“What do you think about the idea that for as long as I’m here, we enjoy each other as often as we want?” she whispered. “For sex.”
A lump caught in his throat. Genevieve didn’t need to add the last part, but he was glad she did. She was the most unusual mixture of youth and knowing, as complex yet straightforward as the mechanisms that fascinated her. He searched her face…the freckles on the bridge of her nose, the certainty of her jaw, and the softness of her cheeks.
What had caused her to change her mind? He almost asked, but didn’t. They were on tenuous ground, and the offer of her body tugged at his heart.
“You honor me,Wife.”
A spark lit her eyes. He wanted Genevieve to hear him sayWife, to feel reassured. Protected. The simple title carried a wealth of promises. This arrangement between them had been growing into something bigger. Air and light moved differently when they were in the same room. Need and want blended with words and touches, sweet and hot.
He liked touching her chin. He liked pleasing her with simple gifts of pamphlets and reading with her. He liked trailing behind her skirts, listening to her talk of gardens and answering her questions about horses.
Oh, he had it bad. The irony was laughable. Stroking Genevieve’s chin, he could hear the titters of past women:That wastrel Lord Bowles fell hard for a woman who wants him for bed sport only.
His secret wish for true love sat before him in a workwoman’s blue gown, yet was still so far away. The ache ran deep, and he had no idea how to reach her. He was protection and pleasure for her in a harsh world, a safe place to land for a time.
Genevieve’s mouth was close to his, but her heart was safely hidden away.
The pad of his thumb brushed her lower lip. “For once, I find I want to talk with a woman more than I want to kiss her.”
“And I wish you’d stop talking and get on with kissing me.”