The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(63)

“Look at the petals of the roses. They represent the sequence, too.” She took his hand in hers and tried to point to the center petals of one flower. “See how they spiral outward in a perfect pattern?”

He intertwined their fingers together and kissed her hand. In one movement, he flipped his body until he leaned above her blocking the view of the ceiling.

She gasped and her eyes searched his.

He narrowed the distance between them until her sweet breath brushed his lips. “I’ve found a pattern, too. In petals,” he whispered, then recited his favorite poem.

Her closed eyes, like

Weapons sheadth’d,

Were seal’d in soft repose;

Her lip, still as she fragrant

Breath’d,

It richer dyed the rose;

He gently touched his nose to hers.

“‘On a Bank of Flowers’ by Robert Burns,” she whispered in awe. “How did you know he’s my favorite?”

“I didn’t. He’s my favorite.”

That was the irony of it all. He could recite sonnets and poems to her perfect nose ad nauseam in Italian, French, Spanish, Portuguese, and even Greek. Yet, he couldn’t share one algebraic formula or geometric series or theorem with her. It was as if she was talking gibberish when she discussed any of this. In order to protect his secret, not to mention his sanity, he had to take matters into his own hands. Literally.

He brushed his lips against hers. “I want to talk about the pattern I’ve found here. Two soft lips that would make a rose jealous.” He kissed her again. Only this time he demanded more. He angled his mouth over hers, and on a soft sigh, she parted her lips in invitation.

Gently, he moved his tongue alongside hers. Tentative at first, she matched his movements. With a growl, he explored every sweet inch of her mouth. Her moan vibrated against his chest and set his pulse pounding. Desperate to get closer, he pulled her tight into his embrace. In response, she twisted her fingers into his hair.

Everything within him combusted into a white-hot flame. He wanted to devour her—every inch of her. He wanted to consume her goodness. He wanted to inhale her passion. She made the most delightful frantic whimpers into his mouth. There was no denying she desired him as much as he wanted her.

He gave her no quarter as he continued to possess everything she was. His cock pulsed with need, and he threw one leg over hers as if capturing her, then ground himself into her hip.

His March didn’t shy away in shock. She turned her luscious curves toward him allowing his cock to nestle close to her center. He could feel her frantic need, one that begged him for relief. “Please,” she whispered. “I don’t know.… Tell me what to do.”

God, she was so lovely in her desire to please him. “Shh, sweetheart. Let me,” he answered. He trailed his lips up her jaw to the tender skin behind her ear where her scent was faint but still drew him near.

Her skirts had twisted around her legs, and one knee pointed to the ceiling. For a moment, he lost his breath at the sight. The pale lilac of her silk stockings rivaled the flower’s loveliness, but the shape of her leg was a masterpiece. She’d taken off her half boots earlier, revealing a high-arched foot that met a delicate ankle. “Feminine” was too bland a word to describe the vision. His gaze moved to her calf, and desire blazed until he thought it a physical burn, one that only she could soothe. Perfectly formed, the lines that defined her leg were as if a master had drawn them just for him.

“How would da Vinci have painted this perfection?” he whispered. With his hand, he caressed her ankle to her calf, the hard muscle a testament to the daily physical work she performed on the farm.

She tried to rise and pushed his hand away. “Stop. I look like—”

He silenced her with another kiss, one that possessed her and every negative thought she could summon forth. “Don’t you dare,” he growled as he pinned her down. “You’re beautiful, and I’m going to show you.”

Her sharp eyes met his with a bright disbelief.

“Trust me,” he whispered against her lips.

After a second, she nodded as if not at all certain. With every fiber of his being, he’d show her how stunning she was to him.

He slid his hand up her thigh, and he wasn’t disappointed at the firm flesh beneath his palm inviting to explore further. His heart beat like a drum calling him to battle. A battle where he’d worship every inch of her, claim her, and make her surrender the fear and insecurity that she lacked true beauty.

She moaned and pushed against his cock, hard and unyielding. He swallowed her moan and prepared her for his next onslaught. He caressed her soft skin until his fingers met her springy curls. She gasped, and he grasped her hip and pulled her close. “Please let me,” he whispered.

She buried her head against his neck and nodded. Her sweet and simple gesture caused him to shudder. He petted her curls, then slipped his hand lower. Immediately, he stilled. She was drench with an arresting desire that he’d stirred. He wanted to shout to the heavens.

She whispered his name, and her divine lips against his neck almost undid him. He took a deep breath to gain control. An overwhelming need to please her took over all thought. He trailed his fingers over her slick folds until he found her swollen peak. He circled the tender center gently, and she whimpered. With his other hand, he angled her face and kissed her.