“And while you are at it, design two. One for you and one for our new business venture, which I am very much looking forward to unleashing into the world!”
EPILOGUE
Will closed the door of Rose’s bedchamber behind him and looked across the room. He was carrying an opened bottle of champagne and two glasses in one hand and Ernest’s paper and pencils in the other.
She was standing by the fireplace, still in her gown, veil, and jewelry, looking at him.
“You are still dressed,” he said huskily.
“I am never taking them off,” she smiled at him.
“Really?” He advanced on her, past the end of the bed, a devilish grin on his face. “Well, that might cause the first argument of our marriage.”
Her grin spread to match his.
“Can you really believe it?” Rose said softly. “Can you believe we are married? Forever?”
“I am getting there,” Will smiled.
He moved around her to put the bottle and glasses on the mantelpiece without touching her. She was looking at the paper and pencils in his hands.
“Do you have skills I don’t know about?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” he said, looking at the bodice of her dress and then raising his eyes to hers. “But not in drawing.”
The delicious anticipation of kissing those breasts, which had been taunting him from that dress all afternoon, was killing him. He knew she could feel the magnetic draw between them. He was standing less than an arm’s length from her, and just because he could now, he reached out one finger and slowly traced the line of her scalloped bodice from one shoulder to the other. The dress looked better on her than he could ever have imagined. The scallops dipped low over her breasts, coming perilously close to exposing her nipples before rising to a point at her cleavage. He watched her close her eyes as his finger stalled there, nestling between her breasts. She was his now. He could touch her whenever he pleased. The thought of that made him feel quite heady.
He closed his eyes for a moment as he felt the simmering cauldron of desire right down in the middle of him. If he wanted to, he could pull her bodice down and have her standing before him, with her breasts exposed. But knew if he did that, his willpower would last less than a minute, and it would be a very short wedding night indeed. He had to take it slowly, for her and for him.
He opened his eyes to find her staring straight at him, her lips slightly open, her head slightly lifted, those big wide blue eyes holding his gaze. She was breathing raggedly, moving the rounded mounds of her pert breasts rhythmically, up and down, against his finger.
He let that same finger trail downwards, from her breasts to her navel, where he splayed his hand across her flat stomach and pressed gently; moving steadily lower, his hand inverted as Rose’s eyes widened still further. He could feel her pressing her body against his hand; he watched her eyes flutter closed. His index finger drew level with where he knew the most sensitive part of her lay underneath the crisp white fabric.
A small moan escaped her lips as he began to rub gently against her dress, tracing his familiar circles between her legs. He bent his head to take the lobe of her ear and the drop diamond earring in his mouth. He nibbled at her flesh while keeping up the pressure, and the rhythm, between her legs.
“I suppose you don’t want to keep the dress on now,” he whispered.
She turned her head and pressed her lips against his. His only points of contact were his hand and finger rubbing against her, and his lips slaking across hers. Rose began to breathe shallowly in her chest, and as the rhythm of his touch on her caused her to shudder, he quickly removed his hand, and her eyes opened wide.
“Slowly, Your Grace,” he said, against her lips.
“I am no longer Your Grace,” she reminded him.
“Thank God for that,” he smiled.
He stepped back then, away from her for a moment, and saw the flash of disappointment in her eyes. He threw the paper and pencils onto the bed, reached for the bottle of champagne, and poured himself a glass.
“Is there one for me?” Rose asked, smiling.
“You don’t need one,” he assured her as he took a sip of the champagne from his flute and held it in his mouth, stepping across to her. He raised her chin slightly towards him and then bent to kiss her, letting the champagne roll from his mouth into hers as he smothered her lips with his own. The taste of her lips and the sweet liquor was a stimulating combination that lit a fire within him.
He groaned, sucking at her lips, reveling in her taste and texture as he backed her against the warm wall by the fireplace. He used the whole length of his body to hold her in place as his tongue moved forcefully against hers. He was still holding the champagne flute in one hand, but his other came up to close roughly around one of her breasts. He squeezed it hard, feeling the weight of it against his palm, half-naked, half-covered by the scalloped silk.
Her arms came around his neck to pull his head down, but he stopped kissing her and looked into her eyes.
“How,” he said, “are we ever going to get anything done?”
Rose burst out laughing against him.