Calhoun 5 - Megan's Mate by Nora Roberts

Author:Nora Roberts
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-03-22T20:27:54+00:00

Chapter 8

She could hear her own heartbeat pounding, pounding, in counterpoint to the rain that pounded against the windows. She wondered whether Nathaniel could hear it, too, and if he did, whether he knew that she was afraid. His arms were so strong, his mouth was so sure each time it swooped down to claim hers again.

He carried her up the stairs as if she weighed no more than the mist that swirled outside the cottage.

She would make a mistake, she would do something foolish, she wouldn't be what either of them wanted. The doubts pinched at her like fingers as he swept her into his bedroom, where the light was dim and the air was sweet with wisteria.

She saw the spear of purple blooms in an old bottle on a scarred wooden chest, the undraped windows that were opened to welcome the moist breeze. And the bed, with its sturdy iron headboard and taut cotton spread.

He set her down beside it, so that she was all too aware of the weakness in her knees. But she kept her eyes on his and waited, terrified and aching, for him to make the first move.

“You're trembling again.” His voice was quiet, the fingers he lifted to stroke her cheek were soothing. Did she think he couldn't see all those fears in her eyes? She couldn't know that they stirred his own.

“I don't know what to do.” The moment the words were out, she closed her eyes.

She'd done it already, she realized. The first mistake. Determined, she dragged his head down to hers for an aggressive kiss.

A fire kindled in his gut, flames leaping and licking at the ready fuel of his need.

Muscles tensed in reaction, he fought back the urge to shove her back on the bed and take, take quickly, fiercely. He kept his hands easy, stroking her face, her shoulders, her back, until she quieted.

“Nathaniel.”

“Do you know what I want, Meg?”

“Yes— No.” She reached for him again, but he caught her hands, kissed them, fingertip by fingertip.

“I want to watch you relax. I want to watch you enjoy.” His eyes on hers, he lowered her hands to her sides. “I want to watch you fill up with me.” Slowly he began to take the pins from her hair, setting them on the table beside the bed. “I want to hear you say my name when I'm inside you.”

He combed his fingers through her hair, contenting himself with the silky texture. “I want you to let me do all the things I've been dreaming of since I first laid eyes on you. Let me show you.”

He kissed her first, his mouth soft, smooth, seductive. Endlessly patient, he parted hers with teasing nips and nibbles, with the persuasive caress of his tongue. Degree by torturous degree, he deepened the kiss, until her hands clutched weakly at his waist and her shudders gave way to pliancy.

Hie lingering taste of brandy, the faint and very male scrape of a day's beard against her cheek, the patter of rain and the drifting scent of flowers.

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