Jonathan and Amy by Grace Burrowes

Author:Grace Burrowes [Burrowes, Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Historical
ISBN: 9781402279034
Google: jUIrAQAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00FG9GUFO
Barnesnoble: B00FG9GUFO
Goodreads: 18046499
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2014-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

Four

At her first sight of Jonathan Dolan, Amy had liked that he was a brute of a man. Not only tall, but broad shouldered and braced with an ungenteel complement of muscle. He had calluses and scars, he raised his voice on occasion with his business connections, and did not suffer fools. Such a man would take up his responsibilities with competence and determination.

He would dower his poor relations, and from the portraits and sketches on the walls of his office, he had a number of those. As her interview with her prospective employer had progressed, Amy had found him keenly intelligent, a conscientious parent, and unflinching when it came to discussion of difficult subjects—his daughter’s safety, money, Amy’s character. He’d even made her sign a dauntingly lengthy contract.

In a manner many women would not have comprehended, Jonathan Dolan was a brave man.

In the ensuing months, Amy’s estimation of him had risen further. He was not merely conscientious where Georgina was concerned, he was devoted to the child. He could not only discuss money, he could quietly share it with any numbers of charities, and was gruffly generous with Amy herself.

Now she found he was also, beneath his finely tailored attire, gorgeous, a breathtaking specimen who made poor Robert, with his skinny chest and soft hands, look like the mere boy he’d been.

And Jonathan Dolan knew things about generosity that had nothing to do with coin, and everything to do with patience. He brushed his thumb across her palm again.

“I like when you do that.”

“This?” He repeated the gesture, a slow, sweet slide of flesh on flesh.

She turned her head and kissed his forearm. “When you do that with your thumb, you say you want to touch me every way you can.”

He spoke very near her ear, so close she could feel the shape of his breath against her neck. “I want to touch you in ways that haven’t been dreamed of yet—not by you, not by the naughty angels themselves. I want to put my mouth and hands to places on your body that will shock and delight you equally. I want to embolden you with my passion such that you shock and delight me with your own.”

A hint of a brogue had slipped into his voice, giving it a musical quality that counterpointed the undulations of his hips.

“Jonathan, I want to cry.”

He rested his forehead on hers and slowed his thrusts even more. “Hold on to me.”

She wanted to tell him the tears would have been for that girl in the haymow, the one whose back was itchy, who’d watched the wooden pulley hanging from the roof beam creak in the breeze while a selfish boy had fumbled and sneezed over her.

“Hold onto me, Amy.” Jonathan’s voice had taken on a rasp as he repeated the words. She locked her ankles at the small of his back, clutched his hand in hers, and focused her awareness on the slow thrust and retreat of their joined bodies.

A sense of vertigo stole over her, of gravity slipping its moorings.

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