Viridian (The Hundred-Days Series Book 2) (39 page)

Ty’s hands spread the two sides of
her coat, taking a slow path from her shoulders to her waist, the heat of his
touch through her dress magnified by the rush of cool air in the drafty house.
The rough pad of one finger crossed her throat, at the border of her collar,
bringing her eyes open.

His lips twitched.

“Something amuses you?”

“I cannot recall ever seeing so
little
of you. Covered from chin to ankle.”

She arched a brow for effect,
understanding what he meant and happy to give him trouble for it. “You object
to a modest wife?”

Ty shook his head, smoothing the
white muslin over her belly and lower, until she gasped.

He nodded, looking pleased. “It's
having an agreeable effect.”

His teasing, as much as his
touching, had gotten her into the spirit of things. She braced on one arm,
flicking at the open neck of his shirt. “From a man who does not leave the
bedchamber without his cravat and top hat? Hmm.” She made a show of looking him
over, enjoying every inch. “If more pleases
you
, perhaps less pleases
me.”

His eyes widened. “Is that a
question?”

She sat up fully. “It is. Or
perhaps it’s a challenge.”

Ty leaned in, bringing their lips a
breath apart. “I accept.”

He'd tricked her
. Olivia
realized it too late, after she had tipped closer and Ty pulled back, grinning
ear to ear. He’d dodged her, but the shirt
would
come off, and that at
least was a small victory.

He pulled at his shirt-front. “Will
you, or shall I?”

A last jitter of nerves whispered
for her to leave him to the deed, but her fingers recalled too well the
pleasure of undressing Ty. Licking her lips, she claimed two good fistfuls of
crisp, heavy linen and snapped it free of his waistband. One sharp pull, her
hands skimmed his arms, and the deed was done; Ty was bare to the waist.

He reached out, but she batted back
his hand, buying a moment to take him in. It was nothing she hadn't seen
before: broad and well defined across the chest, and three ragged pink scars
cut different angles across the flat plane of his stomach. She had
seen
it before, but now it was her own to please and possess. The realization made
her bold. She brushed her lips against his shoulder, trailing kisses to the
first corded line at the outside of his rib cage.

He drew a sharp breath, and his
skin twitched at the contact. Before she could press on, he pulled away and
stood up.

Reading what must have been an open
question on her face, he rubbed palms up and down along the thighs of his
breeches, jerking his chin towards their makeshift bed. “We should...now is
likely a good time to...”

Entirely sympathetic, Olivia pursed
her lips to hide a smile and reached out a hand for him to help her up. “That
would be the best place, I think, if...” The effort of wresting both arms from
her coat's wide sleeves was all that saved her remark from hanging awkwardly.

Ty stopped at their bed, pried off
his boots and matched them together at its foot with a preciseness that made
her chuckle. So not
all
of his habits were an act. Then he reached out a
hand for her, wedding band glinting in the firelight.

“I know that look in your eyes,”
she whispered, resting her fingers in his.

“Is that so?”

She nodded, laying her other hand
on his bare shoulder. “The upstairs hall, at the baroness’s party.”

He nodded. “The doorway.” His arm
slipped behind her, drawing her close. “Burned into my memory.” Ty cocked his
head. “Though I’m not certain I could say
what
my look was just then.”

She’d had no trouble recognizing
it. “The urgent calculation of a man preparing to undress a woman. I think
you
would call it an advance.”

Ty gasped, looking them both over
with feigned shock. “By God, Olivia, I think you’re right.” His arms snaked
behind her, pulling her to his chest.

Olivia wished she had any idea what
to do with her hands, her lips just then. He was broad and warm, heat between
them wafting up wine and cologne. He was all hers, free rein, and she had no
idea where to start. Fortunately for them both, Ty did.

His fingers slid into her hair,
pressed her jaw, and clasped her head. His breath brushed her neck with more
contact than his lips, the barest hint of skin against skin.

She couldn’t find words to ask him
for more; owing to the eager sounds in her throat, she didn’t have to. Twining
arms around his neck, she tipped back her head, silent permission for the kiss
he pressed to her mouth. Hooking an arm behind her, she grasped his wrist,
urging his arm to the buttons on her gown.

