breath for one word at a time.
‘I thought you were nervous. Shy. Flustered.’ He shrugged and the robe gaped more. Kate held her breath. ‘I did not want to pressure you.’
‘Of course I was…am shy. I do not know you. We have never even kissed, let alone…that. How am I supposed to feel?’
‘You are not a virgin,’ Grant pointed out. He looked faintly wary, she was glad to see. So he should be. He is lucky I am not throwing The Caledonian Bandit by Miss Smith at his head. It is all it is fit for.
‘Clearly not.’ She had her breath back now the robe had ceased its descent. ‘But I am not at all experienced. I…I became pregnant very quickly.’ She tried to recall what she had told him about her lover. Lying was so alien and so difficult. ‘And we could not meet often.’
‘I’m not a virgin, either, of course. I don’t expect you to hold that against me. But you are not at all experienced?’ He seemed to be pleased by that. Men were strange creatures.
‘Yes. I mean, no.’ It had been lovely to be in Jonathan’s arms, to be able to show her feelings for him, of course it had. While it lasted, before disillusion set in. But even at the height of her short-lived infatuation he had never made her feel so agitated, so confused as this did. And it had not been such a wonderful experience that she was desperate to repeat it, so why did she want Grant to shrug off that robe, come to bed and just— ‘So, yes, I was apprehensive. I am still. But now I think it would be better to simply get it over with.’
‘Get it over with,’ Grant repeated, his voice flat. ‘Your expectations do not appear to be very high.’ His hands had gone to the ties of his robe. Now they stilled.
‘I am sure you make love very nicely,’ Kate said politely, wishing the soft feather mattress would simply swallow her up. Now she had insulted him. No man was going to take well the suggestion that his lovemaking was anything but magnificent. Very nicely? Of all the things to say…
‘I have not had any complaints recently.’ Grant straightened up from his relaxed slouch against the bedpost.
Recently? From his mistress, I suppose. Does that mean his late wife… Pride made her bite back the question. ‘I just thought it would be better to—’
‘Get it over with. Yes, I grasp the point that flirting and courting and giving you time to get accustomed to me may not be the best way to go about this and that you really wish it was all over.’ He stood up and tugged the knot in the sash free. ‘But you do wish me to come to your bed?’
‘Yes. Of course. Lights?’ It came out as a squeak. The branch of candles was still alight on her dressing table and the little oil lamp by the bed cast a warm, but revealing, glow over the snowy expanse of sheets.
‘We have confided that neither of us is a virgin. I think we can cope with the shock of nudity.’ Grant shrugged off the robe. He sounded less than happy.
Kate closed her eyes, then, when there was no sound of movement, opened them again. Grant was standing there, hands on lean hips, waiting, she supposed, for her to faint, scream or dive under the covers. She did none of those things, just stared at his admirably flat stomach, then, when she thought her breathing was under control, let her gaze slide lower.
He was not as aroused as he had been in the drawing room when he had been sucking her finger, but then he was probably finding her so infuriating that it was killing his desire. Kate realised suddenly that she did not want that. She wanted Grant to make love to her, here, now and with enthusiasm. His eyebrows lifted as she threw back the covers, reached for the hem of her nightgown and dragged it over her head in one ungainly movement.
When she made herself meet his gaze she found he had not moved, but the green eyes were dark beneath lowered lids and his mouth was curved into a crooked smile that held both approval and a promise.
‘Right from when we first met, I knew you had courage,’ Grant said as he closed the distance between them. He lay down beside her and, to her enormous relief, pulled the covers up over their bare bodies. She was very aware that the last time she had lain with a man she had not given birth to a child and that this man had once been married to a woman who, if Kate had discovered nothing else about her, had been a beauty.
The warmth of his body as he lay beside her was comforting, but her nerves were jangling and she just wished he would get on with it. ‘Have you changed your mind?’ she asked.
‘No.’ Grant turned so he was on his side facing her and moved closer, until the evidence of just how much he had not thought better of this was branding itself to her hip. ‘I was giving you the opportunity to dive out of the other side of the bed if you had changed yours.’
Afterwards Kate had no idea whether it had been nerves, hysteria or simply her old sense of the ridiculous reasserting itself, but she found herself laughing. ‘Like a scene in a French farce,’ she managed between gasps of mirth. ‘In and out of bedrooms, in and out of bed…’
‘You have obviously been watching far more risqué farces than I have,’ Grant said with a grin, and then, before she had stopped laughing, before the nerves could seize her again, he rolled her on to her back and kissed her.
Kate was open-mouthed on a gasp of laughter and Grant took advantage of her parted lips to take possession, his tongue sliding in to stroke hers, his lips warm and firm and demanding. For a first kiss it was anything but tentative, but nor was it impatiently demanding. Here I am, Grant seemed to be saying. I want you, you want me. Shall we?
Her body knew the answer, it seemed. Her arms curled around his neck, pulling him closer as her tongue stroked against his. Yes. He felt so different, so new. Taller and more muscular than Jonathan, his hands slower, yet more assured, his taste absolutely new and very arousing. Her hands slid over his shoulder and the right one encountered long, rough tracks of scar tissue. Grant shrugged away from her touch and she took the hint, curling her fingers around his neck instead. Then she forgot all about scars.
When Grant broke the kiss, gathering her in against his chest, she rubbed her cheek against the dusting of coarse hair, learning his scent. Citrus from the soap he had washed with, a faint hint of leather, a distant tang of brandy, a musk that was very male, very much him. The scent she remembered from that long desperate night when he had sat close beside her and she had clung to his hand, patterning it with bruises, spiced now with arousal.
‘That tickles,’ he said, his voice a rumble under her cheek. His hands were beginning to stray, down over her hips, up across her ribs, curving around her buttocks. Kate let her own fingers wander, exploring the flat stomach, dipping into his naval, which made him gasp with laughter, running up and down the thicker line of hair, not daring to follow it all the way.
Grant seemed content to let her roam, but his own hands became more purposeful, stroking up over the curve of her breasts, rubbing across her nipples just enough to make them peak and tingle, then down to brush the curls at the apex of her thighs.
Kate began to move, restless, and found her fingers were gripping Grant’s hips. Jonathan had been faster, more urgent, rougher. Did Grant not want her with the same desire?
His lips closed over one aching nipple and she moaned, arching up against him. She felt his lips curve into a smile and then shivered with nerves as he shifted and pressed one hand gently between her thighs, opening her.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said, the words vibrating against the
