Page 77 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. Gareth knew at least part of her secret, and he didn’t seem to hate her. But saints above, to relive such a terrible time in her life—she didn’t know if she could. She opened her eyes and a foolish tear escaped.
“Margery.” His whisper was almost a groan. He moved up, still lying against her, and kissed her cheek. “Tell me.”
She couldn’t look at him, so she rolled away. But he pressed up against her back, tucking his legs behind hers, hugging her waist with a strong arm. He had always made her feel safe in his embrace.
“Peter told me we would be married,” she said softly. “I loved him, and I thought he loved me. So I let him…I let him…”
“ ’Tis all right.” He kissed her neck.
But it wasn’t. She just couldn’t bring herself to tell him the humiliation of Peter’s rejection merely because she didn’t conceive. “A few weeks later, he said he wouldn’t marry me.”
“That is all? He did not give you a reason?”
“It concerned his family.” That wasn’t a lie.
“All you had to do was tell your brothers. Fitzwilliam would have had no choice.”
“Do you think I want a forced marriage, with no trust, no respect? That would hurt too much.”
He was quiet for a moment, his breath soft across her hair. “Margery, now I’ve hurt you, too.”
“No, you haven’t!” she insisted, rolling on her back to look up at him. “This was my choice. I wanted this pleasure, just as you did. I don’t want marriage from you, just a wonderful memory.” At least she thought she did. She was confused and lonely and hurting, but Gareth made all of it go away.
She pulled his head down and kissed him, gently at first, then with increasing ardor. They were both breathing heavily when he lifted his head.
“I’m not sure this is the right thing to do,” he said, but his gaze was on her mouth, then her breasts.
“I’m sure.” She rolled until he was on his back, then rose above him. Up on her knees, she considered his long body. “Can I…” Her words trailed off, and she felt herself blush.
He gave her that devilish smile that melted her. “Can you what?”
“Can I touch you however I’d like?”
She literally saw the shudder move through his body. “I am yours, my lady.”
She laughed. “I am no one’s lady.”
He caressed her knee as his smile faded and his gaze grew serious. “You are my lady.”
“For tonight,” she whispered, letting her hand rest on his hip.
He didn’t answer, just watched her.
Margery stared at his wondrous body, at the many differences between them. Then she started to touch the sloping muscles of his stomach, his nipples, so much smaller than hers, the soft skin of his elbow, the hair leading down from his chest. It was empowering to know that she could make him tremble, that he trusted her enough to lie vulnerable to her. There was a strange, gratifying tenderness in the pit of her stomach when she looked on him.
But then it changed into something more demanding, more primitive. She straddled his hips, and heard his strangled groan as she settled herself against his penis.
“Does this hurt?” she asked.
“No, God no,” he half-gasped.
Feeling wicked, she rubbed against him, and felt him grow even larger. She had never thought nudity could be so enjoyable. She kissed his chest, his stomach, his mouth, never letting him penetrate her body.
Knowing he couldn’t take much more of her sensual exploration, Gareth grabbed her arms. “Come here.”
“But I’m already?—”
“No, up here.” He raised himself up, and took her breast into his mouth. As she stiffened and moaned, she brought his erection even closer to the depths of her body. She was hot and wet, as if she was made to be this way only for him. Never had he known such incredible, deeply felt pleasure as having Margery writhe in his arms.
