Page 57 of Stay with Me

Every time she looked at him, he seemed to be more handsome than the last, probably because the more she got to know him, the closer she felt to him. She saw who he really was inside, and the whole Nicholas package was an absolutely tremendous deal.

As though waking, he shifted.

She paused her perusal, watching his expression. When he remained peacefully at rest, she let her fingers roam again, this time up the scruff to his cheekbones. How was it that she was leisurely touching him? How was it that he was holding her so possessively, as though he had no intention of letting her go? And how had she ended up married to him?

She had to be going mad. It was the only explanation for how her life had changed so drastically in such a short time.

As she skimmed even higher, she smoothed the strand of his hair back. His hair was unruly and thick and beckoned to her. She wanted to keep exploring, comb her fingers all the way through. But she held herself back, marveling that she had any right at all to touch him.

She lifted from him altogether, but before she could go far, his hand shot up and gripped her wrist. His eyes opened halfway, and he regarded her through heavy lids. In the next instant, before she could tuck her arm back under the blanket where it belonged, he brought her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

The warmth and pressure—and the way he was looking at her—unleashed a flurry inside her stomach.

He kissed her knuckles again, his eyes holding hers, heating her all the way to her core. He made no attempt to disguise the desire he had for her. His wanting was thick and heavy. But it wasn’t suffocating. Instead, it seemed to spread through her, like melted honey, so that all she wanted to do was give way to him and let him cover her with sweet kisses.

As though sensing her acquiescence, he kissed her hand again, this time higher, on her wrist. His lips lingered there against her rapidly beating pulse. A moment later, he began to make a slow trail up her inner arm.

His kisses were feathery, exquisite—so that her breath hitched with each teasing touch. Until finally he reached her collarbone. He grazed her shoulder with his thumb almost reverently before bending in and pressing his lips right in the center near the strap of her chemise.

This time his kiss came down forcefully, and she couldn’t keep a gasp from escaping. In the next instant, his mouth caught hers just as powerfully. He dragged her close and at the same time plunged her off a cliff into oblivion. The air around them gusted, and heat rose to engulf them. But still she fell hard andfast, unable to brace herself, not even wanting to. Instead, she arched into him, longing to stay with him, needing to be closer.

Somehow her blanket fell away, and his hand splayed flat across her stomach, searing her through the chemise. As one of his legs tangled with hers, he deepened the kiss, taking her captive—body, heart, and soul.

She wanted to take him captive too. Needed to get closer to him. She fisted a hand in his tunic and tugged it up.

He grew motionless and broke the kiss, his breathing heavy and ragged against her lips. As his dark eyes met hers, she found herself lost in them.

He heaved an almost-shuddering breath and tore his gaze from her. Then with an agonized groan, he rose, releasing her and forcing her to let go. She was tempted to snag on to him, jerk him back down, and press her lips to his again. But he stood and stalked away from the bed until he was at the table, his back facing her, heaving up and down.

Only then did she realize her chest was rising and falling with equal swiftness, that they’d kissed so intensely they’d forgotten to breathe.

“Curses upon me.” His whisper was filled with self-loathing.

She pushed up to her elbows, trying to make sense of why he was angry. “What’s wrong?”

He held his shoulders stiffly while he rubbed a hand down his face.

In her inexperience, had she done something wrong? Maybe she shouldn’t have grabbed his tunic. “You didn’t like kissing me—?”

“Saint’s blood, Sybil,” he said harshly. “’Tis the opposite. I like it too much.”

“But . . .?”

“I take full responsibility for my overzealousness.”

Oh. So he was upset at himself because he thought he was moving too quickly and breaking his vow that they would remain chaste for now. “You didn’t act alone, Nicholas.” Somehow her voice came out sultrier than she’d intended.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, then quietly cursed himself.

“I was kissing you too.”

He shook his head. “Cover up in the blanket.”

She sat up and looked down at herself. The chemise wasn’t silky and slinky like modern lingerie. While it showed her arms and lower legs, it was modest. But apparently seeing her in it presented a temptation for Nicholas.

A part of her wanted to defy him, to throw the blanket off the bed. But another part of her respected his desire to wait, although she couldn’t quite remember why it was so important to him.

He dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers shaking.

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