“Olivia.” Ty hung his head, panting
against her shoulder. Damp heat seeped into her dress beneath his fingers’
path, one yielding button at a time. Yards of muslin crumpled to the floor in
defeat, and despite the closeness of the fire, she shivered.

Ty stepped back, surveying his
handiwork, letting more cool air between them. “I can’t do you justice. I’m a
poor poet, even with my hands, but I worship you.” Gripping her wrist, Ty
pulled her toward the blankets.

“Wait,” she breathed, swallowing
for her voice. How could she explain it? Not that she was ashamed, or even that
Ty would give it second thought, but it seemed the wrong sort of surprise on
their wedding night. Drawing a breath, she met his curious stare. She chewed
her lip, waving a hand over him. “You have...that is, there were times on an
assignment when you must have enjoyed the company of a lady.”

Ty raked fingers through his hair,
and Olivia winced at his open confusion. He cleared his throat. “None that
should cause you concern.”

“Oh, no! No, I’m not the least
jealous.”

“Oh, you’re concerned that
I
…”
Ty pointed a finger to his chest, his broad shoulders slumped, and he exhaled.
“I’m no hypocrite, Dimples. Whatever lovers you’ve had. I don’t subscribe to
the notion of damaged goods or any –”

“Tyler, I’m a virgin!” She exhaled,
closing her eyes against slack relief.

She caught his sharp breath, and
then a hint of a laugh. He pressed a kiss to her temple in answer, tracing the
neckline of her chemise to where it clung helplessly at her shoulder. In a
silence punctuated only by the hiss and pop of the fire, she forgot nerves and
shyness and kissed Ty plainly.

His hands skimmed her chemise and
stays, her waist and then bare arms, pressing, raking, until she was
breathless.

Panting too, Ty pulled away. He
dropped onto the quilts, settling against the wall, and hauled her down to
straddle his hips. With a knuckle, he traced her from forehead to chin. “It’s
just like dancing, Olivia. I shall lead, you’ll follow, and we’ll both enjoy
every moment of it.”

Her heart thudded at his sweet
promise, and she licked her lips. Leaning forward, she braced a palm against
the crumbling brick beside his head. “This is a familiar start.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm.” She rested fingertips at his
cheekbones, drawing them slowly to his jaw, imitating the drawing-down of a
mask. Slipping arms around the corded muscles of his neck, she caught his lips,
warm with a lingering hint of port.

Ty's hands moved over her back. Not
caressing; they were taking practical advantage of her position, working at the
laces from her stays.

That was the last rational thought
she could recall, until her shift being pulled free cut between their kiss,
leaving her naked before Ty.

His eyes traced her, and he pressed
her shoulders when she moved to wrap herself with both arms. “Don’t,” he
whispered, trailing fingers to her wrists, taking her hands and drawing them
behind her. Then he went to work on her hair. She shivered with each brush of
his fingers slipping free a pin, untwining her braid. When he’d finished, he
wrapped strands in a gentle grip, arranging them over her until they curtained
her breasts. She held her breath at his efforts, and at the whisper of hair
against her own eager flesh. He was patient, reverent, taking as much pleasure
in touching as she did in being touched. She stroked a thumb across his cheek.
“I love you, Tyler.”

“And I you, all of you.” Broad
hands brushed her neck and shoulders, traced her throat. Rough palms cupped her
breasts, kneading softly when she arched into his touch. She was growing
impatient, kindled need demanding to be fed. Drawing back, she met his eyes.
“You're being a gentleman. I'd expect nothing less...” Curling fingers into the
flap of his breeches, she yanked sharply, relieving the first two buttons.

“Say it, then,” he murmured.
Somewhere his restraint had become a challenge, and he provoked her. “Ask it of
me.”

He might be practiced, but she had
a few tried and true aces in her hand. Slipping arms around his neck, she drew
him close, crushing her breasts to the crisp hair of his chest. She teased his
ear with her lips. “Tyler.”

Ty's weight bore her back, crushing
the air from her. Trembling hands raked at her shoulders, her sides, and Olivia
appreciated just how hard he had struggled for control. He twined their
fingers. A sweet, easy gesture, except that he squeezed, holding her arms fast
against the quilt.

