Page 17 of Buon Natale, My Wicked Rogue
It was Wednesday afternoon for him.
He might even have her name written on the palm of his hand to remember it.
Oh, mercy, Angela, stop this. You’ll ruin the encounter.
He took her hands and placed them on his shoulders. Then he lowered his head towards her. This time, the touch of his lips was firm yet gentle and warm. He moved his mouth over hers slowly, sensually.
She slid her hands down his arms, over his well-developed muscles, enjoying the feel of his body through the fine wool of his coat, and became lost to sensation. This was why she had come here. Her carnal adventure was just beginning.
When she entered the chamber, two trays with covered dishes had been set up in front of the chaise longue. The same chaise longue where they had shared the blazing hot kiss earlier in the day.
Evan reclined there, reading a newspaper. He looked up as she entered the room and laid his newspaper down. He immediately stood and came to her. He pulled her into his arms and drew her close.
The feel of his lean, hard body against hers made her catch her breath. She looked up into his eyes. The hunger to feel his mouth on hers once more made her gasp, and he lowered his mouth to hers. The brush of his tongue against hers made her heart pound and her nipples ache. She lost track of time as she thrust her tongue against his and felt the responding thrust of his, a hot, wet blade of flame that sent her senses reeling.
When they pulled apart, each gulping for breath, he still held her close and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. The little hairs on his hand tickled her skin most deliciously.
“I hope you like venison,” he said.
“I am famished. Venison would be heavenly.”
The dinner was good. Plain English cooking, to be sure, but well-prepared. She’d talked her father-in-law into hiring an Italian cook who could prepare some French dishes. She wasn’t sure she would get used to English cooking, but this was some of the best English food she’d had yet. Freshly baked white rolls, green peas, carrots, and stewed pears in a sweet sauce. Wonderful cheddar cheese. A fine red wine.
After they had eaten, he pulled her close to him on the chaise longue. “Tell me about your marriage.”
The question startled her, and even more so, the note of genuine interest in his voice surprised her. She wasn’t facing him but staring into the flames that danced in the fireplace. It would be easier to speak of such a personal, painful topic like this. Maybe he understood that and had contrived their position for that reason.
It spoke of a considerate nature. Another proof that he possessed sensitivity to other people’s needs and attention to detail.
“What do you want to know?” she asked.
“How did an Italian girl come to be married to an American, especially with the wars and embargoes?”
Ha!She wished that wars and embargoes could have kept her safe from Jacob. She laughed softly. “As unromantic as it sounds, Macon’s Bill Number Two opened the way for Jacob to find me.”
Jacob.
At the sound of the name, Evan’s chest tightened. Mr. Berry had held an impersonal tone, but hearing her say her late husband’s name with such casualness underlined the intimacy she had held with this man. And it didn’t make Evan feel any better to have had this reaction.
He wasn’t familiar with feeling jealousy.
“What was your marriage to Jacob like?”
She tensed in his arms, and he regretted needing to ask her that. There was something painful there.
“He was only a year older than me. He was young, handsome, and dashing, and he swept me off my feet. We were both so eager to be wed. But I disappointed him.”
Her voice sounded so sad. His heart contracted for her.
“Is that what you wanted to know?” she asked.
This was hard. Extremely hard. He must get her to talk about her marriage and her life with the Berrys. But he didn’t know what pain might lurk in those topics. And he’d found out just now that he felt her pain as his own. He’d never experienced that with any other woman.
She said had disappointed Jacob Berry. How had she disappointed him? With her affection? In their bedchamber? How could she possibly disappoint any man with blood in his veins?
“Tell me more about Jacob.” He winced with the pain of pressing her about the topic. He didn’t want to put her through this.
But his mission demanded it.
