Page 34 of Rose
Straightaway, she questioned whether he had been right after all.
Her heart started to race. He lay as stiffly as she.
“Do you have enough room?” he asked, his voice sounding pained.
“Aye,” she said quickly. “’Tis fine.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m glad. Goodnight then, Rose.”
“Good night,” she answered.
Then he blew out the candle on the stand, and darkness claimed the room.
She could feel the warmth and hardness of his body pressed next to hers. It had been eight long years since she shared a bed with a man. She closed her eyes and listened to his short breaths. Her heart thudded against her chest, pounding harder with every passing moment. She inhaled deeply, trying to catch her quickening breaths, but that was the worst thing she could have done. His richly masculine scent invaded her senses. And she wondered what it would feel like to lay there wrapped in his embrace, her face pressed against his chest.
She pressed her hand to her racing heart. Dear God above, how was she going to make it through the night?
~ * ~
Tristan clenched his fists against the overwhelming desire to pull Rose into his arms and kiss her lovely lips and rake his fingers through her soft, tousled curls. Heat from her body poured into his, fueling his desire. She shifted next to him. The scent from her hair wafted across his face. He inhaled, wanting to savor her smell, to take from her what he could. His pulse raced. He licked his lips, imagining the feel of her curves beneath his fingertips, the taste of her skin on his tongue. Tension flooded his body. How was he ever going to make it through the night?
