Page 47 of Irish Rose
“Associates, for the most part. And that can change at any time. We can go to parties, and you can join any clubs or committees you like. But if you want to thumb your nose at the lot of them, it wouldn’t matter to me.”
“You’re part of the racing world,” she insisted. “And married to you, so am I. I won’t have anyone saying you married some little nobody who can’t fit in.”
“And someone did,” he murmured. She didn’t have to confirm with words what he could see so clearly in her eyes. “You listen to me. It only matters what we think. I married you because you were what I wanted.”
“I’m going to be.” She lifted her hands to his face. “I swear to you.” She brought her mouth to his with all the passion, love and longing she had.
She wanted the night to be special, but that meant more than champagne and white lace. It meant showing him what was in her heart, what she was just beginning to understand for herself. That she loved him unrestrictedly. With her arms around him, her mouth on his, she lowered onto the bed. Their marriage bed.
He had shown her what loving could be. Now she hoped she could give some of that beauty back to him. Since experience wasn’t hers, she could only act on what was in her heart. She had no idea if a man could feel more than need and satisfaction, but she wanted to try to give him some of the sweetness, some of the comfort he had given to her.
Hesitant, unsure, she pressed her lips to his throat. His taste was darker there, potent, and she could feel the beat of his pulse beneath her mouth. Its rhythm quickened. She smiled against his skin. Yes, she could give him something.
She liked the way he felt under her hands, the muscles that bunched and flowed as she moved her fingers over them. Tentatively she parted his robe. When she felt him tense, she retreated immediately, an apology forming on her lips.
“No.” With a half laugh, he took her hand and brought it back to him. “I want you to touch me.”
He kept his own hands gentle, though each hesitant stroke of her fingertips drove him mad. He was already caught in the innocence and passion of her, in her willingness to be taught, her eagerness to please and be pleased.
So they loved slowly, taking time to teach, to learn. There was no shyness on her part when he drew the lace from her shoulders, but rather a wonder that he found her so desirable. In answer, she slipped his robe away and let herself marvel at the strength and beauty that was her husband.
Perhaps it didn’t make sense, but it was more exciting now that he belonged to her. The hard fist of need hadn’t lessened; the trembles of anticipation and anxiety were just as sharp. But now, along with desire, was the simple joy that the man who held her was the man who would hold her night after night. This was only the beginning, she thought. Laughing, she rolled over him.
“Something funny?” he managed. He felt as though his body was stretched beyond the breaking point.
“I’m happy.” She brought her mouth down hard on his, then, incredibly, felt her bones liquify. With a soft moan, she took him into her. When the whirlwind started, she could only hold her breath and grip his hands tight. Her body took control now, moving with his instinctively as pleasure built and crested and built again.
Her head was thrown back. He thought she looked like a goddess, red hair streaming over white shoulders, her slender body strong and agile as it merged with his. He wanted to hold her like this, to see her like this again and again in his mind’s eye. Then the pleasure was so complete that it blinded him.
Erin woke on her first day as Mrs. Logan to a gray morning lashed by spring rain. She thought it was beautiful. Smiling, she shifted over to reach for Burke. And found him gone. Terrified she’d dreamed it all, she sat straight up.
“Do you always wake up like that?” Across the room, Burke hooked his belt and watched her.
“No, I thought…” It wasn’t a dream. Of course, it wasn’t. She laughed at herself and shook her head. “Never mind. Where are you going?”
“Down to the stables.”
“So early?”
“It’s seven.”
“Seven.” She rubbed her hands over her eyes as she struggled up. “I’ll fix your breakfast.”
“Rosa’ll see to it. You should get some more sleep.”
“But I—” She wanted to fix his breakfast. It was one of the small and very vital things a wife could do for her husband. She wanted to sit in the kitchen with him, talking of the day to come and remembering the night that had passed. But he was already pulling on his boots. “I’m not tired. I could go down and start on the books.”
“You’ve gotten them in good enough shape to take a couple of days off. In fact, we haven’t talked about it, but you don’t have to continue with that if you don’t like.”
“Well, of course I’ll continue with it. That’s why I came here.”
He lifted a brow as she tugged on a robe. “Things have changed. I don’t want my wife to have to close herself up in an office all day.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to work.” Uncomfortable, she began to tug on the sheets. “If you don’t want me to be doing your books anymore, I’ll find another job.”
“I don’t care if you work on them or not, I just want you to know you have a choice. What are you doing?”
“I’m making the bed, of course.”
