Under her fingers, she felt his cheek crease into a smile. “I should have shaved.”
“Mmm.”
“I’m too heavy for you.”
“Maybe a little.”
She trailed her fingers upward and brushed his tangled, dark hair back from his temple. She’d never before permitted herself the tentative explorations of a new lover. She knew his body so well, yet these simple gestures of affection were utterly unfamiliar.
He pushed into her touch, reminding her of a kitten she’d had as a child. The memory was innocent, harking back to a time she’d almost forgotten.
She laughed softly. “You’ll start purring soon.”
“Ah, mo cridhe. I’m already purring. Surely you hear me.” His voice even sounded different, softer, hinting at a Highland lilt.
She could fall in love with a man with a voice like that.
“What do you call me?” she asked idly, continuing to stroke the lean planes of his face, his arrogant nose, his ears, his eyebrows.
Even more catlike under her ministrations, he closed his eyes. “Oh, it’s only a local term for a woman.”
When he raised his eyelids and glanced at her, she caught the blue glitter of amusement. Plainly, there was more to the soft endearment than he meant to tell her.
What did it matter in such a perfect moment? Her hands slid down to his back, tracing muscle and bone.
She could touch him like this forever. And still ask for more.
Who knew a man’s body offered such delights? Certainly not London’s most infamous courtesan.
He bent his head to kiss her—short, playful nips and pecks that soon had her giggling and wrestling with him in an ecstatic tangle of naked limbs.
She felt like a child again. A child with her very best friend in the world.
A child soon engulfed in distinctly adult desire when the game became more purposeful. His mouth touched her everywhere, her neck, her back, her buttocks, her breasts, between her legs. It was as if he staked his possession with kisses. Kisses that built heat a degree at a time until she burned with need.
This time, the climax was cataclysmic. Her world fragmented in a burst of molten white. Gasping, she clung to Kylemore as the only solid object in her fracturing universe. But a more lasting radiance lingered beneath the violent explosion of pleasure. And when she floated back to reality, it was the radiance she remembered.
Afterward, they slept briefly.
She woke to find Kylemore raised on one elbow, watching her with a slumberous expression in his indigo eyes. Indigo eyes that for the first time since she’d known him were tranquil, like a calm sea at sunset. He must have gotten up while she’d dozed, because a forest of candles lit the room to gold.
His expression was tender as he shaped her breast. He brushed his thumb against the plump nipple, and it hardened in immediate response.
“This is what I wanted in London,” he murmured, bending to place a kiss where his thumb teased. His lips were hot on her tender skin, and she shifted under a renewed surge of desire.
“Why did you make me wait so long, Verity?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “You seemed…you seemed more than I could handle. I preferred easier men.” How did he expect her to concentrate on his questions when he touched her?
“So you took Mallory as your lover.”
Her last protector’s name crashed into the harmony between them with the force of a knife thrown at a door. Her pleasurable stirrings of arousal vanished in an instant.
“I can’t help what I was,” she snapped. She tried to draw away, but he caught her shoulder and stopped her.
“I’m just trying to understand. I know why you owed Eldreth loyalty. But Mallory was a joke.”
“He was sweet. I thought I could help him.” She smiled, then wished she hadn’t as a frown darkened Kylemore’s face.