Page 80 of Wild Hearts

When he did not come, she schooled herself to be patient. Naturally, he would attend his horse first. Her patience grew thin, and she was at first a little hurt, then annoyed. As the minutes stretched to well over an hour, she became angry. She paced around, practicing the cool reception she would give him. No, she would not ignore him, she would give him a piece of her mind. He was far too arrogant, especially with women! Well, he wouldn't treat her as a convenience: He would sleep alone tonight.

Damn, why didn't he come? Two hours had gone by. Something was wrong. He had been hurt, and they were attending him in the barracks, trying to keep her in ignorance. My God, she knew the pistols had been a-mistake. If he went about looking for trouble, it was sure to meet him more than halfway. She was certain of it now. Something was wrong. She actually caught herself wringing her hands. Determinedly, she decided to go to him. At that moment she heard his step at the chamber door, and before he had entered and closed the door properly, she ran to him and flung herself upon him. "Paris, are you hurt?" she demanded.

He winced a little to tease her, then seeing the very real fear in her eyes, he looked more serious. "No, no, sweetheart, I'm fine."

"You lie! My God, where are you wounded?" She pulled the heavy leather jack from him, none too gently, then began to undo his doublet with feverish fingers. Without pausing, she divested him of his shirt.

Naked to the waist, his arms clasped her and lifted her into the air: "Sweetheart, is this your way of telling me you are ready?"

"You are all right? You are not wounded?" she cried with disbelief.

"You wound me with your eyes at every glance," he whispered.

"Damn you, you rogue. Put me down this instant! Where have you been for the last two hours? I dressed and put my hair up special for you, and all for naught!"

"Nay!"— he took the dragonflies from her hair—"now I have the pleasure of taking it down." He lifted her struggling, and kissed her lips just as she was about to curse him again. With his mouth still against hers, he whispered, "This is the homecoming I have longed for. Someone who really cared. Who would shed real tears for a real wound and tend me with care and love."

Relief at his safety swept over her, and she was weak with it.

He lifted her to the bed. "You undressed me; now you must allow me the same pleasure. The fire has made the chamber very warm, so you have no excuse about being chilled tonight."

She allowed him to remove her gown.

With a swift movement, he flung it across the room, "One!" he said triumphantly. Next came her petticoat. It followed the dress in an arc. "Two!" he claimed.

"Paris, stop." She laughed and blushed at the same time to find herself in corset, pantaloons and stockings. With expert fingers he had her right garter and stocking off in a trice. "Two and a half," he said, laughing. The left one followed it across the room with very little pause between. "Three!" Then another article of clothing sailed across the room and he exulted, "Four!"

"Whatever was that?" she asked.

"Your nightgown from under the pillow." He grinned.

"You beast! You tricked me again."

He undid the laces of the tiny corset and set her breasts free. She was very still then, her breath caught in her throat. He gathered her up tenderly, and his lips traced tiny kisses across the swell of each breast. Each time he returned to the nipple, whispering lavish love words as his lips touched her body. She began to respond. When he left her for a moment to remove the rest of his clothes, she protested with an incoherent little moan. His hands moved downward, caressing her belly, and he bent to kiss her navel and touch his tongue to the deep center. As he removed her pantaloons, she sighed deeply and slightly opened her thighs to his worshipful gaze.

She had never felt like this before. She wanted him to go on loving her and never stop. She took a shuddering breath as she felt his lips touch her thighs just above her knees and begin their journey upward. As his mouth moved higher, the desire within her flared up, then blazed and burned to the very center where his lips were exploring. She thrashed her head upon the pillow, and her face came into contact with his muscled thigh. When her lips touched him, she knew immediately it was the scar he always tried to hide from her. The beloved scar! Her tongue shot out, and she traced its length lovingly, erotically. It was his turn to groan. As her eager lips kissed his shaft, he cried raggedly, "Darling, you're ready. Over ready, mayhap!"

He towered above her, eager, quivering. She-opened to him like a night-blooming orchid, then closed over him with a scalding tightness he had never experienced. He thrust inside her, hoping it would never end, but each thrust made him pulsate almost to bursting then the night was shattered with their cries.

"Did I hurt you, love?" he murmured.

"A little, when you entered, but the pleasure was worth the pain."

He kissed her deeply. Her skin was like silk to his roughened fingertips. He spanned her waist with his huge hands. "God, you are so small." His hands slipped up to her breasts.

"I'm not small everywhere."

"No," he laughed, drawing her into the curve of his body, cupping each breast from behind. Then he pulled the covers back and lit the candies. He lifted her from the bed and set her down in front of the mirror. It reflected the naked man, so strong and broad and tanned, and before him, not even reaching to his shoulder, it reflected her creamy curves and flaming curls. They made an intimate picture, standing so close they touched.

"You do not find my scar distasteful?" he asked.

She turned to look at it more closely. Without realizing it, she instantly reached out to touch it, and her fingers traced the uneven edges. He became aroused the moment she touched him, and her eyes widened at the huge, weaponlike phallus.

"See what you've done?" He grinned. "Come back to bed."

"Paris, not again?" she breathed.

"Yes, again," he assured her.

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