senses. He inhaled her essence, now familiar to him, and felt the rightness of her seep through his marrow.
An instinctive, wholly masculine desire to give her his childseed came over him. But he resigned himself. No child would come until he took her in a Calling, weeks from now.
Fortunately he was a patient man.
The nightgown she wore sat uneasily on her, he saw. She probably believed it too revealing. His gaze narrowed on the rosy points that puckered the lace at her breasts. Her shadowy triangle was faintly visible through the folds of silk at the apex of her thighs.
She shifted, and an effervescent trail of rosewater and Faerie glamour teased at him.
Sudden heat surged to his groin. His arousal thickened and throbbed, readying.
The speculative way he was staring at her, as though she were a bone and he a hound, did nothing to set Jane at ease. She crossed her arms in an X, inadvertently plumping the swell of her bosom more enticingly above the low neckline.
For some reason, Nick winced and shifted his stance. “Is the chamber to your liking?” he inquired.
Her eyes surveyed the room. “It’s beautiful. Larger than I expected, as is your home.”
A strained moment passed between them.
“Perhaps you would find yourself more comfortable if you were to lie down,” he suggested with soft amusement.
Of course! How thickheaded of her. He wanted to get on with the coupling, and that was best achieved lying down. Even she knew that much.
“All right,” she acquiesced.
She moved to the bed and shifted the coverlet aside. Then she lay on her back, positioning her legs straight and her arms flat on either side of her. Her gaze sought the underside of the canopy’s tented pinnacle, from which swags of buttery yellow swooped outward to four tall bedposts. The pulse of her heart thudded heavily in her ears.
Nick shrugged from his robe and draped it over the railing at the foot of her bed.
The impact of his casual nakedness was shocking. She stared. How could she not? He was extraordinary.
Unclothed, his broad shoulders appeared even more strongly molded. Dark hair lightly dusted his forearms and well-muscled legs and shadowed a powerfully built chest. The pelt tapered lower, spearing toward his groin. There, where the thicket grew dense, was that part of him that Izabel had explained would come into her when it was fully ready.
A nervous flutter tickled in her chest at the size of it. How much more ready would it become?
Unaware of her misgivings, he joined her on the bed, sitting close so his hip warmed her calf. He faced her in a relaxed fashion, with one leg crooked on the bed and the other braced on the floor. She tried not to look at that part of him that concerned her most, the rigidly engorged shaft that lounged on his thigh like an overfed snake.
His palm startled her, slipping under her hem to settle on the slender ankle closest to him.
“Did you choose your gown?” he asked. Her eyes flew to his and were captured by pale blue.
She shook her head no, the action mussing her golden hair on the pillow. “My aunt.”
He nodded as though she’d confirmed what he’d been thinking. The gown’s gossamer fabric followed the movement of his hand as it eased upward along her leg.
There was no shame in this. Allowing it was her payment to him. In return, he would welcome Emma and her into his home.
She concentrated on keeping herself from melding, praying his touch on her would not be prolonged.
The nightgown slid above her knee.
What if this joining somehow intensified her own strangeness? He would be here, a witness to it.
The silk slid higher still. Her breathing constricted.
He seemed suddenly to become aware she was trembling. His hand paused, resting heavily on the bunched silk he’d drawn to shape the bone of her hip. His brows furrowed as his gaze raked hers.
“You knew this would be part of it,” he said evenly.
“Yes,” she murmured.
“Is this virginal fears then?”
She
An instinctive, wholly masculine desire to give her his childseed came over him. But he resigned himself. No child would come until he took her in a Calling, weeks from now.
Fortunately he was a patient man.
The nightgown she wore sat uneasily on her, he saw. She probably believed it too revealing. His gaze narrowed on the rosy points that puckered the lace at her breasts. Her shadowy triangle was faintly visible through the folds of silk at the apex of her thighs.
She shifted, and an effervescent trail of rosewater and Faerie glamour teased at him.
Sudden heat surged to his groin. His arousal thickened and throbbed, readying.
The speculative way he was staring at her, as though she were a bone and he a hound, did nothing to set Jane at ease. She crossed her arms in an X, inadvertently plumping the swell of her bosom more enticingly above the low neckline.
For some reason, Nick winced and shifted his stance. “Is the chamber to your liking?” he inquired.
Her eyes surveyed the room. “It’s beautiful. Larger than I expected, as is your home.”
A strained moment passed between them.
“Perhaps you would find yourself more comfortable if you were to lie down,” he suggested with soft amusement.
Of course! How thickheaded of her. He wanted to get on with the coupling, and that was best achieved lying down. Even she knew that much.
“All right,” she acquiesced.
She moved to the bed and shifted the coverlet aside. Then she lay on her back, positioning her legs straight and her arms flat on either side of her. Her gaze sought the underside of the canopy’s tented pinnacle, from which swags of buttery yellow swooped outward to four tall bedposts. The pulse of her heart thudded heavily in her ears.
Nick shrugged from his robe and draped it over the railing at the foot of her bed.
The impact of his casual nakedness was shocking. She stared. How could she not? He was extraordinary.
Unclothed, his broad shoulders appeared even more strongly molded. Dark hair lightly dusted his forearms and well-muscled legs and shadowed a powerfully built chest. The pelt tapered lower, spearing toward his groin. There, where the thicket grew dense, was that part of him that Izabel had explained would come into her when it was fully ready.
A nervous flutter tickled in her chest at the size of it. How much more ready would it become?
Unaware of her misgivings, he joined her on the bed, sitting close so his hip warmed her calf. He faced her in a relaxed fashion, with one leg crooked on the bed and the other braced on the floor. She tried not to look at that part of him that concerned her most, the rigidly engorged shaft that lounged on his thigh like an overfed snake.
His palm startled her, slipping under her hem to settle on the slender ankle closest to him.
“Did you choose your gown?” he asked. Her eyes flew to his and were captured by pale blue.
She shook her head no, the action mussing her golden hair on the pillow. “My aunt.”
He nodded as though she’d confirmed what he’d been thinking. The gown’s gossamer fabric followed the movement of his hand as it eased upward along her leg.
There was no shame in this. Allowing it was her payment to him. In return, he would welcome Emma and her into his home.
She concentrated on keeping herself from melding, praying his touch on her would not be prolonged.
The nightgown slid above her knee.
What if this joining somehow intensified her own strangeness? He would be here, a witness to it.
The silk slid higher still. Her breathing constricted.
He seemed suddenly to become aware she was trembling. His hand paused, resting heavily on the bunched silk he’d drawn to shape the bone of her hip. His brows furrowed as his gaze raked hers.
“You knew this would be part of it,” he said evenly.
“Yes,” she murmured.
“Is this virginal fears then?”
She
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