“Dear God in heaven,” she moaned. Surely this wasn’t right. Surely Noble shouldn’t be sending flames of desire licking down her body. Licking, oh lord, he was licking her! Gillian’s skin prickled as her nightrail was pushed down over her shoulders, over her hips, and left to pool around her ankles. Before she had time to comment on the embarrassing situation of her nakedness, he picked her up, headed for her bed, paused, then turned and carried her through to his chamber. Gillian didn’t have a chance to take an inventory of the bedchamber before she was settled with exquisite gentleness on his bed. She propped herself up on one elbow and watched closely as he disrobed.
“Well! That answers a good many questions,” she muttered, staring at his arousal. Then, to Noble’s complete surprise, utter amazement, and undying gratitude, she reached out and touched him.
“Yes indeed, it explains much. Am I hurting you?” she asked, concerned about the grunt of pain that had accompanied her touch.
Gently, ever so gently, Noble pried his wife’s hands off his nether regions and, gritting his teeth with the determination not to shame himself ten minutes into his wedding night, he pushed her back onto the bed and lay down beside her, panting slightly.
“You are perspiring. Are you too hot? Should I open a window? Fetch you a cold beverage? Would you like me to fan you?” Gillian snuggled closer and placed a hand on his chest. Her fingers drew lazy circles around one flat brown nipple. He slapped a hand over hers and held it tight. He’d never make it through the night. If he didn’t shame himself first, she was going to kill him with her innocent erotic seduction. He ground his teeth together in an attempt to distract himself from the thought of plunging deep inside her.
“Nothing. Just lay there. Don’t move. And if you have any mercy in your soul, stop touching me there!”
Gillian jerked her hand back. “I’m sorry. I thought it was allowed.”
Noble tried hard to swallow past the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. “It is allowed; nay, encouraged under normal circumstances, but this, my lady wife, is not a normal circumstance.”
“Oh.” She lay next to him and wondered if his breathing was always so ragged. Surely it couldn’t be good for him to be breathing so shallowly for any length of time. Perhaps if she stroked him as she did the hounds when they became distressed, he would calm down and his breathing return to normal. Disengaging one hand, she lightly caressed his chest from shoulder to navel.
“Oh, God.”
Gillian didn’t think he meant that as a prayer; it sounded more like a groan of agony. His head must be paining him. She tilted her face up until her lips were a hairbreath away from his. “Do you hurt, Noble?”
He moaned softly against her lips and with one hand cupped the back of her head so he could plunder her mouth.
“Is it your head?” she asked, the words catching in her throat.
Now her own breathing was erratic, but there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it, what with Noble’s tongue probing her mouth like an enthusiastic explorer in a particularly moist cave. Unable to withstand the surge of emotions and desires flooding her body, she pressed against him, eliciting another moan from deep within his chest. Then suddenly she was on her back and he was poised over her.
“I meant to do this right, I swear I did,” he said hoarsely as he positioned himself. “But you’re so damn hot. Bloody hell, I’m only human! You can’t blame me for being human! Tell me you don’t blame me!”
He seemed to require some sort of reassurance, so she stroked his arms and back gently. “I don’t blame you. You’re beautiful, Noble. Even your muscles have muscles. You’re made very differently from me.”
Weston stared at her for a moment that seemed to him to last at least a lifetime, then slowly, with a patience he thought beyond human control, he sank into her.
“Well, I think this just about answers all of my questions,” Gillian gasped, her voice simultaneously huskier and higher than she had ever heard it. There was a sharp jab of pain, but it quickly faded into unimportance in the rush of other, much more pleasing feelings.
Her husband didn’t answer her — hell, he was incapable of words at that point. All that mattered was making Gillian his own, bonding with her, joining with her until they ceased to be two entities and were one.
Gillian uttered his name in a brief shriek and arched up beneath him. Sunlight exploded behind his eyes as he drove into her one last time, crushing her beneath him, pulling her into his soul just as surely as she pulled him into hers. Noble and Gillian ceased to exist; there was only a united pair. Together, joined, one body, one breath, one heartbeat.
An eon later Gillian gave a contented sigh, and wrapped her arms around the man lying limp on top of her. Her husband. Her life. Her Lord of Lovers. Forever he would be hers and hers alone. She stroked one hand down the damp muscled planes of his back and sent profusions of thankful prayers heavenward. Suddenly her hand paused.
“Noble?” She nudged him. He didn’t move.
Oh lord, she had killed him!
“Noble?” Her voice rose to a near scream. He bucked upward and sucked in one huge breath like a drowning man surfacing for air. Gillian was surprised there was any oxygen left in the room.
“I thought I had killed you!” she cried with relief, and placed a cautious hand over his heart. It was beating madly.
“You almost did,” he replied grittily; then, grinning, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them both onto their sides.
“It’s amazing how well we fit together, don’t you think? Considering how very large you are and all.”
“Mmm.”
She snuggled into his chest and let a languorous sigh of fulfillment escape. “When can we do it again?”
Noble drew a deep breath. “I might have recovered enough to give it another try in eight or nine years. We’ll have to see how it goes.”
Gillian tipped back her head to see whether or not he was jesting. His eyes were closed, but the corners of his mouth were quirked.
She snuggled back onto his shoulder. He was jesting.
“…and that is how I met your father. Isn’t it a romantic story?” Gillian strolled with Nick and the two dogs around the rose garden early the following morning. Nick peeked at her out of the corner of his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. Gillian had realized that something was seriously troubling her new son but was content to let him come to her with the problem rather than force him to tell her his woes. Mothers, after all, had an instinct about such things. He would come to her in his own time and explain everything.
“Oh, dear, Piddle, I don’t think the gardener is going to appreciate that.” Gillian ignored the soft snicker beside her and avoided looking at the dogs altogether. She loved them dearly, but they did have a penchant for embarrassing her at the worst time. All she needed now was for Noble to pop up and notice the gift the dog…oh, no, both dogs, had left in the middle of the formal, pristine, not-a-leaf-out-of-place garden.
“My lady—”
Gillian shrieked at the deep voice behind her and spun around, clutching her heart to keep it from flinging itself out of her chest.
“Lord, Tremayne…er…which Tremayne are you?”
“I am Tremayne the butler, my lady.”
“Oh, Tremayne Two. Well, Tremayne, you startled me. Has Lord Weston sent for me?”