Page 65 of Margins of Love
The enchanting bedroom was a dusty grey. A chandelier with many small candles softly illuminated the space. The candlelight traveled through the crystals and refracted into tiny rainbow dots all over the walls.
“Where are we?” The excitement of the secrecy made her skin even more sensitive.
Fave was still holding her hand and looked down at her. “This is my room when I am a guest here. Nobody else ever uses it. Bustle-Smith has no sons and we rarely travel home after her gatherings.”
She should have been outraged to be alone with him in his room. Her reputation would be unredeemable. But she was not. She relished the insight into Fave’s life here in London. She’d imagined it for the past days, but her broken heart had disallowed her to marvel at her feelings for him. This was where he was himself, alone, sleeping and thinking and doing whatever he did when his shield was not up. He had let her in, and she comprehended the weight of his gesture.
“Nobody will know we are gone. They do not know where you are,” Fave said.
His head shook a “no,” but a smile widened as he uttered the words and saw that she understood him correctly. Nobody would know. They had a trump card, just this once.
She was unable to formulate her racing thoughts. Her eyes darted from the rainbow dots to his face, to his eyes.
He held her glance and, with one breath, took her mouth, making up her mind for her with the sweetest touch of his lips. They were soft and sizzling at the same time, and she shivered under his delicious breath. Their earlier fight was forgotten in the magic of the moment. He took her other hand in his and their fingers intertwined. This gesture was familiar from their encounters in the countryside, but everything else felt new.
She closed her eyes and melted into his embrace. It was too much to bear, the conflict and pain in her heart and the overwhelming joy of his kiss. So she let go and stopped thinking. She just wanted to be and feel. It would all be over tomorrow and she might never feel such effervescent magic again. The weight of her impending wedding aged her heart, and she wanted to feel young for one more night.
When she opened her eyes, her hands were over their heads, coming down in an arch on both sides. A motion that said top to bottom, resetting their fight to neutral. The kiss let her float into the depths of her feelings, beyond the realms of words, conflicts, traditions, and conventions. She connected physically with Fave. She felt like a Greek goddess, and he was her Adonis.
Finally, she could run her hands through his dense curls. They were soft and relaxed, like sunbeams between her fingers. Then they wrapped themselves in perfect circles around her fingers. She wanted to wrap herself around him in just the same way. The realization knocked her off her feet.
She trailed her fingers across his chin, then stroked his cheek. He let his head drop into her hand, signaling that he would be hers. Her heart ached with the realization that he would be another’s husband soon. Fave could not be hers; he was only borrowed. But this made him all the more precious in the moment.
His forehead was even, but the tension of his brows bulge over the bridge of his nose. She looked at him, taking him in anew, emorizing his features and locking them up in her heart. His hairline was almost rectangular, the sides of his face framed by slight sideburns that gave way to strong cheeks and seductive edges of his jaws. He was tense, and his muscles bulged out from his cheeks. His hands rose to her, and she felt how muscular they were, soft to the touch but toned and firm. He was young and strong. For Rachel, he was an embodiment of male perfection. In this instance, even the shadows cast from his chin on his neck were the most seductive image conceivable. He was irresistible.
“I am all yours,” he rasped.
Rachel took a deep breath for she had no words. She did not want to think about merely borrowing him, she wanted to think that he could be hers for all of eternity.
Fave unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it to the floor. This beautiful man, perfect like the heroes of the myths she loved to read, was like a fantasy come alive. He looked chiseled to perfection. Michaelangelo’s David statute would pale by comparison were it not already white marble. But he was here and true. He was hot and toned; he smelled wonderfully manly and oozed magnetic masculinity. He was baring himself to her. She felt so flattered by his sheer beauty of him. It was all of Fave, with or without secrets. This was him. Here. For her. Her eyes went from his ripped chest, glistening in the dim light, to the tuft of hair just below his belly button. His solid and lovely hands pulled down his breeches with his unmentionables, and his manhood sprung out. It flipped up. Rachel was so surprised; it was almost comical. An odd sound emerged from her, and it made him smirk.
CHAPTER42
She was so sweet and innocent. Fave knew he had hurt her feelings, but he could not stay away from her. She would belong to another within hours if he did not act now. He would not compromise her. He might never be able to marry her despite his heartfelt desire to make her his. And he would lose his Cohanim status. But he could have this night with her. He would control himself. He would hold back and not cross this line. But he had to taste her, feel her, drink her in. Arnold’s wicked words were ringing in his mind. He found them more prescriptive now that he understood.
Fave’s lips brushed over her cheeks to her jawline. She allowed it, but he could tell she was nervous. He knew she felt conflicted, but she was leaning in. He took her lack of protest as permission to take her, but he knew he would not complete the act. He just loved her so much, and he could not say it.
But he could show her with another tender nip of her earlobe. She chuckled. Rachel was ticklish and bent her head sideways, trapping him between her cheek and shoulder in the most adorable gesture. He could barely control himself. She was the most delicious, most beautiful being he had ever seen. What was more, he was in awe at the sheer pleasure of touching her.
He turned his head to her neck and felt her goosebumps in response to his kiss. Then she rested her neck and tilted her head to grant him access. Something had changed, and the goosebumps turned into heat. Her breath quickened, and her hands broke free to touch his hair.
His hand had descended to the small of her back. The other one was on her chest. She suddenly sank into his arms, and their eyes met. He realized that he had always wanted to catch her. It gave him the most satisfying sense of strength. But then he immediately yearned for more. He was hungry, and only she could satisfy him.
The gaze was so intense and raw, if she would allow him, he thought he could see into her soul and uncover that secret she was keeping, and burn with the fire of his passion. She did not know that he knew. It might change everything. Or it could level the playing field and make this moment impossible. He was afraid to risk her retreat. She looked away. She pressed her breasts toward him, and he looked down. He saw her breasts rising her short breath and lowered his head toward her décolleté. She allowed it. So he kissed her. His hands were still on her back, and he began to walk her to the bed.
There they stood. Rachel seemed weightless in his arms, supported only by the desire of their embrace. He kissed her clothed breast but did not touch her bodice. He moved on to the other side and up her neck. She dropped her head backward again, and he lowered her onto the bed. He was immediately over her, his hands on either side of her head. She briefly met his eyes as if she wanted to confess something but then shut her secret away again.
Her hands went to her hair, and she removed some pins. One after the other. Fave watched her, letting down her hair for him. He was in awe of her beauty, innocence, passion, and desire.
She held at least eight pins when she asked, “Did you lock the door?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
So she put the pins on the side table with one hand and let her hair down completely. It was lush and beautiful. As soon as she moved toward him, her long wavy hair fell forward and framed her face. He stood up to drink in her beauty. Of course, Fave understood what it meant for a lady to let her hair down for a man. The gesture was raw and explicit, but its weight had a deeper meaning. Rachel allowed it. She forgave his transgressions and lowered the fortress she had built to protect her heart.
He was distracted by the strands that curled just below her breasts. The rising and falling of her chest put him in a sensual trance, and the veins on his erection were throbbing powerfully.
Fave thought of Arnold’s advice, to take a girl. But he could not “take” her. She was not an apple ripe for picking. She was a brilliant woman.
