Ainsley rocked on him, her body instinctively wanting to join with his as much as it could. Cameron guided her to the movement that would give them both the most satisfaction.
Her br**sts flattened against his chest, ni**les pressing him with pleasing friction. She kissed his mouth, the kisses clumsy with passion.
“That’s the way,” Cameron whispered. He nibbled her earlobe. “That’s the way to love me, my Ainsley.”
Her answer was a soft noise of pleasure.
“You’re so tight and wet,” he said. “Wicked Ainsley, so wet for her lover.”
Her little, “Umm,” made his heart beat wildly.
They rocked together, the chair creaking its protest, Ainsley’s legs wrapped firmly around him. Cameron braced his bare toes in the carpet, stroked hands through Ainsley’s silk swath of hair, and lost himself.
He was going to finish too soon. Cameron groaned with it, not ready, wanting to rock here with her far into the night. But his body was too excited, Ainsley too soft and beautiful. The scent of woman, and loving, undid him.
Ainsley’s breath started to come faster as she reached her peak, her hips rocking in a rhythm that didn’t have to be taught.
Cameron went with her willingly. His bu**ocks left the chair as he drove hard up into her, bracing her hips so the joining would be fast and strong.
The words that poured out of his mouth were blunt and filthy in praise of her body and what it did to him. Ainsley flushed, her eyes starry, her cries of delight growing louder as he spoke.
As her voice broke—Yes, yes, Cameron, please!—Cameron came. He was halfway off the chair, Ainsley screaming in pleasure. Cameron’s shout joined hers.
He crashed down on the chair again, its legs definitely creaking, but they held.
“Did I hurt you?” He kissed her, tumbled her hair. “Love, did I hurt you? Are you all right?”
Ainsley stilled his word with her fingers. “Cam, I’m fine. It was beautiful. So beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful, Ainsley.” Cameron cradled her close, breathing hard with the finish. She was soft and warm and tasted and smelled so good.
Not until he knew he was hardening again for the next round, did Cameron realize he’d spilled his seed inside her. It hadn’t occurred to him to pull out, and not because he’d remembered she was his wife. The marriage ceremony and all it meant hadn’t yet made an impression on his senses.
He’d wanted only to be inside Ainsley and stay there, where everything was safe and splendid, and her tenderness wrapped him and eased every hurt in his soul.
Cameron loved her twice more on the chair, then he carried her to the bed. Ainsley half woke when he pulled the covers over her naked body and caught his wrist as he made to turn away.
“Stay here with me,” she whispered.
He looked down at her for a long time, not debating, Ainsley thought, but fighting something inside himself. He wasn’t speaking because he couldn’t.
Cameron clenched his fists, a muscle moving in his throat, a large man delectable in nothing but a kilt wrapped carelessly around his waist. She saw him deliberately calm his anger, second by second, while he fixed his gaze on her. He wasn’t seeing her, but his eyes never left her.
“It’s almost morning,” he said in a careful voice. “Our train leaves early. Go to sleep.”
He turned and strode out the door, banging it so hard that the curtains fluttered on the bed. Ainsley heard him move across the suite and slam the door to his own room. Then, ever so faintly came the click of the lock.
Ainsley lay down again, her breath hurting her. Her body hummed from the warm, sweet love they’d made on the chair. Cameron gave all to lovemaking, his entire body engaged in the act. He was such a big man, and yet he’d held her so that she didn’t fall, had taken their combined weight all on himself.
How a man with such raw brutality could be so tender, Ainsley didn’t know, but Cameron managed it.
But his fear when she’d asked him to stay had been real. Deep panic had flashed in his eyes, and he’d fought himself away from her.
That such a strong man should fear angered her. Ainsley determined then and there to delve to the bottom of it, to have Cameron explain how he felt, and erase what had been done to him the best she could. She would do it.
The dual emotions—elation at lovemaking and worry for Cameron mixed together and kept her eyes open. As tired as she was, she couldn’t relax into sleep until she was on the swaying train to Paris in the bright sunshine of the morning.
Once they reached Paris, a lavish coach took them to the townhouse Cameron rented in a street off the Rue de Rivoli. The house rose six stories, with a wrought-iron railed staircase twisting through its grand foyer to a dome at the top.
Ainsley would have her own bedroom here as well, with windows that overlooked the garden behind the house. Cameron’s room was in the front of the house, with Daniel’s on the floor above theirs.
The townhouse was elegantly beautiful, modern, and quite unlike anything Ainsley had ever lived in. The queen’s private spaces tended to be crowded, cluttered, and full of family photos, her public rooms vast and lavish. Cameron’s house sported cool marble tiles and light-colored paneling, and was filled with paintings in the new styles of Degas, Manet, Monet, and the young Renoir. The furniture was clean-lined in the new handcrafted style that was a backlash against the ornately carved and mightily uncomfortable manufactured furniture of the day.
Money had gone into this house, and good taste—likely Mac had suggested the paintings and Isabella the décor—but it was still a bachelor’s house. Cool and elegant, but a bit bare.
When Ainsley suggested she might stitch a few pillows for the parlor, Cameron looked at her as though she’d lost her mind. Then he took her shopping.
Ainsley had visited Paris once, on her fateful trip to the Continent with Patrick and Rona, but they’d taken rooms in a small hotel in an inexpensive district. Rona had been so nervous about the city that she hadn’t wanted to venture very far from the hotel, so Ainsley had seen little of Paris.
Cameron showed her a new world. He took her to boutiques that sold everything a householder could want, to art dealers eager to sell Cameron the very best, and shops that dealt in expensive objets d’art. Ainsley could buy pillows ready-made or order some made to her taste. She did so, but then she went to a shop that specialized in luxurious embroidery skeins and outfitted herself with a new embroidery basket filled with everything she needed. Heaven.