On the last of the breakers, he coasted into shore to find himself beached in a large, luxurious bed in a darkening room. He lay spread-eagled across Diana. His face was buried in a soft mass of golden hair, which smelled gloriously of apples.
He stayed where he was, utterly exhausted, utterly replete for the first time in his life.
He felt her breathe, softly, unevenly. The scent of her satisfaction filled his senses. Her arms wound tightly around his back, her bent legs framed his hips. Call him every kind of fool, but he read tenderness in her soft caresses.
Hell. Hell. Hell. He hadn’t pulled out.
The reality of what he’d done seeped through his torpor like a trickle of ice water. Dear God, let her not be pregnant. Let this bliss not lead them to disaster.
Too late to do anything about that. And for all his turmoil now, nothing could make him repent those heedless, blazing moments in her arms.
He’d meant to withdraw as he always did. But somewhere in the wild heights, his body had taken over. He’d never lost control with a woman before. With every moment in her presence, Diana launched him into new levels of experience. Ironic to think this virtuous widow opened whole worlds of sensual pleasure to a jaded rake.
He’d desperately wanted to spill himself inside her. And, heaven forgive him, he had. Heedlessly. Endlessly. Powerfully. He’d flooded her with his essence, claiming her as his with a primitive fervor he’d never imagined he’d feel with a lover.
He should regret what he’d done. But he was such a barbarian that, deep in his heart, he couldn’t.
The sensation of filling her had been extraordinary. At the peak, no barrier had existed between them. Male and female united to create a whole. Tarquin and Diana. Together.
He’d never felt as close to another lover as he felt to this woman stretched naked beneath him.
Naked and crushed.
“I’m flattening you.” Even muffled in her silky hair, he heard the betraying huskiness of his voice.
He couldn’t shake the impression that what had just happened marked him for life. That it would linger in his memory like few other encounters. That Diana would leave her brand on his soul, a brand countless future encounters wouldn’t erase, no matter how he’d wish they would.
How long since sex had impinged on his emotions? What they’d done this afternoon bypassed his defenses. He’d spent his life resisting vulnerability. Yet even after such a short time with her, he knew this sweet, passionate woman would devastate him with her departure.
Just let heaven be merciful and spare them a bastard as the result of today’s rapture.
“I…” She had to clear her
throat before she managed a whole sentence. “I don’t mind.”
He roused himself enough to mention what had just happened. “I didn’t withdraw.”
With an unsteady hand, she brushed his unruly hair back from his forehead. “I know.”
The fool woman didn’t sound perturbed. He closed his eyes, reveling in her touch, trying to summon horror adequate to the occasion. He could have created an unwanted child. He’d sworn he never would.
Yet any consequences of his carelessness seemed far away, unreal. What was real was the beautiful woman who lay under him. The woman whose face was glowing and gentle in the aftermath of that astounding communion.
“The Gypsy remedy is safe, I promise you,” she said softly. “Don’t worry, Ashcroft. And…” She released a sigh that seemed a soft echo of ecstasy. “And what we just did was…wonderful.”
Yes. Wonderful. And worthy of a thousand other superlatives as well. Too good to spoil with stewing over something that mightn’t ever happen.
He let himself drift. His body still joined hers. Heat and intimacy enfolded him, made him feel he existed inside a magical golden cocoon, where grim reality couldn’t impinge.
Oh, that conclusion definitely resulted from too much good sex.
He angled up on his elbows to stare at Diana. She looked well loved. As she should after what they’d done. Her thick blond hair tangled around her face, and her lips were cherry red from his kisses. He noticed a graze on her neck where he’d kissed her too hard.
Savage he was, he was pleased that she wore his mark.
Hell, he couldn’t feel possessive. He was never possessive. Yet the idea of anyone else touching Diana made him seethe with denial.
She shifted, and he felt a surge of arousal. He was such a beast, he was ready for her again.