Lord Garson’s Bride (Dashing Widows 7) - Page 22

“That’s something we can work on.”

He caught her hand. After being in his arms, the heat the contact sparked wasn’t as bewildering as it had been. She rapidly reached a point where she liked Hugh to touch her. She thought back to how overwrought she’d been when the world lurched off its axis.

“I’m not sure about any of this, Hugh,” she admitted.

“I know you’re not.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, setting off another wanton quiver. “It’s asking too much to think you might be, dear Jane.”

She struggled to avoid turning into a puddle of syrup when he called her dear Jane. Turning into a puddle of syrup had been the problem when he’d kissed her. She raised her chin. “I made a promise to you—and to God.”

“Our marital relations aren’t a mountain you must climb.”

That was exactly what they felt like. A high, rocky, barren mountain, riven with dangerous cliffs and chasms. When he’d kissed her, she’d felt like she was trapped in a landslide.

His grip on her hand tightened. His hold wasn’t reassuring at all, although she supposed he meant it to soothe her fears. “Shall we try again, Jane?”

Dread jolted her. Dread, and a shameful wash of anticipation. She’d never expected Hugh to have this power over her. She was—almost—convinced she didn’t like it.

Still, she’d made vows. She hated that she was too spineless to fulfill her marital obligations. But it took an almighty effort to meet that velvety gaze and nod her head. “If you wish,” she forced out from a throat as tight as a drum.

A light glinted in his eyes, a light that did nothing to banish the nerves curdling her stomach. “By God, I do wish.”

*

Chapter Nine

*

Hugh kneeled over her legs so he could cradle her face between his hands. She closed her eyes and trembled in his grasp, although the urge to retreat into the pillows was nigh irresistible. Bunching her hands against the sheet, she told herself she could bear this. All she needed to do was keep him from sweeping her away into that terrifying tide of excitement.

He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers. Immediately, she braced against a wave of powerful response that seemed out of kilter with the sweetness of his kiss. He cupped her nape and began a gentle kneading. The temptation to sway forward was overwhelming, but she managed to resist it.

After a few moments, Hugh pulled away. His breath was warm on her face. Another intimacy.

When he didn’t speak, she gradually opened her eyes. His expression was rueful. “This isn’t going to happen, is it?”

Her guilt spiked. “I won’t fight you.”

He shook his head, more in disappointment than denial, she thought. “I know you won’t.”

“Then?”

He let her go and moved away to slump against the pillows beside her. “Do you want this, Jane?”

Did she? The touch of his lips ripping the soul from her body and threatening to turn sensible Jane Norris—Jane Rutherford, now—into someone she didn’t recognize? “Do you?”

His grunt held a derisive edge. “More than I ever imagined I would.”

Given that until three weeks ago, he’d never expressed a moment’s interest in her as anything other than a family friend, that was probably true. She licked her lips, and something feminine inside her responded to his lingering taste. “Perhaps the problem is the kissing.”

He looked skeptical, lifting one expressive eyebrow in her direction. “Indeed?”

“Yes,” she said, warming to her theory. “If I lie back and you…do what you need to, we can finish quickly and without trouble.”

Another grunt of sour amusement. “Like taking a nasty medicine all in one gulp?”

Heat stung her cheeks. He was a little too acute. That had been exactly her idea. “I don’t want to let you down.”

“I commend your principles.”

Tags: Anna Campbell Dashing Widows Romance
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