moment stretched, the silence warm and comforting.

Finally, he lifted up on one elbow and smiled down at her. “Well?”

Moira opened her eyes. He was so smugly satisfied that she had to chuckle. “Well, Mr. Hurst, that was very invigorating.”

“It was.” He brushed her hair from her forehead. “But that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh? What did you mean?”

He threaded his fingers through her hair and fanned it out. “I meant how right it is that we still have this.”

“Oh. Yes, it is.” She tried to keep her attention on his face, though it was difficult with his bare chest. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, all lean and elegant sinew. His muscular body showed the effects of many hours of boxing, fencing, and riding.

She traced her fingers over his chest, noting how warm his skin was. It was as if he was heated by an internal fire, and she snuggled deeper against him.

He raised his brows, still smiling. “Making yourself comfortable?”

“Mm hmm.” She breathed in the scent of his skin. How she loved the feel of him in her bed, hard muscles and angles, the feel of strong legs entwined with hers. It had been so long since she’d felt this pleasure. “We should rest a bit and then try it again.” She opened one eye and flashed him a sleepy, satisfied grin. “If you’re up to it, of course.”

He shook his head in wonder. “I’ve never met a woman who was so comfortable with her life and decisions and yet determined to be on her own.”

She wondered at that, for there was no denying his masculine appeal. Good God, how could anyone resist those blue eyes, that black hair, that flat stomach? She ran her hand over his muscular chest. “Perhaps that’s your fault.”

His brows shot up. “My fault?”

“Women want to feel cherished, not possessed. Being with you is very . . . intense. It’s difficult not to be overwhelmed.”

His lips curved into a pleased smile. “Overwhelmed, eh?”

“Don’t take that as a compliment.”

“Too late.” He bent and pressed his lips to her ear and then whispered, his breath warm against her ear, “I heard your moans, ma chère. ‘Overwhelmed’ is a good thing.”

She chuckled, suddenly sleepy from the trials of the day and especially her exertions with Robert. “With you, ‘overwhelmed’ can be a very, very good thing.” She pressed her lips to his cheek, noting how his blue eyes were lit with the fire he usually hid beneath his French cuffs and laces.

Robert continued to run his fingers through her hair, spreading it across her shoulders. “I’ve always had a weakness for your beautiful hair.”

And I’ve always had a weakness for you. Moira smiled sleepily. “I’ll want to sleep here. I locked the door to my room.”

He kissed her nose and pulled the blankets up. “Sleep, Moira.” Then he tucked her close, her back to his chest. “I’ll keep watch while you do.”

Moira smiled and drifted off to sleep with Robert curled around her, his arm over her waist, his leg across hers.





CHAPTER 21





Letter from Robert Hurst to his brother Michael, who was being held by a sulfi in a foreign land.


William is on his way with the required ransom to win your freedom. The onyx box is a lovely artifact and reminds me of the times we used Mother’s empty jewelry box as our treasure chest when we played at being pirates.

I remember being very angry when one of you attempted to “steal” the treasure chest from me; even then I didn’t like it when something was taken from me . . .