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She stilled as the question hit her, as unexpected as the waves had been earlier. Why did James want to know? And why now?

“Almost twelve years.”

“Was it a happy marriage?”

“Yes. Dewi and I got married when we were both seventeen, and we were deeply in love.” She gave a wistful smile. It had been love at first sight between the two of them. Her friends had warned her that such an attraction would fade as quickly as it had come, but it had not. It had only transformed into something deeper and more meaningful. Had he not died so prematurely, they would still be happy today, she had no doubt in her mind. “He used to joke that my parents had chosen my name well.”

“How so?”

Carys blinked. Of course, not speaking Welsh, he wouldn’t know what her name meant. And now she would have to spell it out. Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut?

“It can be translated as ‘beloved’ in your language,” she explained, reddening a little. “And he kept saying that, as his wife, I certainly was loved.”

James pierced her with one of the intense stares she had grown to love. “It’s a beautiful name, and a beautiful sentiment. I can understand why you were happy married to such a man.”

She swallowed hard. Yes, she had been more than happy with Dewi, but it felt like so long ago now. Eighteen years, to be precise, which was to say that she had spent much longer being a widow than a married woman. Her memories of him had started to fade, and there was no way to stop it. In a few years’ time, she might not remember the way he’d looked when passion stirred him or the sound of his voice. The thought was so depressing that she asked James a question of her own, eager to move the focus away from memories of her life with Dewi.

“What about you?” She knew from Branwen that he was a widower, too, but she didn’t know much more.

He sighed and lay on the blanket, next to her. For a moment she thought he would not answer but then he started to talk, his eyes on the sky above, his voice flat.

“I met my wife, Joanne, when I was eighteen. Just like you with Dewi, I knew immediately she would be the woman I would marry, and she would make me a happy man. And for almost twenty years, she did. I woke up every morning thinking I had been right to follow my instinct.”

Carys could not help a smile because she remembered that feeling all too well. The certainty of being with the person you were meant to be with, the comfort it brought you, the happiness. As soon as she had met Dewi, she’d known they were destined to be together and every day she had thanked her lucky stars she had not listened to the people who had tried to caution her against a hasty decision. Sometimes your heart did know better and you were rewarded for following it.

She stole a glance at James, who was still looking at the sky. What she felt when she was with him was different to what she had felt with her husband, but no less potent. The only difference was, she wasn’t sure where it would lead. With Dewi, she had not asked herself any questions. They would marry and have a family together. That was what young people did, the only satisfying way forward she could see. But now … A woman her age, with two grown daughters, could do what she wanted. Supposing she knew what it was she wanted, of course. Right now, she wasn’t sure.

Confused, she decided to lie down, like James. High above, a cloud was hurrying toward the sun, pushed by the sea breeze. Would it run past it, dimming its brilliance for a moment?

“Do you have any children?” she asked.

There was a long pause. Then two words, terrible. “Not anymore.”

After that there was nothing to say.

When she moved, the sand under the blanket shifted, allowing her to mold her body into a soft cocoon. This was delicious, so delicious that after a moment she feared she would fall asleep. Not wanting to waste her first day at the sea sleeping, Carys stood back up, intent on returning to the edge of the water, which had indeed come closer during their discussion.

As she placed her foot down, a small bolt of pain shot through her foot. What was that? And how had she not felt it before?

“Ow, I think I must have stepped on something sharp earlier,” she said, sitting back down.

“Probably a broken shell. It can happen all too easily on sand. Let me see.”

Without waiting for her agreement, James lifted her foot up for inspection. She thought perhaps she should protest but she did not. Where was the harm in it? As he examined her foot she watched him. His dark eyes were focused, his jaw set. There was something about a man who didn’t smile, she decided. It made his demeanor even more manly. Irresistible.

“Yes, there is a cut, here.” His finger brushed a spot just below her big toe. Had she been ticklish she might have wiggled away. As she was not, she simply enjoyed the caress. “It’s not very big. You likely didn’t feel it earlier because of the cold of the sea. Not to worry, it should heal easily enough.”

While he was speaking, his hand had started to creep up on her leg. His finger was no longer on the cut but halfway up her calf, and showing no sign of stopping.

“What are you doing?” she croaked, unable to do as she ought and snatch her leg away.

“Touching you.”

Yes, well, this much she could feel. What she was wondering was why. “You shouldn’t be doing that.”

The mouth that never smiled curled up at the corner. “You’re right. I should be licking you.”

