‘Here.’ He stood, went back to the horses and unstrapped the greatcoat from behind the saddle, spreading it on the ground in the lea of their rock look-out. ‘Just here. The grass is soft beneath the coat, no-one will get past Jared below and above the castle the rock rises into a cliff-face. No-one from the villages on the other side of the crest can get down here.’
‘No?’ Wariness was struggling with desire and desire was winning.
‘It is a different world over there. Patches of industry, mines, dirty, shabby villages. I am glad our medieval forebear decided that mining was not for him: I would not like to be responsible for sending those poor devils down a lead mine.’
&nbs
p; Reassured, she came down from the rock and joined him on the thick, lush grass. ‘Cal, I am not experienced. What happened before happened quickly.’ Thank goodness.
‘You were right to part company with the man.’ Cal took her by the shoulders, drew her close. ‘When a man makes love to a woman, with a woman, it should not be rushed, unless you both want that, the excitement of urgency. He should have made love to you slowly, pleasured you, cared for you. Let me show you, Sophie.’
She placed her hands, palm down, against his chest, felt his heartbeat, steady and strong and watched his face as she slid them upwards, beneath his coat, sliding over the linen of his shirt, pausing when he felt the nubs of his nipples harden under her fingers. He let her play, her fingertips circling, then her nails scratching, while he watched her, his eyes heavy-lidded with controlled desire. When she pushed his coat from his shoulders he shrugged it off, pulled his shirt free from his breeches and dragged it over his head and let it fall.
‘Oh.’ She had imagined what he would look like stripped, but the muscle and the long bones and the dusting of hair on his chest were all so much more than she had imagined. He was hard, and there were scars on the skin that still carried the faint golden flush of hot tropical sun.
Cal pulled her close and the golden skin was hot as though it retained that exotic warmth and he smelt of plain soap and the lemon cologne he used after shaving and leather and fresh sweat. Sophie spread her palms on his back and let them trail down, following that fascinating masculine triangle of broad shoulders, narrow waist. She wanted to slip her fingers under the waistband of his breeches but she was becoming very aware of how aroused he was, that the evidence of that, hard against her belly, was promising something considerably… more than Jonathan.
‘My turn.’ His fingers worked on the fastenings of the short jacket she wore, his knuckles bumping between them as they worked, sending little shocks of sensation through her breasts. Then he tossed it aside, found the fastenings of her long riding skirt and sent that after the jacket. The rest of her clothing followed, but Sophie lost track of what Cal was doing. He knows very well how to undress a woman, she thought hazily, then pushed aside the speculation about how many women, when… She knew he was not a virgin and she was not going to start being jealous of his first wife, of whatever women he had known before. She was his future and she could only hope he would stay faithful to her.
The speculation had stopped her feeling shy, she realised. So had his speed. The soft, warm air on her body, the rider’s calloused hands stroking over her skin, pulled her back to the full realisation that she was naked, that Cal was easing her down onto his greatcoat and that she had no idea what he intended.
‘Will you unpin your hair?’
‘I will never get it up again.’ Oh, the look on his face as he watched her.
‘You will be galloping riding back. Your hat will come off, pins everywhere. Easier to take it all down and plait it.’
‘You have an answer for everything.’ She smiled back at him as she raised her hands to the pins, then swallowed as his gaze followed the lift of her breasts as she moved. Jonathan had grabbed, painfully, when he had her naked, but Cal just looked with something like worship in his eyes and she wanted to weep for what she had lost that night, for the fact that it was not Cal who had shown her how a man was with a woman that first time.
Instead she shook down her hair and leaned towards him so he could comb his long fingers through it. ‘Guinea gold,’ he murmured. ‘You are so beautiful, Sophie. You must hear that every day, how lovely you are, but it is more than looks. So often a beautiful face hides a selfish mind, a cold soul. It is so easy to fall for the outward beauty, to equate that with goodness, or intelligence or kindness.’
‘I know.’ The bitter little agreement escaped her and she bit her lip.
‘Your first lover? He was a handsome man?’
‘A beautiful man. To look at. I don’t want to talk about him. I let myself fall for that cliché, that outer beauty is a sign of inner beauty too. I was a fool.’ She looked at the man kneeling before her. ‘When I look at you I see strong bones and a strong will. I see good looks but I also see the struggles that made you who you are, added steel to your spine and scars to your body. I see a handsome man, but not a beautiful one, except, I think, on the inside.’
Cal closed his eyes and she wondered whether she had embarrassed him, whether she would have embarrassed herself when he opened them again and looked at her.
When he did, he said simply, ‘You have robbed me of words. Let me show you how I feel about you.’
He laid her back onto the heavy silk lining of the greatcoat and came down beside her on one elbow, the buckskin of his breeches against her hip, his left arm beneath her shoulders, his right hand finally, finally, touching her, down over her breasts to her belly, up again, caressing, exploring, leaving a tingling, aching trail of pleasure.
Sophie forced open her eyes and watched his face, stunned by his expression, the focus. She shivered and his gaze snapped back to her face.
‘Are you all right, Sophie?’
‘Oh, yes, but you…’
‘Are in heaven. And purgatory.’ He bent to kiss her, capturing her mouth, letting her hide by sheer closeness as his finger fretted at her nipples, pinching lightly until the hard nubs were sending shafts of aching pleasure from her breasts to her belly, to her sex. She moaned into his mouth, arched against him as his hand slid lower, down to the nest of curls, slid between her thighs, even as she instinctively pressed them together.
‘Let me in, Sophie. Let me love you.’
The words were like a key, freeing her, letting her resisting muscles relax for him. Cal found the core of her, the wet, aching centre, touched her perfectly with one perfect relentless, gentle stoke after another and her world imploded.
She screamed, but Cal’s mouth was there to capture the sound, his hands were there to hold her safe until she came back to herself. His voice was there, calling her back. ‘Sophie, Sophie my love.’
‘Cal?’