The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(57)

She blinked and managed to mumble her reply. “You’d marry me?”

“I swear it.”

“Your family…your father, he would like me? He’d give us his blessing?”

“I’m tired of asking for permission for everything,” Eduardo said with a huff. “My father thinks me a boy, but I’m a man. If I say I’ll marry you, I will. Do you doubt me?”

“No.”

“Then? Perhaps you do not like me, after all.”

Her heart quivered, and she stared at him as his hand cupped her cheek. “Do not start with that again,” she said.

“Forgive me for sounding spiteful, for being mistrustful. But you’re beautiful and I’m sure others would covet you. It sounds silly, I know, and you’ll think me an impetuous fool, proposing like this, and yet I can do nothing else. I’ll die without you.”

“You speak like a character out of a book,” she said in wonder, thrilled by the fierceness of his words and the dread of refusal lurking in his eyes.

“I thought you liked books. Volumes with romance and adventure.”

“I do.” Her fingertips brushed his lips. “And you like to speak of fairy tales.”

“Scheherazade’s one thousand and one nights. Snow White and Rose Red marrying princes at the end. Sleeping Beauty’s kiss. All those.”

Her hand now caressed his jaw and dipped down, stopping at the collar of his shirt. “Yes.” The syllable was an exhale of breath, barely a word. She felt drowsy with desire.

He dragged her closer to him, his fingers trailed the path of her spine under the muslin tea gown before angling his mouth against her own for a sweet kiss. The kiss lingered, became more desperate until she felt his tongue in her mouth and he was sliding a hand up her thigh. “You’ll give me Yaxaktun as a wedding gift? Like I asked before?” she said, although her throat was on fire and she could hardly speak.

“And more. Pearls around your neck and a carriage to take us to the Great National Theater and a thousand dresses. I want to spoil you. What’s your favorite stone?”

“I don’t know.”

“Rubies? Emeralds, maybe?”

His eyes were a lovely shade of green. Brighter than any gemstone. “Emeralds.”

“I knew I loved you the moment I met you and perhaps before that. Love me back,” he pleaded.

She had no time to think of a proper answer because he was kissing her again, muffling any words she might have attempted to cobble together. Besides, she felt as though he was pulling at a seam and she was about to come undone. Her pulse drummed madly, and she seized his head between her hands, kissing him back until breathless she drew away and stared into his eyes.

“Take off your dress. I want to see you,” he said.

She blushed and didn’t move a muscle, too confused to comply. He was reaching for his own clothes and undressing, removing his jacket, the vest, finally the shirt. Despite her bewilderment, Carlota’s hands crept over his chest. She was curious to feel his skin and the muscles beneath. Up close, he smelled of cinnamon and oranges. It was the scent of his cologne, fresh and bright, like him. Montgomery had a map of pain tattooed on his arm, large scars like rivers in an atlas, and fine lines fanned his eyes. Eduardo’s body was not marked with scars, the world had had no chance to wound him.

“You’re pretty,” she told him. He laughed. The combination of his blatant joy and feverish yearning made him even more attractive.

He began helping her out of her dress, though he kept barraging her with so many kisses it became slow work. She did not mind. It was torture and also delicious. His body was a wonder, a mystery. She’d not seen anything like him before, and her own body felt also wildly new. She touched hard muscle and flesh and the coarseness of his pubic hair.

She felt his lips against her ear. His mouth was soft, and he was sweaty and warm; she tasted salt on his skin. He pressed his face down her neck, between her breasts and then drew her even closer still, upon his lap, until she was running her nails down his back and he was making promises she couldn’t even make out.

Something about love.

She did love him, then, when he slid into her, when he pushed her back against the thin black earth, and they rocked against each other. His fingers clenched down hard against her wrists. A bird let out a few sharp notes, and she laughed softly when he cursed and his voice almost seemed to splinter with the effort. She thought she’d break, too. But no. They simply lay together, and she buried her face against his chest until the bird who’d been serenading them grew tired and flew away. Then they went down into the cenote to wash themselves. Her thighs were sticky with his seed and she could smell the coppery and sharp scent of her blood.

She jumped into the water, glad to feel its embrace. He went after her, caught her in his arms and kissed her, and it was different because he was less frenzied and his lips were cool.

“Are you pleased?” she asked.

“I’ve not had a virgin before. I half expected that you…well, never mind,” he said, shaking his head.

“You’ve been with many girls?”

“You’re not supposed to ask that,” he said, looking embarrassed.

“I don’t care. As long as you’re mine now,” she said, brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes. “Are you?”