Page 45 of Stranded with His Runaway Bride

He held her so effortlessly, guided her so beautifully, it was easy as breathing to follow him round the room. In the flickering candlelight, they dipped, they swayed, they flowed across the floor in absolute unison, painting a masterpiece in shadows as they went. Safe in his expert hold, seduced by the music, and seduced more by this irresistible man, Violetta finally set her dancing heart free.

Suddenly his hold tightened, his steps slowed until eventually he stopped moving altogether. His eyes glittered in the dim light. The hand at her back pulled her close.

‘Leo, we aren’t dancing any more.’

‘No,’ he breathed and stopped any further observations with his mouth.

Violetta swooned, her lips clung to his, her hands grasped his lapels.

Outside the world raged, but here, together in their little world, they were safe.

He took her to a couch with its dust sheet already thrown back, and sank down on it, drawing her between his legs. His chin lifted as he reached up for a kiss. She cupped his face, the skin smooth from a recent shave. She slid her fingers into the silk of his hair, damp from his shower, and she melted at the thought of the care he’d taken for her.

She needed to touch more of him.

His jacket went first, her fingers sliding beneath the lapels, up his chest to his shoulders. He helped her, shrugging out of it, lifting up his backside to free those elegant coat tails. It landed on the floor in a heap to be instantly forgotten. Violetta was too intent on unwrapping the next layers. She unbuttoned the waistcoat, snatched at the bow tie. The studs of his shirt followed as she pulled it open and ran her greedy palms across his chest, thrilling at the quiver of his flank when her fingers found a particularly sensitive spot.

He was back on his feet, yanking at hooks and the zip and shoved trousers and underwear down his hips. He heeled off his shoes and kicked everything away.

He was even more beautiful naked. A feast for her eyes and hands. She wanted to touch, everywhere. Her gaze dropped to his erection, growing even bigger under her scrutiny. She’d have dropped to her knees and licked that fascinating bead of moisture from the tip, but with uneven breaths and trembling hands he was pulling her close again.

His hands trembled as he tugged at the fastenings of her gown and pushed it from her shoulders.

His breath was ragged as he slid the silk knickers down her hips and she stepped clear of them, her hands on his shoulders for support.

Watching this strong man unravel for her banished all Violetta’s uncertainties. Being with him like this felt utterly right. She climbed onto his lap, her knees splayed wide over his thighs, and took his face in her hands and kissed him.

A new dance began, one of fingers and lips and tongues. The slide of skin on skin and a new, sensual music drowned out the other. Groans and sighs, hot, sultry words in French, Italian or indistinct, but speaking volumes nonetheless. Passion rode them both.

She was hot and wet and, oh, so needy. She wanted him inside her, all of him, because, heaven help her, there was already a piece of him lodged in her heart. She ground against him.

‘Violetta, no.’ Hunger and regret warred in the depths of his eyes. ‘We don’t have protection.’ His hand slid over her belly and slipped downwards between them. ‘But there are other things we can do.’

She gasped as his thumb found a sweet spot and circled.

‘We’d be safe. I get my period soon,’ she said, breathlessly, and rolled her hips against him again.

A ripple of excitement went through him. ‘But not like this. It’s your first time. It will be too uncomfortable.’

Of course, he knew she was a virgin. The examination to prove that was one of the many indignities heaped on her before their official engagement, but now her virginity felt precious. Something special to share only with him.

She moaned helplessly as his mouth went to her breast. She wrapped her arms about his head. How had she not known such delight existed? Because now it felt as if it were written in her flesh, in her very bones, just waiting for this man to unleash the poetry of desire in her. A sudden panic welled up—was this one night all they’d have? Because she wanted this in her life.

She wanted him.

Perhaps they could be lovers? As long as they didn’t marry the duchy would still be hers. And that was what was important...wasn’t it?

Leo caught her chin, and gently turned her face so she met his burning gaze.

‘Violetta, whatever you are thinking, stop. Just feel.’

With a move as graceful and masterful as anything he’d executed on the dance floor, he lifted her from his lap and laid her on the couch.

His palm floated along her thigh, pushing it wider, and he moved between her legs. A wave of desire travelled over her skin.

‘Just feel, Violetta,’ he repeated, rising up and taking her hips in his big hands. With one leg braced on the floor and the other bent beneath him on the couch he thrust into her. The pain was swift and sharp but quickly forgotten because Leo...

Leo was inside her. Worshipping her with the reverence of his hands and his body.

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