Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)(93)

“She was no less overjoyed to see you, I’m sure.” Sophia rested her chin on his arm. “I look forward to meeting your sister. Will she like me, do you think?”

“She will love you.” The soft murmur warmed her heart. Then he continued in a teasing tone, “Charity is her life’s work. It’s what Bel does best, devoting herself to the most wayward of souls.”

“Well then, she will most certainly attach herself to me.”

“I’m counting on it.” He gathered her closer, then froze. “I’ve just realized something.”

She looked up.

“Your little bundle’s gone,” he whispered, walking his fingers down the valley between her br**sts. “You didn’t pitch it overboard?”

She smiled. “It’s beneath the mattress. I didn’t want to feel it between us anymore. But supposing I had pitched it overboard, what then? I do hope you’re not marrying me for my money.”

“No.” He laughed softly. “Six hundred pounds is no paltry sum … but no. It’s not enough to persuade a man of my means. If it were six thousand, then you might have cause for concern.”

And what if it were twenty thousand? Should I be concerned then?

Sophia rested her head on his shoulder. She knew he was only joking, that her money had no sway over his affections. He might have married for money years ago, if he’d wished. But still, she hesitated to divulge the remainder of her fortune, considering his angry reaction the first time. Neither was she eager to tell him about Toby. How could she tell him that she’d just been betrothed to another solicitous, patient man whom she’d callously jilted and deceived? Gray would doubt her anew, she feared, and Sophia did not know how she would bear it. Better to wait until they were married. He could not doubt her love then.

She closed her eyes and let everything fall away. Everything but Gray. His thumb drew small, intimate circles on her back, and desire spiraled through her body. “Did you want to go below?” she asked.

An eager part of him jumped at the invitation, but the rest of him remained still. “In a bit.” He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face to his. “Right now, I want to kiss my sweetheart under the stars.”

She kept her eyes open as he bent his head to hers, taking in the silver-blue glow of his skin and the restless shadows the wind dragged from his hair. So handsome, even in the dark.

His breath caressed her lips first, gentle and warm. Then his lips whispered over hers, just a shade more insistent than breath. He licked lightly at the corner of her mouth, oiling the vulnerable hinge of her lips.

“Sweet,” he murmured. She swallowed the word, felt it slide from her throat to her belly, and lower … making her hungry for the warm press of his tongue against hers.

Oh, but he was a tease. All patient arrogance and devastating care. Instead of taking her mouth, he slid a hand to the back of her neck, cradling her head and tipping it back to elongate the column of her throat. He scattered kisses there, hot sparks that danced along her exposed skin. She curled her fingers into his shirt and the rippling muscles beneath. Above them, strange constellations whirled through the night. His mouth settled possessively over her ear, his breath heating the sensitive shell as his tongue traced its contours.

“You are mine,” he whispered into her. “And the world is ours. There is nowhere beneath this sky that we do not belong together.”

His tongue flashed into her ear, and her knees dissolved, leaving her no choice but to fall against him. To depend on him for her strength, her balance, and indeed her next breath, as now—at last—his lips covered hers.

Sophia’s eyes fluttered shut, and now the stars were inside her. Bright constellations of desire—sparking, burning, whirling through the darkest parts of her being. Glorious. His tongue struck a subtle, coaxing rhythm, mating skillfully with hers. Breasts needy and aching, she pressed her body against his. She wriggled into his embrace until that iron-hard ridge of him nestled just where she needed it. Where they belonged together. He growled, deep in his throat. She relished the feral sound, the lapse in his suave, sensual mastery of her. But she paused only a moment to savor that taste of power before yielding again, eagerly surrendering to the dangerous, unpredictable need she’d unleashed.

He roamed her body, stroking and tweaking her everywhere she yearned for him. Soft caresses, rough pinches, sharp bites and gentle licks. He knew just where to place them, and in the precise sequence that rendered her panting and molten.

“Now,” he grunted, clutching at her hips. “Now, we go below.”

Gray delighted in going below. The little jolt of surprise she gave when he first kissed her there, that instinctive buck of her hips that thrust her heat against his mouth. That naughty little book of hers excluded some rather vital lessons in the art of passion, and he took great pleasure in completing her education.

And then he took his own pleasure in her.

Afterward, sweaty and sated, they lay naked atop the linens. Spread out on their backs as if floating, allowing the night air to cool their skin. Blissful exhaustion buoyed him into sleep.

He roused some time later, when she lit a candle.

“I know I’ve seen one here somewhere …”

Gray could barely muster the energy to lift his head. He caught sight of her, dressed in her shift and rummaging through drawers. “What are you looking for?”