His lips countered the pressure,
coaxing hers to part for his tongue. He did something seductive with it,
catching her bottom lip and swallowing her gasp. A knee wedged between her
thighs, opening the way for him to settle there.

She tugged one arm free, kneading
his shoulder to urge him on. His full weight pressed her into the bed. Her
instinct was to raise against it, to beg. Some part of her that had wanted him
since that first night was crying out, now, demanding a long-denied release.
“Oh God, Ty, please.” She bit him with her nails, willing more from his touch.
He flinched, wool breeches gripping her thighs, pulling, encouraging the knot
twisting deep in her belly. “Please...” she managed between gasps. “I want...”
There were no words to communicate the ache spreading up her thighs.

Lips closed around her nipple,
teeth grating, getting revenge for the havoc she'd wreaked on his back. “What
do you want?” he breathed into her neck.

He knew exactly what she wanted.
Damn him for muddying her thoughts, stealing her words. “I want...”

His hips circled against her before
she could finish. “Is that what you wish, Olivia?”

Her answer was a small sob, hungry,
pleading.
He knew she did
. Raising one knee, she laced a leg over his
and arched. She had the satisfaction of feeling him stiffen, and she caught his
groan with her lips.

Ty's hands released hers, slipping
under the quilt. Fumbling between them, his knuckles brushed the inside of her
thigh. Fingers gripped her backside with desperate pressure. He drove her into
the mattress with a thrust that was more of a spasm, an instinct to fit their
bodies together. She winced, cried out. She felt their joining at her very
center. Absolute, perfect pleasure, colored at its edges with a sting that
weighted the moment, but didn’t cool her hunger.

“I love you, Olivia.” He trembled
against her and was otherwise still, panting softly against her cheek.

She raised her hips, filled with
the same joy and eager for what else he could teach her.

“Wait, wait,” he begged, the plea
little more than ragged breaths against her ear.

She could do anything but.
Frustrated, she clutched his buttocks, holding him captive with a leg around
his waist.

“My God, Olivia,” he groaned, “
Wait
...”

“No.” He had no right to ask it,
not with the way he was making her feel. She pulled at his shoulders, clutched
his arms and even fists full of his hair, but he refused to be hurried. He drew
away and returned like the tide, waves claiming small bits of her with each
pass. And like the ocean, there was no reasoning, no pleading with him. All she
could do was anchor herself, twisting fistfuls of the quilt beneath her against
his onslaught.

He worshipped her breasts, brushing
her nipples with the stubble along his jaw. He groaned sharp oaths into the
cleft between them, in English and ardent French. The latter was somehow more arousing
spoken in her native tongue, like a love letter; a private exchange for just
their ears.

She kissed his jaw, kissed sweat
from the hollow of his throat, salt stinging her lips. Air wouldn’t fill her
lungs fast enough to replace her gasps, her scolding and begging each time he
pierced her. She closed her eyes, straining. Her thighs tightened, then
trembled. Ty pressed her relentlessly, jarring loose gasps that rose somewhere
into sharp cries. His lips crushed hers, his panting stealing her breath.

The end came suddenly, tossing her
headlong into the storm. She clung to him, tangled arms and legs drawing him
close, needing him body and soul. Tension snapped, draining away, dissolving
her in its path. She cried his name with a satisfied joy, Ty finishing them
both with an eager pressure that bruised her hips and jarred the floorboards.
Heat spilled over her thighs, and Ty collapsed with delicious weight against
her.

Still clutching the damp flesh of
Ty's back, she fought to slow her breaths for long, delicious minutes. Sweat,
hers and his, pasted their flesh together, peeling sharply when Ty finally
rolled away to thud against the mattress. She wanted to turn over, curl against
him, but arms and legs could only tremble against the bed, unable to comply with
her desire. The dampness over her flesh cooled, prickling her with goose bumps.

Ty must have felt it, too. He
reached out, making quick sense of the hopelessly jumbled quilt, and flipped it
over them. She opened her eyes for the first time, shy. Impossibly, more so
than when they had started, more than she had ever been where Ty was concerned.
Finally, she dared a glance at him lying beside her.