Page 88 of The Defiant One
It hit him like a broadside of iron. I love her.
His hands tightened on the reins to anchor his suddenly dizzy head.
God help me — I love her!
Such a momentous realization nearly overwhelmed him. He was no longer the prisoner of his own fears, because she had set him free. He was no longer a prisoner of his own fearful future, because she had made lightness out of something heavy, brightness out of something dark. God in heaven, he didn't even have to remain a prisoner in his own house anymore, because she — his own, dear, wife — knew all, accepted all, accepted him.
They were a half mile from Rosebriar; already he could see the big house of rambling grey stone nestled against its backdrop of green hills and heath, of autumn trees dark, scraggly, and bare-leaved against the hard blue sky. Without warning, Andrew pulled Newton up, snared Sheik's reins in his other hand, and as both horses plowed to a stop, leaned breathlessly toward the startled Celsie.
"Andrew, what are you doing?"
For answer, his mouth came down on hers. She melted against him, making a noise of contentment deep in her throat, and for him there was only his wife, her soft lips yielding to his, her arm winding around his neck, the tips of her breasts just touching his chest, her tongue slipping out to playfully taste his own.
Sheik fidgeted and sidestepped away, breaking the kiss. Andrew met Celsie's gaze, breathing hard.
She put a hand to her heart, her eyes glowing with banked silver fire.
With invitation.
And then she gave him a mischievous little grin and looked rather pointedly at the pommel of his saddle. Or rather, at the hardening bulge in his breeches that was just inches away.
For Andrew, the chill November day was suddenly very warm.
For Celsie, the urge to reach out and touch that growing bulge was suddenly very strong.
"Thank you for agreeing to come back to Rosebriar, Andrew," she murmured, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. "I know you're tired, and that this was a bit of a ride, but it didn't seem appropriate to spend our first real night as husband and wife in your brother's house." She edged Sheik a little closer to Newton, and reaching out, dragged her finger suggestively up the side of her husband's thigh, watching in satisfaction as he shut his eyes and groaned softly. She leaned close, and with a coy grin, whispered into his ear, "I think it's time we begin our marriage in earnest, don't you? After all, we have a wedding night to consummate."
"Yes . . . " he leaned toward her once more, his lips brushing her cheek and causing a warm glow to spread through her blood. "Lost time to make up for."
"Wild inventions to create . . ."
"Homeless puppies to save . . ."
"Unfinished business to complete . . ."
His hand had found the small of her back through the woolen pleats of her riding jacket. She sighed in contentment and anticipation.
"Andrew?"
"Celsie?"
He looked at her expectantly, his eyes intense, his grin slow and lazy and full of that famed de Montforte charm. She smiled in open invitation and slowly gathered her reins. And then:
"First one back to the house wins!"
She set her heels to Sheik's sides and squealed with excitement as the fleet Arabian shot ahead like a quail exploding from cover. A moment later she heard the thundering tatoo of Newton's pursuit, and laughing, gave the little stallion his head. The wind sang in her ears. Mud spattered her flying petticoats. The horse's ears twitched forward, twitched back, and suddenly Newton, two hands taller and Thoroughbred-fast, was there beside her, iron-gray mane streaming in the wind, nostrils flaring red, his great galloping legs eating up the road.
A hand snaked around her waist and Celsie shrieked as she was pulled from the saddle across flying space, only to be swept up into the hard curve of her husband's embrace. Laughing, he settled her before him, imprisoning her within his arms and not letting the big thoroughbred slow until they were through the gates of Rosebriar and on their way down the stately drive, Sheik cantering in their wake. As they trotted up to the steps of the front entrance, they were both laughing.
Celsie, her face flushed with wind and her heart pounding, her bottom half on the pommel and half on Newton's withers, turned and pushed playfully at Andrew's chest. "You really are mad!" she cried breathlessly —
And kissed him.
Beneath them, Newton was still moving. Dutifully he carried them up to the steps and stopped, where he tossed his head and waited for them to dismount.
But Celsie was still kissing her handsome husband, loving this new, cheerful side to him that she had only glimpsed before, loving the way his tongue traced her lips before slipping between them, loving the feel of his hand as it moved up the front of her embroidered waistcoat, his thumb pushing against the bottom of one breast. She groaned as he lightly caressed her nipples through the fabric, teasing them to small, hard buds, his hand hidden by her jacket and cloak.
Flushed, dazed, and breathless, she finally pulled away.
