She moved. She probably wanted to shove him away and order him never to touch her again. He couldn’t blame her. The fact that it was good—beyond good—for Harry was irrelevant. Or at least so he told himself.
Then unbelievably, she slid her arms around his back. And Harry, who thought he couldn’t love this girl more, broke into a whole new universe of love. “My darling—” he sighed against the curve of her neck.
Not satisfied with that one astoundingly generous act, she shifted, settling him deeper. Heat speared him. He stared down at her. “I love you, Sophie.”
She was pale and still didn’t look like she enjoyed herself, but she summoned a smile. Not her most convincing effort, but he appreciated her trying. “I love you, Harry.”
He pulled away then pushed in. She hid a wince.
“I’m hurting you.”
“A little, but it’s better than it was.” She tightened her grip on his back as though afraid he meant to leave.
As if he could. He kept up the gentle undulation. It gave him blazing pleasure. Surely it must work on her. But still she lay like a frozen doll.
He was about to give up and spill himself on her belly when she released a sob that sounded more like delight than pain. He kissed her and this time she responded with a hint of enthusiasm. When he moved, she clenched in welcome.
With the next thrust, she rose to meet him and joy exploded behind his eyes like victory fireworks. She released a long moan that was a plea for more.
At last.
He couldn’t hold on much longer. Her eyes closed. Her features were strained. She started to shudder. Her nails scraped his back. The sting seared like flame.
On a massive groan, he pumped hard and furious, sealing their union.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Cam stepped closer to Pen and cradled her marvelous face between his hands. There was such character there. Beauty of course, but much more. Intelligence. Generosity. Strength. She’d been an exceptional child and she’d grown into an exceptional woman. The right woman for him. Too good for him, by God, but he wouldn’t complain to destiny about that.
Nine years ago, he’d known himself better than he’d realized. Proposing to Penelope Thorne was the smartest thing he’d ever done.
His earliest memories were of lies and conflict and his parents’ selfishness. In the perpetual war between the late duke and duchess, their child’s welfare hadn’t counted for a farthing. Cam had learned young that people deceived and betrayed and destroyed. As he’d grown up, a few outstanding men like Richard and Simon, and later Jonas, had earned his friendship and trust—up to a point. But the deepest core of him always remained closed to intimacy.
Until tonight. Until Penelope had described a man he didn’t recognize as himself and with a ringing sincerity that had melted the ice in his soul. She’d been chipping away at that ice since they’d met in Italy, but now he could no longer keep her out of that bastion of isolation deep inside him.
He trusted his wife. Completely. Unconditionally. Unquestioningly.
His heart expanded as he remembered her standing up to those shrews. “You made me feel like a hero tonight, Penelope,” he whispered, kissing her between her dark eyebrows. “Thank you.”
She shook her head. “Cam, you’ve always been my hero. You must know that. When I was a little girl, I followed you around like a duckling follows its mother.”
“That was many years ago.”
Characteristic humor lit her seriousnes
s. “Not that many!”
“I rather like hearing that I’m still your hero.”
“You saved me from the bandits.” She sent him a glance beneath her lashes.
“I did indeed.”
“And from the waves.”
“That too,” he said, although he couldn’t laugh about nearly losing her to the sea. He still had nightmares about catching uselessly at her hair before the current ripped her away. He’d wake sweating and terrified.
“And I’m hoping you’ll now save me from a dull evening.”