He said her name on a shaken breath and began to kiss her, gently at first and then with growing hunger, his mouth feasting on hers, her famished, untried senses responding in a kind of delirium.
She found her body leaning into his, as if wanting to be absorbed into the totally male hardness of bone and muscle. Knowing for the first time the overwhelming need to be joined, to become one with a man. Her man. Feeling the tight, cold knot of misery deep within her begin to dissolve in his warmth. In the strength of the arms holding her so closely, and the sensuous liquid fire of his kisses.
His hands slid down her body, tracing the length of her spine, and moulding the slender curve of her hips as he drew her even closer, awakening her to the potent demand of his arousal and all it signified.
His lips nibbled at her throat, gliding down to the opening of her shirt and pushing the fabric aside to reach the warm skin beneath.
Tavy felt her breasts swell against the confines of the lacy cups which encased them, her nipples hardening in anticipation of his caress—her first experience of such an intimacy, she thought, her senses drowning.
And yet this was also the beginning of a journey for which she was totally unprepared.
Jago, she knew, was accustomed to very different girls in his arms and his bed. Girls who would meet his demands and desires with their own.
Not someone who only had love to guide her and was suddenly scared that it might not be enough.
He lifted his head. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing...’
‘I don’t think so.’ He studied her flushed face. ‘You were here with me, now you’re not.’
She shook her head, looking down at the floor. ‘It’s stupid, I know. It’s just that I’ve never...’ And stopped, not knowing how to go on. Terrified that he might laugh at her.
He said huskily, ‘Darling, you mustn’t be frightened. But you have to want this too, not let me rush you into something you’re not ready for.’ He kissed her again, lightly, his lips just brushing hers. ‘And if you want more time, I can be patient. We can just be—engaged. Tell our families, put a notice in the papers, buy a ring.’
He ran a caressing finger down the curve of her cheek. ‘Now I’m going to open some champagne and we’ll drink to our future before I take you home.’
She watched him walk out of the room. The man she loved who, by some miracle, loved her in return. And who, because his intentions were honourable, was coming back to drink wine with her, before he took her home.
Except—this was her home. She belonged here. She belonged to him, and she should have called him back, and told him so. Proved it to him beyond all doubt.
Instead, she’d let a fleeting uncertainty spoil a moment that would never return.
She turned restlessly and moved to the windows, looking across the terrace to the garden still glowing in the last of the evening sun. And beyond the lawns, sheltered by the tall shrubs, unmoving in the still air, was the lake.
The lake...
And suddenly she began to smile. She even laughed out loud. Kicking off her shoes, she walked across the sun-warmed flags, unbuttoning her shirt as she went, and dropping it at the head of the terrace steps.
Halfway across the lawn she paused, unzipped her skirt, stepped out of it and walked on, leaving it lying on the grass.
She draped her bra over the branch of a convenient buddleia, and negotiated a bank of fuchsias, just coming into bud, which brought her on to the edge of the lake.
The Lady was still there, gazing down into the waters, which had been cleared since Tavy’s last visit, and were now reflecting back the turquoise, pink and gold streaks in the sky.
She whispered, ‘Wish me luck,’ as she slipped off her briefs and left them at the foot of the statue before wading in, taking her time, trailing her fingertips in the water as it got deeper.
She did not hear him arrive, but she knew the moment he was there just the same. She turned slowly, standing motionless for a long moment to let him look at her, before lifting her hands to take the clip from her hair and shake it loose over her shoulders. And wait.
Jago’s face was taut, the tawny eyes burning. He said hoarsely, ‘Octavia—oh God, you’re so beautiful.’
She walked back to the bank, smiling at him, not hurrying, then stepped up into his arms.
His hands trembled slightly as they touched her, tracing her shoulders, her rounded up-tilted breasts, her delicate ribcage and tiny waist as if she was some infinitely precious and delicate porcelain figurine that a moment’s clumsiness might shatter for ever.