With those shocking words, James brought her feet to his mouth and kissed the bone on her ankle. Carys inhaled sharply. Still, she didn’t move, and the lips slid upward slowly, trailing a path of fire along her calf. What was the man doing? And why was she not protesting? Because it felt too good, that was why.

Heavenly.

“Mm, you taste of salt and sun-warmed skin,” he growled. “Let me feast on the rest of you.”

Possibly because no one had ever demanded such a thing from her, she didn’t respond. What could she have said anyway?

Yes , the answer that had immediately come to mind, was too scandalous by far. No, too absurd, and a lie. She did want him to feast on her. You’re not serious would be too na?ve, because there was no mistaking his intent. He had spoken in earnest. Please could surely be?—

In her confusion, Carys left it too long and he took her silence for agreement. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he nudged her backward until she was lying on the blanket once more. It seemed he would have her comfortable while he explored her body.

“Yes. Salt. Sun. Cream. Honey. Silk. Woman.” Each word was punctuated by a kiss. Each kiss took him closer to the place between her thighs that felt impossibly swollen. Soon he would reach it and see how wet she was. There would be no hiding it. Anticipation was coursing through her veins. If he didn’t stop he would get to taste the desire dripping from her.

He didn’t stop.

Her dress and shift were gathered up and the sea breeze came to tease her intimate folds. There was no doubting this was what he intended to kiss next. Her whole body tensed. How long had it been since a man had not pleasured her thus?

Too long.

The first lick made her eyes roll into the back of her head. There was nothing tentative about it. James took his time and, very slowly, very deliberately, used the flat of his tongue to trace a path from the bottom to the top of her womanly seam. When he reached the place at the apex of her thighs he kissed it and groaned, like a man grateful to have been allowed his favorite treat.

What was he doing to her? No sooner had he started pleasuring her than he had reduced her to a panting, squirming mess. Carys made sounds she hadn’t known she could make, sounds she wasn’t even sure were human. But how could she do otherwise? His tongue, his warm, wicked, delicious, skilled tongue was everywhere at once. Just when she thought his caresses could not get more decadent, he brought it lower, between her buttocks, and started teasing a part of her no one had ever touched before, much less licked.

She bucked so hard she knocked him on the chin.

“Easy, love,” he rasped, placing his hands on her hip bones to hold her in place. “You don’t want to hurt me, not now, not before I have finished what I’m doing.”

“But what you’re doing is?—”

“Delicious. You will have noticed, I hope.”

Oh, yes, she had. Why did he think she had almost snapped her spine in two trying to cope with the sensations?

Just when she thought he could not do anything more scandalous, he did just that. Putting his hands under her knees, he lifted her buttocks high in the air. Carys found herself folded in two, totally exposed to his gaze and mouth—and just as aroused as she was mortified. In that shocking position, he would have access to all her intimate parts. The way his eyes gleamed told her it had been exactly his intention.

“So beautiful.” His voice was darker than it had ever been. A shiver went up her spine. “Ask me to carry on, Carys. Beg me to lick you, everywhere, and make you come.”

“I-I could not,” she whimpered. Was he mad? She would never be able to utter such shameless words, or demand anyone did such a thing.

“Do it in Welsh, if you must. But I won’t start again until you beg me.”

She tried to move, and found that she could not. His hold was as unbreakable as iron chains, even if it didn’t hurt. Being at his mercy was sending her heart in a flurry and setting her bones on fire. And so she did beg. “Please, James.”

The wretched man only smiled. She couldn’t help a groan. Oh, now he was smiling! “Not good enough, sweeting.”

Sweeting? How could he use such a tender endearment considering what he had done to her, what he wanted to make her say, and the way he was holding her? He should be calling her rude names.

True to his words, he did not resume his attentions, merely brought his face closer to her exposed womanhood and gave a growl low in his throat.

“Please, Carys. Ask me to lick you. I’m about to expire from need.”

He was dying? What should she be saying?

“Well, lick me, damn you! Finish what you started. I need your tongue, everywhere, I need to come!”

The words exploded out of her, the most shocking thing she had said in her life. But as soon as she closed her mouth she understood why he had wanted her to beg him. Because as the command left her lips, a flush of moisture rushed between her thighs. She had been aroused a moment ago, she was now positively weeping with need.

Please, put an end to the torture.

“It will be my pleasure,” he said darkly before lowering his head.

His tongue speared straight into her, and heat exploded inside Carys’ skull. He circled her opening slowly, once, twice, a third time with the tip of his tongue. No! This was too delicate, she was too far gone for such teasing. She sank her fingers into his hair to indicate she needed him to be more forceful.

