Page 120 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
“Oh, yes.” Lucilla’s face was flushed, her eyes sparkling. “You don’t yet know my cousins. Sebastian, Michael, and Christopher are bad enough, although I expect self-preservation will exert at least some tempering influence on them, but the younger ones?” Smiling fondly, she shook her head. “Trust me—we’ll need to exercise great caution when we walk out of that door in the morning.”
He studied her—the light dancing in her emerald eyes, the glow happiness had laid over her skin, the rumpled glory of her hair. Earlier, she’d changed out of her delicate bridal gown into a simple round gown—which was just as well; given the emotions rising within him, he doubted he would have been able to manage the lace without ripping it.
She was studying him, too.
Lucilla drank in the reality that was now acknowledged to be hers—her husband. His strength, as always, was blatantly on display in his shoulders and chest, the thews of his arms and thighs. Her gaze swept over him, noting the thick fall of his hair that would feel like silk as she raked her fingers through it, and the telltale tenting of his trousers.
Passion shimmered in the air, now so potent and powerful between them.
She raised her gaze to his face, took in the golden embers smoldering in the amber of his eyes.
His lids were low; he was watching her with the calculation of a lion eyeing its next meal.
A giggle bubbled up.
Another joined it, and she laughed, whirled, picked up her skirts, and raced for the bed.
He caught her before she reached it.
Thomas swept her up in his arms and tumbled them both onto the bed.
Onto her silk comforter, into the softness.
They fell on each other with hands, lips, and tongues. Clothes flew, then they fell into each other, joined and whirled each other on, into and through the heady dance of their passions.
Of their needs and desires, fueled by their yearnings and their hopes and dreams for now and the future.
All swirled about them in the confines of her bed.
And that night, they grabbed all—gave and took and seizedeverything.
Every last nuance, every last gasp of ecstasy.
“I love you.”
“Never leave me.”
“You’re mine and I’m yours.”
“I’m yours until I die.”
The words fell from their lips—from her, from him—breathed at the last with knowledge and acceptance. With a reverence, a devotion, nothing could hide.
Between them, they no longer hid anything; no screen or veil was able to hide her heart from him, much less his from her.
They were ruled by a togetherness that sank deep, abiding and binding.
This they had; it would be theirs, come what may.
Ecstasy raked them, shattered, then remade them.
Separate no more.
Sated and satisfied, certain at last and buoyed beyond belief, they slumped into each other’s arms, and let their future have them.
* * *
Lucilla woke before dawn and knew what she had to do. Turning over in her bed, she rose on one elbow and leaned over Thomas. He was still asleep, held deep, his heavy body more relaxed than she’d ever seen it.
