The Soldier's Rebel Lover

‘And I, too.’ She smoothed her hand over his chest. She felt his heart leap, beat faster than before. Longing, so deep that it was almost painful, overwhelmed her. ‘I have so many regrets, Finlay. I don’t want this to be another. Make love to me.’

‘Isabella...’

‘Please,’ she interrupted, desperate to quell his conscience before it could put an end to things. ‘This has nothing to do with gratitude or guilt, Finlay. I know what I am doing. You will not be stealing my innocence. I am giving it to you. I know you want me. I know, too, that it can mean nothing.’

‘You’re wrong. Isabella, you are so wrong. It means everything. But I can’t resist you. I don’t want to resist you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.’

* * *

He loved her so much. I love you, he thought as he kissed her. I love you, Isabella, I love you. He poured his heart into his kisses. It would be his only chance to love her, to worship her, to show her how he felt. He kissed her hungrily, passionately, then softly, tenderly. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he said. ‘I want you so much.’ I love you so much.

He rolled her onto her back. He kissed her mouth, her throat, her neck, her shoulders, the mounds of her breasts above the neckline of her riding habit. She tugged at his shirt, slipping her hands beneath the fabric to stroke his skin, making his muscles clench in response, sending the blood shooting to his groin.

He eased her up, sitting her between his legs, and kissed the nape of her neck. Slowly, he began to unbraid her hair, teasing it loose with his fingers. Long, silken strands spread over her shoulders. He pulled her up against him, her back against his chest, cupping her breasts, kissing her neck, then began to unlace her riding habit, taking his time, planting kisses on every inch of skin revealed, slipping the top over her arms, kissing her shoulders, the crook of her elbows, before unlacing her stays and sliding her chemise down. He kissed the knot of her spine. He could feel her breathing, fast and shallow. He cupped her breasts, exposed now, rolling her nipples between his fingers, relishing the small moans of pleasure his touch elicited.

Hot skin, cold air. He pulled his shirt over his head and drew her back against him. The silken touch of her hair caressed his chest. He whispered her name, feathering kisses across her narrow shoulders. She arched back against him, her breathing more ragged. He wanted to see her face. Gently, he rolled her onto her back again. Another long, deep kiss, her tongue on his, making his shaft pulse and throb. He ached to be inside her, but he would not rush this, his one unique opportunity to make love to the woman he loved.

‘You are a banquet,’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘A feast.’

Her response was a sensuous smile that sent his pulses racing. She ran her hands over the breadth of his chest, pressing her mouth to his throat. ‘You are not the only one with an appetite.’

‘I have never been so ravenous in my life,’ Finlay replied, taking her nipple into his mouth.

She gasped with pleasure. He tasted her lingeringly, licking and teasing her, first one nipple and then the other. Her fingers dug into his back. She arched under him. He kissed the delicate line of her ribcage, licking into the hollow of her navel, murmuring her name over and over. Her hands fluttered frantically over him, her untutored touch rousing him, the guttural little moans she made heating his blood, making his pulses race.

He pulled her habit and her petticoats off together. Her skin was creamy white in the moonlight. Her slim beauty, her delicate curves, were almost too much. ‘You are so lovely. I have never seen anything to match your loveliness,’ he said. He kissed the back of her knee, her calf, her ankle, as he removed her stocking. Then the same for the other leg. Isabella was watching him, wide-eyed, intent. He adored the way she watched him. Not a trace of modesty, as if she, too, was savouring every precious moment, as if she, too, was trying to memorise every inch of him. He could not resist claiming her lips again. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her naked breasts to his naked chest. Her nipples grazed his skin. He had never felt anything so arousing.

More kisses, far headier than any of the region’s wine. He could drink of her and drink of her and never have his fill. Easing her back down, he kissed his way down her body, the valley between her breasts, the dip of her belly, to the apex of her thighs. She was panting now, her fingers clutching at the edge of the blanket on which they lay. The flesh here was sweet, soft, faintly scented with her arousal. He eased her legs farther apart, and slid his tongue inside her. She bucked under him. The taste of her, the heat and wet of her, was heady.