Heated blood sang in her veins as she plied cloth to his broad chest, soaping his shoulders, breastbone, and ribs. Taut nipples poked through the bubbly lather. He appeared to be just as affected as she by the pleasant sensations.
She dipped her hand lower, following the dark path of hair leading from his navel to the water’s edge. Just below the surface bobbed a fleshy thickness. The breath caught in her throat. It was her first glimpse of a man’s most intimate part. A frisson of excitement and apprehension ploughed through her. Annabelle had warned that her first joining would be painful. But the pleasure to follow would be worth the fleeting pain.
She drew in a breath and then another, feeding her starving lungs. She itched to touch him, to hold him, to feel the swell of his building desire. She inched her hand lower and lower, until—
Stephen snagged her fingers in a tight grip. “God, Victoria. You play with fire.”
A fire banked with red-hot coals. She glanced at him through lowered lids, taunting him. “But I like playing with fire.”
A moan rumbled in the back of his throat. “If you keep this up, I won’t be able stop, even if I wanted to.”
“Why would you want to stop?”
He relaxed his grip and brushed a finger over the top of her exposed breast. “You could tempt a saint to sin, Victoria Manning.”
“Ah, well then, Saint Stephen.” She dropped the cloth into the water with a resounding plop. “Sin with me.”
“Willful wench.” He slipped the dressing robe off one shoulder and caressed her bared skin. “Take off that robe and join me.”
“In the tub?” Her pulse tripped at the thought. “Is there enough room for the both of us?”
“There’s plenty of room.” He sat straighter, the bath water sloshing around him. “Come. I’ll show you.”
Her lower belly quickened as if knowing what was to come. She undid the sash and wiggled out of the robe until it puddled at her feet. Cool air swirled around her, and gooseflesh pimpled over her bared skin. She shuddered, more from the bonfire that erupted in Stephen’s gaze than from the chilly air.
“God, you’re beautiful. I can hardly wait to feel you against me.”
Her knees trembled. The endgame seemed far less certain than the battle. She gave a nervous little laugh. “What do you want me to do?”
“Step in and put your feet on either side of me.”
She did as he directed, and then his hands were on her hips, urging her down. He centered her body over him and guided her onto his lap. His staff nudged at her folds, wanting to go in, fully ready to do so.
“There. Plenty of room.”
Warm water lapped at her skin. She licked her lips, eager to experience the splendor of lovemaking, yet fearing it at the same time.
Stephen gave her waist a reassuring squeeze. “Your turn now, sweetheart.”
“My turn?”
“For a bathing.” He fished the cloth and soap from the water and worked up a thick lather. He spread it over her shoulders, taking his time, his sensual movements calculated to exact the fullest retribution. “Did you know...a woman’s body is much like a battlefield.”
The prickle and slide of cotton over her skin wiped her mind clean. All she could think about was the path of his assault.
He swirled a soapy finger across her collar bone and down to a breast where he circled the raised nub. “Peaked mounds perfect for observing the battle.” He brought her nipple to him and kissed it. “You taste soapy, but good.”
Ripples of warmth grabbed and tugged at her. She groaned and tipped back her head, savoring the sensation.
He stroked down to her belly, his fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Flat planes optimal for the clash of combatants.”
Were they battling? If so, she was already torched and scorched.
His fingers drifted south and tangled in the small curls. “A forest for concealing a soldier cut off behind enemy lines.” He dipped a finger inside her. “And a cave that must be slowly and carefully breached in order to protect the treasure held within.”
Heat swelled between her legs. With a moan, she braced her hands on his stomach and threw back her shoulders. She moved upon him and felt him stir where they were nestled together. Her fear ebbed, leaving only desire in its place.
His ebony eyes turned molten. “Slowly,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, hungry. “Need to go…slow. Wait until you’re ready.”
She was ready, more than ready. So was he. She shifted her grip to the sides of the tub and rose up. Only one way to meet an invasion. She thrust down upon his staff.
A deep cry bolted out of her. She felt tearing inside. A stab of pleasure and pain. It was bitter sweet.
“Good…God.” Stephen surged upward to meet her. “Wait.” He locked his hands around her hips and held tight, panting, his face contorted. “Don’t move, or this will be amazingly…brief.”
The hot flower of pain wilted. A feeling of fullness sprouted in its place, putting out roots, surging for the sun.
Stephen’s hands clenched around her, then relaxed. “God, Victoria. You’ll be the death of me. Does it hurt?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Yes. It feels…strange.”
He took a deep, ragged breath. “I wanted this to be slow and magical.”
Magical. He need not worry. Her insides were blooming with enchantment. She shifted her hips, searching for something that seemed just out of reach.
“Stay still, love. I’ll try to go slow.”
His fingers slid down to open her soft, sensitive parts. He eased himself deeper inside. Pleasure folded around his entry. She gasped and arched her hips to meet it.
“Softly, sweetheart. Wait.”
