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This time her smile is small, soft. It fills me with a fierce sense of pride.
“Perhaps I’ve found my new calling after all.”
It turns into one of those evenings that drags on for eons yet speeds by in the blink of an eye. We dip into cheese and roasted vegetables as Juliette shares stories of her days at a college in Missouri and I counter with my experiences at Oxford. We laugh, smile, bond over shared memories and an intimacy I’ve never experienced before. Our hands brush, linger. The heat that has existed between us ever since that moment in the hotel grotto, a moment that feels ancient and new, simmers, deepens with the confidences we’ve shared, the vulnerabilities we’ve bared.
It’s nearly midnight when we leave. The walk takes us through the village, then past fields of lavender, the heady scent wrapping around us. I give into impulse and pick a sprig. I tuck it behind her ear, my fingers lingering for a heartbeat in the silky tendrils of her hair. The smile she gives me winds its way around my heart. This time I don’t fight it. I enjoy it. I grasp her hand in mine as we walk down the star-dusted path.
Mine.
My fingers tighten on her as a need surges forth. Not just a need to feel her bare beneath me, surrounding me. But a need to be with her.
When she stops and turns to me and lifts her face to mine, my body stills as moonlight paints silver light across her face.
“Kiss me, Gavriil.”
I’m not strong enough to resist that. But when her arms slide up my chest, when she presses her body against mine in an obvious invitation, I stop her. She pulls back.
“If you don’t—”
“I do.” I hold her against my body, her eyes widening as she feels the evidence of my arousal against her hips. “But I want to do this right.”
She sighs. “It’s hard not to like you when you’re so noble.”
I scoop her up into my arms, savoring her delighted laugh as I carry her across the gangplank onto the ship.
“Not completely noble.”
I carry her to my suite. I ignore any lingering whispers of why this is a bad idea, why I should take her to her room instead of mine.
I’ve spent too many nights with her just out of reach. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. But for tonight, at least, my wife is where she needs to be. In my arms.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Juliette
IBARELYREGISTERthe opulence of the two-story suite Gavriil carries me into. Not when I’m focused on the man holding me in his arms like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever held. Not after he listened to every single doubt, every insecurity I’ve ever had, and accepted me for it.
He sets me on my feet. I reach out, grab the string on his pants, and pull. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move as the pants fall, leaving him naked. I trace my fingers over him. Pure feminine satisfaction rolls through me as he hardens under my touch. His sharp inhale makes me look up. His face is calm, smooth.
Except for his eyes. His eyes burn.
“You’re a tease, Juliette.”
I prove him right by kissing the pulse throbbing at the base of his throat. My lips drift down over the ridges of his chest as my fingers trace teasing circles on his thighs. Every tensing of muscle, every sharp inhale, fills me. Seduces me.
I know, as I move lower still, that I’ve completely surrendered to him. My husband. One year from now I have no doubt my heart will be shattered. But I can no more stop my desire, my feelings for him, than I could stop the moon from crossing the sky. Not when he has given me so much in just a few short days. A man who has known hell and yet encouraged me. Believed the best in me when I couldn’t see anything but bad.
I swallow past the lump in my throat as I wrap my fingers around him. My hand moves down, up, then down again. I lean forward and take him in my mouth. His groan fills me. His hands sink into my hair. I feel like a goddess as I move my lips over him, feeling the effect my touch has on him.
Suddenly, he steps back and kicks his pants away.
“My turn.”
He scoops his hands under my arms and moves me back to the middle of the bed before I can utter a protest. He has me on my back in seconds. He covers my mouth with his, another possessive kiss, but one with a touch of sweetness that makes tears burn beneath closed eyes. For a moment, I wish. Wish for more than this night, for more than a year.
One hand settles on my breast, gentle yet firm. I arch up beneath his touch. Whether we have just the remaining nights of our honeymoon or the rest of our contracted time together, I will take everything he has to give and never regret surrendering to him.
He moves farther down my body, worshipping my breasts with tender kisses and teasing strokes of his tongue that send me hurtling to the edge of reason. I shift, moving my thighs, my body seeking him out.