He understood and complied only too readily.

After that she barely knew what he was doing. Pleasure blended into one huge mass of sensations, each more bewildering than the last. Her lower body was numbed, or too sensitive to touch, she wasn’t sure quite which. Perhaps both. Wicked fingers soon joined the dance of his tongue and lips, and at long last, she soared straight out of her body.

Her release was so strong she lost the ability to breathe.

James held her in position for a long moment, murmuring soothing words against her flesh, then lowered her back to the blanket.

“Thank you.”

She wasn’t sure why she was thanking him, and indeed it was a ridiculous thing to say after what had happened, but he tilted his head as if he didn’t see anything odd in it. “ A chroeso .”

And then, very deliberately, his eyes never leaving hers, he licked his lips.

Carys closed her eyes.

While she tried to bring her breathing back to normal, James covered her, rearranging her shift and dress until she was decent again. Reality came back, one sense at a time. The sound of the waves, the cry of the seagulls, the heat of the sun started to register once more.

When she opened her eyes again, James was gazing at her with piercing black eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. Had she really thought him impassible once? That he did not express his every feeling did not mean he did not feel them as strongly as she did. The fire burning in him right now was all too obvious.

“Don’t look at me,” she whimpered.

“I will look at you if I wish. You’re the most—” She stopped him with an arched brow. He could not be saying she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. That could not be, and after the intimacy they had just shared she would not bear to hear such an outrageous lie. A slow smile bloomed on his lips, the sensual lips which only moments ago had been devouring her as if he had never had a woman in his arms before. He had acted like a man acknowledging a challenge and raising to it with dizzying enthusiasm. “You’re the most exquisite woman I’ve ever tasted.”

“Oh!”

The impossible man, giving impossibly shocking compliments! But how could she take issue with what he’d said? She knew full well there were more attractive women around but she had no idea how she tasted, did she? He might be telling the truth, as he knew it. Which hardly helped her hold on to her composure. Who praised women on the taste of their … of their?—

“Come.” James handed his hand out to her, mercifully putting an end to the awkwardness. “I am parched and I’m sure you could do with a drink too. There’s a wineskin of ale in my horse’s saddlebag.”

This return to normality after such an earth-shattering moment could have offended her. In fact, it was what she needed not to dissolve in embarrassment. By behaving as if he’d not just used her body in the most forbidden fashion, he was allowing her not to dwell on it. And she was parched, perhaps because of all the panting, and the moaning, and the screaming. Oh, the screaming. She was certain she had never been quite that vocal with Dewi. But then again, she had been a different woman back then, young and relatively untried. If growing older did one thing for you, it was give you more confidence and the ability to stop worrying about what people might think.

Besides, she was certain James had liked hearing her express her enjoyment.

Accepting his hand, she stood up. But after her powerful release, her legs were too shaky to support her, especially on such an unstable surface. She stumbled and fell into his arms.

“Careful, sweeting. Feeling your delectable body against mine might give me ideas.”

It was only then she realized he had not taken his pleasure. He had lapped at her in a frenzy of lust, brought her to ecstasy and sounded as if he’d thoroughly enjoyed it, but he had not reached his release, or even given himself as much as one stroke.

“You … Would you like me to … You didn’t?—”

“Hush.” The expression on his face changed. He looked almost annoyed, an unexpected reaction, Carys thought. “Worry not about me.”

She wasn’t worried, exactly, but she couldn’t help but wonder at it. What man would refuse her offer? A man who did not truly desire her, that was who.

“You do not want me then?” she said dejectedly. Perhaps he did not, or at least not enough to take her, and that was why he hadn’t liked her asking if she could bring him release.

Her heart sank.

You do not want me then?

James blinked. Had the woman really asked him that after he had pleasured her to within an inch of her life and his control? Couldn’t she see the desire burning in his eyes? Never had he been so consumed with the need to take and plunder a woman’s body. Which was precisely why he could not surrender. He was too far gone, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from spilling inside her if he took her now, and nothing else than this complete possession would satisfy him.

He had not for a moment considered taking himself in hand to release the desire boiling in his spine, already knowing that it would feel hollow after what they had shared. He wanted all of Carys and would not accept less.

The taste of her lingered on his tongue, the scent of her teased his nostrils, the feel of her writhing in his arms already haunted his memory. So sweet, so maddening, so soft. So perfect.

But because of his restraint, she was worried he did not find her desirable. He could not let her think such a thing.

