The Soldier's Dark Secret

He pushed the quilt back, putting his arm over hers. The muscles in his back rippled when he moved. His skin was still hot, but dry. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

‘I’m sorry.’ Jack’s voice was muffled, but it was Jack’s voice.

‘Don’t be. Please, don’t be.’ Relief brought tears to her eyes. Stupid. She had nothing to cry about. Her heart ached for him.

He pressed his lips to her fingers. ‘You saved me.’

‘No. You saved yourself.’ She gave him a little shake. ‘You were lost for a moment, Jack, but then you saved yourself. You were angry.’

‘I wanted to kill him.’

‘But you didn’t run away. You were not sick. You were in no danger of fainting. I didn’t save you, Jack, you saved yourself.’

‘But you were there. My aide-de-camp. You didn’t let me down.’

‘No, but if it were not for me, you would not have been here, Jack.’

‘I would have. I told you. For me, as well as for you. Don’t you feel guilty about that. We’ve already enough guilt between us to sink a ship.’ He kissed her fingers again. His mouth was warm. Soft. ‘Thank you.’

‘It was nothing. Please don’t. Oh, Jack, I was so—and you did it. You did it. You passed your test. Such a test. I had no idea. None. I can’t imagine— I was so worried about you—and I didn’t know what to do.’

‘You watched my back, just as I asked you to. You got me out of there in one piece. Thank you,’ he said, stroking her hair.

‘You’re welcome,’ she said as he tilted her chin up. She said absolutely nothing as his mouth descended hungrily on to hers.

Chapter Eleven

Jack closed his eyes, drinking in the sweetness of her lips, the lushness of her mouth, savouring the soft, pliant contours of her body as Celeste wrapped her arms around him. ‘You got me out unscathed,’ he said again.

‘You saved yourself.’

He had. His anger had saved him. It was not his condition that had sent him into a tailspin, but his railing against it. He had saved himself, and Celeste had been there at his side to rescue him. He had only a hazy memory of the journey from the Great Hall to his bedchamber, but he knew he wouldn’t be here without her help. He ached with longing for her. He wanted her so much. He needed her so much. He had not the strength or the will to resist her any more. He kissed her deeply. He trailed kisses over her eyes. He licked the tears from her salty cheeks. He pushed a damp tendril of hair back from her brow, and kissed the flutter of pulse at her temple.

She pushed at the bedcovers, which were tangled between them. He kicked them away. Her eyes were like gold in the candlelight. Her hair was pale as milk. He kissed her again. Such heady kisses she gave him back, filling him with a longing that seemed to come from deep within him.

He kissed her neck. He kissed the swell of her breasts. He cupped them through her gown. She shuddered. She flattened her palms over his chest. Skin against skin. Naked skin. He wanted to meld himself to her. He wanted to drown in her, and damn the consequences. He ached to have her wrapped around him, to dive into her and to lose himself there for ever. Safe. Lost. The kind of oblivion he was no longer capable of resisting.

He kissed her again, his tongue tracing the shape of her mouth, his hands tracing the shape of her breasts. He was ready, more than ready, but he wanted more. He did not want it to end. He wanted to show her how much she mattered to him, how much he wanted her, how very much.

He kissed her mouth lingeringly, then eased himself from her, putting his finger to her lips when she protested. He moved down her body, pressing kisses all the way before parting her legs to kneel between them, raising her skirts.

He kissed the skin between her stocking and her undergarments, undoing her garters. He kissed her slim calf, her ankle, before taking her stocking off. He could see the rise and fall of her breasts. He could hear her shallow breath. He took off her other stocking. He leaned over her to kiss her mouth again. Then slipped his hands under the delightful curve of her rear, and eased off her pantaloons.

When he covered her sex with his mouth, she cried out. He stilled her, laying a hand on her stomach to ease her back on to the bed. Then he licked into the hot, wet sweetness of her, and the cry she gave this time was guttural.

He took his time. Tasting. Licking. Sucking. Stroking. Kissing. He took his time because he wanted to show her how very much he wanted her. Her breathing was ragged, like his own. The taste of her, the scent of her, the softness of her, made him so hard. He felt her tighten, sensed the change in her breathing, fastened his mouth on her as she swelled, and held on to her as she came, her fingers clutching at his shoulders, her heels digging into the mattress, saying his name over and over.

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