Christmas With His Wallflower Wife. Janice Preston

      She’d be the death of him. When had Jane blossomed into this attractive and desirable woman?

       Patience. Patience. We’ve got all night.

      That glimpse of her bosoms was nearly his undoing. How he longed to dive in there and see…touch…taste. But he reined in his passion. A Herculean task when her hand splayed across his chest and her eyes darkened, her tongue flicking out to moisten her lips. He desperately tried to think of something else, to distract him from all that warm, sweet-smelling female flesh within his grasp, but it was nigh on impossible. He was an experienced lover, but this…this was different. It was erotic in a way that coupling with the most beautiful of partners had never been; partly due to her innocence and knowing he would be her first, but mainly—and this surprised him most of all—it was that she was his wife. It was new and it was scary, but it was sensual at the same time. He, who had always prided himself on his independence and his need for no one, was aroused by the bond that now linked them together for the rest of their lives.

      A groan tore free from deep, deep within him—and he reached for her again, sliding his hands across her shoulders to hook his thumbs inside the neck of her nightgown. Gently he slipped the bodice from her shoulders, exposing her breasts—so much fuller than he would have imagined given her slender figure—round and firm, with dusky pink nipples at their peaks. He held the bunched fabric at her waist as his other hand drifted over the soft curve of her breast, his fingers closing around perfection, kneading gently.

      ‘I didn’t expect—’ He fell silent as Jane tensed, even more drastically than before. This time, she was as rigid as a statue carved from stone. He released her breast and lowered his hand. ‘What is it, Janey?’

      She shook her head, mute, but he could feel her distress.

      ‘I won’t hurt you. You know that, don’t you?’

      She nodded.

      But she didn’t believe it yet…he could tell. He reined in his rampant desire, curbing his needs.

      ‘Come. Let me warm you.’ He tugged her nightgown up to cover her again and then drew her into his arms, holding her until she stopped trembling.

      ‘I’m sorry, Alex.’ She stepped back, holding her nightgown close, covering her breasts.

      ‘You have no need to fear me, Janey. I will never force you to do anything until you are ready.’

      She searched his face. ‘I know. I am being foolish.’

      He shook his head. ‘You are not foolish.’

      She held out her hand and he took it and followed when she led him to the bed, her breaths short and sharp in the silence. He did not fool himself it was passion that quickened her breathing. They lay down, side by side, and he turned to her, resting his hand on her ribcage, beneath her breasts. He leaned over and kissed her, ignoring the clamour of his own body to possess her. To possess his wife. He could be patient. There was no hurry.

      He focused his mind and his senses on the pleasure of kissing. Just kissing. He explored her mouth without haste, teasing responses from her until she was relaxed and following his lead, their tongues dancing, the occasional low moan vibrating in her throat. He stroked her face…her hair, neck, shoulders, arms…until she embraced him, her fingers threading through his hair. Still he held his passions on a tight rein, waiting for the right moment.

      Her restless shift on the bed was his cue and he brushed the side of her breast. She turned slightly, pressing into his touch. Her breasts were still covered as he stroked and caressed, slowly nearing her nipple. He pinched lightly and she gasped into his mouth.

      ‘Was that good?’

      ‘Yes.’

      She gasped again as he gently flicked, then moaned as he bent his head and licked her nipple through the fabric, turning it transparent, the darker areole visible when he raised his head to look.

      ‘Beautiful,’ he breathed.

      A word he had never linked with Jane before. She had always been…Jane. But seeing her, lying beside him, a smile hovering around her parted lips and her eyelids heavy over passion-filled eyes…it was the exact word he needed. Of a sudden, his throat tightened and his heart skipped a beat.

      Jane.

      Beautiful. Sensual. And his wife.

      But frightened, too.

      The responsibility…his obligation to another human being…almost sent him fleeing from the bed. But then…

      ‘Alex,’ she breathed and pulled his head back to her breast, her fingers tangled in his hair.

      And that fleeting moment of fear…of uncertainty…passed.

      He tugged her nightgown down to expose her breasts again and took his time—licking, suckling and nibbling, smoothing and stroking her silken skin until she was moving restlessly and moaning softly. He moved so he half-covered her and gathered her nightgown at the hem, caressing her exposed leg, from shin to knee to thigh to hip. Again, he went slowly despite his throbbing desire to bury himself inside her. Again and again he returned to her thighs, stroking inwards and upwards, inch by tantalising inch. His fingers touched her intimate curls and played for a while, tugging gently and twirling. Then one finger slipped between her thighs, sliding along her cleft.

      And she froze.

      ‘Steady, sweetheart. It’s all right.’

      He went back to circling her lower belly. But as soon as he touched between her thighs again she stiffened, a tiny sound of distress escaping her. He’d expected it, but disappointment still coursed through him. He didn’t snatch his hand away, but stroked from between her thighs, across her curls and on to her hip. He kissed her, taking his time, then turned her on to her side to face away from him, unwilling to push her any further tonight. He spooned his body into hers, gritting his teeth against the ache of unfulfilled arousal, and wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her close, knowing she would feel the hardness of his erection against her bottom, knowing she must eventually grow accustomed to him and to his body, hoping she would soon learn she had nothing to fear and that she could trust him to never force her or lose control.

      ‘Sleep, my Honeybee. It’s been a long day.’

      ‘Alex?’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Aren’t we going to…to…?’

      ‘Not tonight. We have the rest of our lives together. There’s no hurry.’

      He willed himself not to drift off. He would wait until his wife slept and then he would go to his own room to sleep.

      He’d thought he was done with those bad dreams that had haunted his childhood and his youth, but they had returned since his arrival at the Abbey. Last night’s nightmare had been even worse—prompted, almost certainly, by Pikeford’s attack. The vision of that animal ripping at Jane’s gown haunted him, as did the sounds—Pikeford’s grunts as she tried to fight him off, the ringing slap, her cries of distress.

      But behind that memory lurked another.

      Bigger. Blacker. Colder.

      Waiting to catch him unawares.

      Waiting for him to sleep.

      Once the soft, even huff of her breathing told him Jane slept, he eased himself away from her warmth and returned to his cold bed to face his nightly ordeal.