He held himself rigid above her, the muscles in his arms and chest taut. “Are you all right?”
She wasn’t sure. He was large, stretching and possessing. She tried to wiggle.
“Don’t move, love,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Then he eased out halfway, and her lungs filled with air. He slowly pressed forward until he was imbedded deep, then tenderly kissed her forehead, her eyes, her lips. “Is it better?”
“A bit. Kissing helps.”
He captured her lips and kissed her deeply and thoroughly. Then he slid his hand between their bodies to caress her. A bright flare of desire returned, and her senses reawakened. She stirred beneath him, her muscles contracting, and moaned deep in her throat.
He began to move slowly. With each slick stroke, she breathed in deep, soul-drenching drafts as the pleasure built. She began to meet his thrusts, eager to reach the peak of ecstasy he’d shown her. Soon, her response matched his and their sweat-slicked bodies moved together. She raised her leg and wrapped it around him. Their bodies were in a frenzy of need, and each time he buried himself hard, he withdrew in hot, sliding friction that made her body melt against his. It was ecstasy, pure bliss, and her nails raked his back. Never had she imagined it could be this way between them.
“Now you’re truly mine,” he rasped in her ear.
Mine.
His possessive words fueled her desire and more…something infinitely more cataclysmic. And in that instant, she knew she loved him.
She loved him.
She bit back the words.
Dangerous, treacherous words. It was too soon for such fierce emotion. Not when he had lied to her. Not when she was so uncertain about their future.
He was everywhere. Filling her. Yet she possessed a raw power that she’d never known. He took her to heights and she arched her back and cried out in bliss as she peaked. He thrust twice more, tensed, and she saw a vulnerability in his face a moment before he cried out and spilled his seed inside her.
He lay upon her but held himself up with his arms so as not to crush her. He shifted and lifted her onto his body.
She rested her hands on his shoulders and her face on his chest as her breathing slowed. She slipped a leg between his. He stroked her hair, lulling her to relax against his warm flesh, and she yawned. It had been an exhausting day, her wedding, then a late night reading ledgers, then an even later evening in her husband’s embrace.
In the haven of his embrace, her eyes closed and she slept.
…
Ian held Grace in his arms as she dozed. She slept peacefully, like an angel. Dark curls brushed across his chest and shoulder. He reached for a tendril and inhaled her scent. Instantly, his body stirred in response.
His cunning plan to return home and gently seduce his wife into his arms had backfired. Hell, she’d seduced him the moment he’d spotted her dressed in nothing but a thin cotton shift at his desk. She’d drawn him with her keen intelligence and business savvy. He’d never lost his control so thoroughly with another woman or felt this vulnerable.
In his arrogance, he’d believed that once he’d possessed her, the crazed need inside him would ease and she would realize her attempt to keep him from her bed would be fruitless. He was now the besotted one. She stirred in her sleep, and her lush buttocks pressed against his hardness. The need hadn’t eased but ratcheted. He wanted her again.
He hadn’t lied to her when he’d said he’d admired her. Baron Newbury didn’t care about his daughter or young son. Whether it was because he couldn’t cope with his wife’s death or because he was a selfish pleasure-seeker, the result was the same. He’d depleted the household coffers including Grace’s dowry and left her in an unimaginable position. The one man who should have protected her above all others—her father—had left her to fend for herself.
Among such a cold household, Ian was amazed that Grace had found a way to survive. She’d used her intelligence to do the unthinkable: she’d secretly gained employment and worked to better the lives of everyone depending on her, the household staff, Adam, even the baron.
Ian may not have wanted to marry, but now that he had, he realized Grace was perfect for him. Except for one dilemma.
The Raven Club.
He could never sell his casino. She knew some of the story, but not all. He hoped he could show her how the place wasn’t a den of hell, perhaps change her perspective.
Could he show her what it meant? Could she understand?
She turned in her sleep to face him, her lips brushing against his chest. Lust shot through him, strong and hard, and he wanted to sink into her welcoming heat again and again. His jaw tightened. He may not have wanted to marry, but now that he’d experienced Grace, he wasn’t willing to let her go.
Chapter Twenty
Grace woke alone in bed.
She blinked and focused her gaze, at first not comprehending her surroundings. She wasn’t in her bedchamber, but Ian’s. It was a masculine room with mahogany furniture and the large bed. She’d been here before when he’d shown her his newly tailored clothes. It was less than a fortnight ago, but it seemed like much, much longer.
She stretched her limbs against the cool sheets and let out a small moan. Muscles she hadn’t known existed were sore. He must have carried her here last night after their heated lovemaking in the library.
Her cheeks burned. She’d never look at a ledger the same way again without remembering how his touch had brought her so much pleasure. Once she had made up her mind to be with Ian intimately, she refused to be ashamed or regret her decision. She was honest enough with herself to acknowledge that she’d wanted him for a long time—soon after she’d begun instructing him on gentlemanly manners.
She reached out for the rumpled pillow beside her. He must have slept next to her, at least for part of the night. The door opened and Ian swept inside carrying a breakfast tray. Hot chocolate steamed from the tray, and the smell of buttered toast made her mouth water.
“Good morning,” he said.
He was fully dressed with a snowy cravat, waistcoat, and coat, and looked as handsome as ever. Even in his finely tailored clothing, he exuded a bold masculinity. She recalled one of her first lessons and almost laughed out loud at the notion that she’d told him to be elegant.
She sat up and clutched the covers to her chest. She was highly conscious she was naked, and he looked ready to stroll Hyde Park. “How late is it?”
“Almost noon.”
“Noon!” She glared at him, horrified.
He winked at her. “I didn’t want to wake you after last night. We were up very late.”
Devil.
She pushed her disheveled hair aside. “I must look a fright.”
He rested a knee on the side of the bed and gently kissed her lips. Her tight grip on the covers loosened.
“To the contrary, you look lovely. I have a mind to join you, but I’m thinking of your well-being. How do you feel?”
“Sore.”
“I apologize, but I do not regret our night in the library.” His lips brushed her forehead, then he stood and looked down at her. “A bath will ease any discomfort. I’ll instruct the servants to heat water and bring up a tub.”
“A bath sounds wonderful.”
“Yes, it does. Perhaps I’ll stay and bathe you myself.”