“I…I can’t.”
“You can. Go gently.” He pressed her down to him, holding her still. “We’re in no hurry.”
She didn’t try to answer. Couldn’t. An overwhelming sense of urgency gripped her. A frantic need to ride upon him. It was impossible to keep still. A forest of light grew around her. Building. Intensifying.
He must have felt the change within her. He loosened his grip and let her move upon him. She rocked her hips back and forth. Her insides smoldered and caught fire. She increased her pace, rushing toward the promise of something wonderful.
Stephen gasped and thrust upward, pushing deep inside. Yes. Yes. Yes. She threw back her head and cried out, joining him at the pinnacle of pleasure.
****
The Meeting Hall resembled a botanical garden and smelled just as sweet. Lily of the valley, tuberoses, and spirea adorned the ribbon-wrapped columns, windows, and the massive chandeliers. White roses formed a large bell that hung over a raised dais placed in front of a bank of windows. Hundreds of elegantly dressed guests milled about, chatting softly as they awaited the wedding procession. Victoria sighed and fingered her store-bought gown. She was as out of place as a crow in a songbird aviary.
Earlier, Mr. Hammond had come upon her and Stephen in the hotel lobby and had invited her to attend the wedding as his guest. Had begged, actually. Said he needed her presence to help bolster his confidence. She couldn’t refuse his earnest entreaty. So, she’d gone home and changed into her Sunday best, which wasn’t anywhere close to the elegant gowns being worn by the American royalty in attendance. Hopefully the service would be over quickly, and she and Stephen could slip away unnoticed.
“Are you all right, Miss Manning? It is overly warm in here with this mad crush and the windows and curtains pulled shut.”
She turned to face her companion, Sir Edward Thornton, the British Ambassador, who was standing in for the absent Hammond family. “Stephen told me General Babcock ordered the windows and curtains closed. To keep the newspapermen from intruding.”
“Stephen?”
“My fiancé. Lieutenant Byrne. He was assigned to look after Mr. Hammond.”
“Ah, Lieutenant Byrne. A fine officer and gentleman. When is your wedding?”
“In two weeks.” She waved a hand to encompass the room. “It won’t be anywhere near as grand as this. But we’re happy with our plans.”
And she was happy. Flowers and cakes and decorations didn’t matter. What mattered was that she and Stephen would soon be bound together. Forever. That could happen in a barn full of animals for all she cared. As long as she had her love by her side.
She turned to locate him in the press of bodies. He and dozens of other Army officers had formed a human corridor running from the entrance to the raised dais. He was easy to pick out among the uniformed men. His broad shoulders and dark, glistening mane were as familiar to her as the back of her hand. Her blood heated as she recalled their night together. The way his hands had played over her body. Like a piano maestro plying ivory keys. He’d taken her from the soft opening notes to the crashing climax with little effort. And she had many, many more nights just like that awaiting her.
A hush fell over the crowd, and Mr. Hammond entered the room, dressed in a stylish black evening suit. His expression was peaceful, almost happy. Good. He should be happy on his wedding day. He and his best man made their way to the dais where they stood at the foot. Mrs. Grover then paraded down the officer-lined corridor with her two sons. She was followed by the bridesmaids, each wearing a white gown trimmed with blue forget-me-nots and pink roses.
A marine band began playing Mendelssohn’s
Wedding March
, and Senator Grover emerged from the doorway with his daughter on his arm. Victoria drew in a breath along with the hundreds of other guests. Nellie looked like a princess in a white satin gown and trailing comet-like train trimmed with Brussels lace. Her face radiated with joy and happiness.
Victoria sighed again. She would experience the same happiness soon. Very soon.
As the pair drew closer, Mr. Hammond moved forward and took Nellie from the Senator. They then stepped up onto the dais and faced the reverend. The music died down and the ceremony began.
Just as she’d hoped, the reverend was soon introducing the newly wed couple to the guests. The smiling pair left the dais and filed down the officer-lined passage, ducking beneath the archway of raised swords. As they disappeared through the door, the meeting hall erupted with conversation and activity.
Victoria backed away from the crush and found a less noisome spot near a marble pillar. She liked people. She just preferred them one at a time.
A warm breath fanned her ear. “Boring wedding reception or a picnic on the river bank?”
She smiled. No choice at all. She turned her head just enough that her lips brushed his. “Will soap be involved at this picnic?”
“All ready stowed in the basket.”
She gave his arm a gentle shove. “Fall in, Lieutenant Byrne. We have a river bank to secure.”
A word about the author...
Donna Dalton lives in Central Virginia with her husband, two sons, and a pitbull mix named Gizmo. An avid reader of historical romance, Donna uses the rich history of the “Old Dominion State” to craft action-packed stories set during and after the American Civil War.
Visit her at
www.donnadalton.net
or on Facebook at DonnaDaltonbook.
Thank you for purchasing
this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.