“Of course, I?—”

He was prevented from telling her just how much he wanted her by a series of shrieks coming from behind the dunes. Women and children, by the sound of things, at least a dozen. He felt Carys tense against him and he knew what she would be thinking. Barely a moment ago, she’d been lying on the sand, spread open, and he’d been lapping at her. They could have been seen in that most intimate position. They had almost been.

He tightened his hold around her and murmured in her ear. “It’s all right. No one can know what we just did.”

She didn’t seem convinced and, in truth, she did look flushed and thoroughly ravished. Perhaps the women would venture a guess as to what they had just done. Well, what of it? Far from feeling shame, pride swelled within him. He had been the one giving Carys that glow. It was the most satisfying thing he had done in years.

Rolling up the blanket, he led her toward the trees. He already knew he would place that blanket on his bed tonight and keep it there from now on, as a reminder of the moment they had shared this afternoon.

“Wait here, I’ll get the drink.”

As he reached the horses, a little boy’s head appeared above the crest of the nearest dune. His eyes lit up when he saw the sea and he started to run to it. Carried forward by the momentum, unable to stop himself on the down slope, he went head over heels, rolling until he came to a stop at Carys’ feet. She laughed and helped him up, brushing sand from his hair and clothes with motherly affection.

“That’s what comes from rushing, you little—” He did not understand the word she used and guessed it would have been the Welsh for rascal, or something similar. A smile tugged at his lips. “I understand why you did though. The sea is wonderful, is it not? Are you going for a swim?”

“Get away from the woman, Georgie!” a tall woman, presumably his mother, cried out, once she had made it down the dune in a more controlled manner.

“It’s all right,” Carys gave the little boy a grin. “He didn’t bother me in the least, I assure?—”

“Let go of him, you Welsh barbarian!”

“You have nothing to do here.”

“Don’t even think of touching our children!”

The women, all four of them, surrounded Carys, distrust etched on their faces. It was clear they had identified her as an enemy and, confident in their numeric superiority, were about to unleash their venom onto her. Venom or even possibly physical violence.

James was behind them in the blink of an eye.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked in his best menacing voice, hinting that if there was, he would be all too happy to solve it, but in a manner that might not meet their approval.

The women, who obviously had not seen him amongst the horses and trees, yelped at the interruption. Then the tall one, recognizing him for an Englishman from his speech, stepped forward, hope gleaming in her eyes at the thought of having met an ally.

“Oh, sir, this woman is?—”

“This woman is helping your son putting himself to rights after his fall,” he cut in before she could utter the insult already on her lips. “Do you have a problem with that? Wouldn’t you have done the same?”

“But she’s Welsh!”

“Yes, she is.” This flat, unemotional confirmation seemed to puzzle the woman. She had clearly expected him to agree that Carys was therefore unsuitable to be in the vicinity of young children, in the same way a ferocious ogre would be. He waited. When no other argument was brought forward, he asked: “Are you familiar with Lord Sheridan?”

She arched a brow. “Of course.”

James had guessed she would be. Everyone around here knew Connor Hunter. He commanded respect, but more importantly, he was well-liked and acknowledged as a just and generous lord.

“Well, his brother, Matthew, is married to this woman’s daughter. Welsh as she may be, Branwen ferch Gethin is effectively the new mistress of the place, and a good woman. I don’t think the people at Sheridan Manor would like to hear anyone was stirring trouble about her mother. They might well find themselves having to answer for their actions to her husband and Lord Sheridan himself.”

The women recoiled like frightened birds and he knew he had won. They would leave Carys alone if they ever crossed paths with her again.

“There will be no trouble from us, sir,” a blonde one said, grabbing her tall friend by the elbow as if to urge her to stay silent. “We were only taking the children to the beach, as you can see.”

“Yes. Don’t let us stop you then.”

They hurried away, muttering amongst themselves.

James turned to Carys, who looked more forlorn than he had ever seen her. Damn the women for making her feel this way! She was the happiest, most carefree, loving woman he knew and she’d been made to feel a monster for coming to a child’s rescue. That was bad enough, but their unwarranted attack had wiped the glow from her face, the one he’d been so proud to see only a moment ago.

Now when she remembered her first outing to the sea, she might not think of the water lapping at her toes, or the waves of pleasure crashing through her body when he had devoured her. She might think back to the vile women who’d treated her like dirt. He almost ran to them to ram their words back into their throats.

“Carys, I’m?—”

“Shall we?” she cut in, her voice but a whisper. “I would like to reach Sheridan Manor before nightfall.”