Page 75 of The Time for Love
Together, they clung as pleasure and delight battered them, and desire and passion collided and exploded into ecstasy, nova-bright, brilliant, and overwhelming, and the tumultuous power swelled and shattered them.
Pleasure, sweeter and more intense than he’d ever known, flooded his veins and filled his heart.
That heart thumped heavily against hers as completion swept through him, and he slumped upon her.
Oblivion beckoned, and he felt her arms slide around him, felt her hold him close.
Revelation, comprehension, and promise—all had been manifest in the engagement.
All had been there to be seized and claimed, and together, they had. Unreservedly, with characteristic, clear-eyed determination.
This was where they’d both wanted to be, the step they’d both been waiting, poised, to take.
His lips lightly curving, eyes closed, he let consciousness slip through his fingers and surrendered.
To her and to what had grown between them.
* * *
Some unknown time later, he stirred, and despite the tightening of her arms urging him to remain where he was, he lifted from her and, ignoring her incoherent grumbling, settled on his side beside her.
She wriggled onto her side, facing him, but kept her eyes closed, even though the tension in her sleek muscles assured him she was awake.
In the distant glow of the dying fire, he studied her face and saw her lashes flicker. He raised a hand and brushed back a heavy lock of her glorious golden hair, then leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss to her lips.
“Just to be clear,” he whispered, “when all this is over, the situation resolved, and we’ve sorted out Edward and our mystery man and put an end to all threats to Carmichael Steelworks, you and I are going to get married.”
One lid lifted a fraction, and she studied his face, then her lips curved in a frankly lascivious smile. With her eyes once again closed, she all but purred, “Indeed we are. You’ve convinced me of the benefits. That vision of a working partnership you described? We—you and I—are going to make it a reality.”
He smiled and kissed her again. “We’re going to make itourreality.”
That was all he needed to hear. All he needed to know.
Smiling to himself, he relaxed into the mattress and felt the last scintilla of tension drain away as sweet satiation—satiation on every level—flowed through him.
He was looking forward to the dawn, to the day and what it would bring. To learning the identity of the mystery man and eradicating all threats to Sophy and the steelworks. All threats to his future.
Glorying in the feel of her soft warmth pressed against him, he wondered how soon they could tie the knot.
* * *
The next morning, somewhat later than usual, Sophy hurried down the stairs and turned in to the corridor to the breakfast parlor.
Situated in a rear corner of the house, the parlor overlooked a small garden and, that morning, was bright with sunbeams and warmth. She breezed through the open doorway with a cheery “Good morning,” unsurprised to find both Martin and her grandmother already at the table.
“Good morning, my dear.” Her grandmother raised her gaze to her face, blinked, then stared.
Sophy made a valiant effort to dim her smile, but doubted she was all that successful. When, not that long ago, she’d returned to her room, she’d glanced in the mirror and been surprised to discover that she had, somehow or other, acquired a definite glow.
No one had ever mentioned that as an outcome of indulging in lovemaking, but given the time and her need to appear at the breakfast table, there’d been little she’d been able to do to disguise the effect.
Tempted by the aromas, she crossed to the sideboard and realized she was unusually hungry. She collected a small serving from beneath several of the domed dishes, then turned to the table and claimed her usual place on her grandmother’s left.
She beamed her thanks at Higginbotham as he filled her teacup, then endeavoring to ignore the way her grandmother was looking back and forth between her and Martin, seated opposite her and looking as unrufflably handsome as ever, she met Martin’s eyes.
After a second, he lightly arched his brows, and she recalled their plan. She glanced at Higginbotham and requested a pot of hot chocolate. Once the butler had left the room, she turned to her grandmother. “Grandmama, Martin has offered for my hand, and I’ve accepted.”
Her grandmother’s eyes met hers and widened in immediate and transparent comprehension, then the old lady swung a sharp, shrewd, and rather narrow-eyed look Martin’s way.
