Midnight Eyes by Brophy, Sarah (well read books .TXT) 📕

“So soft,” she purred as she ran a thumb over the satin of his lips. Robert inhaled sharply as he felt the small tip of her finger trace the moist skin just inside his mouth. He couldn’t resist drawing it in even farther and gently sucking on it, all the while keeping his eyes locked on her flushed face. He watched in fascination as a faint shudder ran through her body, and felt an answering quake through his soul.

“It’s odd,” she whispered with awe, “that such little things can feel so large. I can feel your tongue all the way to the pit of my stomach.”

She slowly pulled her finger away, mimicking the action that his body burned for. She trailed the damp tip down his neck, tickling his Adam’s apple and the hollow of his collarbone. She mewed with frustration when the silky edge of his tunic stopped her explorations. She tugged ineffectually at the cloth, needing to touch the warm male skin that lay intriguingly beneath.

Suddenly Robert surged forward and all but tore the valuable cloth from his body.

Smiling with satisfaction and with her bottom lip caught between her teeth, she moved her greedy fingers over him. Burying her hands in the springy hair on his chest, she sighed at the decadent pleasure of the feel of him under her palms. When she found the small masculine nipples that hid there and teased them gently, Robert had to grit his teeth to stop himself from sweeping her up and taking this exquisite torture to its only natural conclusion.

Unaware of just how tenuously Robert had control of himself, Imogen followed the path of his hair down to his navel, and then spread her hands out to cover his lower abdomen.

The ripple of muscle encased by satin-soft skin entranced her at first, then her sensitive fingers became aware of other ridges, ones that marred the perfection of his smooth skin. Scars. She felt a kinship to scars and the pain that had caused them, she thought sadly. Gently she followed their lines with her fingertips, feeling the pain that lingered on these badges of his wars.

Some were old, almost indiscernible, others puckered and new. One, just above his hipbone, still gave off the heat of healing. Robert stilled her hand with his and made to move it away from the ugliness of his healing flesh.

“No,” she murmured softly, then lowered her head and gently kissed it.

Robert was struck dumb. He stared uncomprehendingly at the bent head of the woman who knelt at his feet. It was a selfless act, meant to both reassure and comfort. Robert had never been the receiver of such an action and found himself swamped by emotions he could neither name nor deny. His vague feelings of protectiveness and concern had crystallized into a solid reality that, he realized with sudden awe, could all too easily be mistaken for love.

She raised her head, her hand still moving caressingly over the heated skin of his stomach. “Now, now I know you,” she breathed, leaning forward to press a kiss on the center of his chest and rest her cheek on him. “I know you in my mind; I can see there the lines on your face, the scars on your body.”

He raised a shaking hand, and cupped her head with it, holding her to him. It would be so easy now to take her, he thought wildly. She was alive to desire; it would take only a little push to tumble her headlong into the waters of serious passion. God knows he wanted to; his body was swollen and straining with that want.

But suddenly, mere want wasn’t enough. Not on its own.

Not when he was newly aware of the complexities of desire. They were complexities that warned he would need far more than an animal coupling on a hearth rug. He needed more than her awakening passion; he needed her mind, her trust, her heart and her soul.

He needed from her all the things she had somehow managed to take from him with just a kiss to his battle-scarred body.

He lifted her bodily off the floor and held her against him tightly, nestling her into his lap. She squirmed for a moment; unaware of how the feel of her body moving against his fractured his control. “Stop moving,” he said hoarsely.

A silence descended between them as she curled herself comfortably against him, enjoying the warmth that emanated from him. Imogen sighed her contentment.

An almost-peace had descended over her.

While her body was still tingling with a curious sensitivity, there was a certain serenity to be found in being held in this man’s arms. She lifted her hands and tucked them under her head. His arms held her tight, enclosing her within his warmth and she felt so safe that it would be easy to forget the specter of Roger that had haunted her always.

She furrowed her brow as she realized that there were many things she didn’t seem to understand in this strange new world that Robert had opened to her tonight.

She didn’t understand the fires he built in her, didn’t understand the vulnerability she had heard in his voice, didn’t understand why he was now just holding her as if she was a child when moments ago he had been reacting to her as if she was in fact a whole woman, not one weighed down by her own hidden scars. She wanted him as if that really was true and it was even more amazing to realize that as he would never force her, she was going to have to coerce him. She had no idea how it should be done, but she would give it her best shot, she thought with a smile.

“Is touching and holding all that is between a man and his wife?” she asked in a small voice. Somehow, it didn’t come out sounding as she wanted it to. She wanted