Chaste Kiss (33 page)

"I understand I'm no safer here than at work. If you recall that psycho tried to kill me in my own backyard."

He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Please, love. Do as he asks. It's for the best."

She smirked and glanced at him over her shoulder. “I'm all grown up, or hadn't you noticed?"

He sighed with a half smile and pressed his face in her hair. “I won't lose you. I refuse to let you risk your life. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."

Weary with the chosen topic, she rested her head against his shoulder. “Can we talk about this later?"

"Of course.” He turned her around and started nuzzling her neck. “Now, where were we?"

It felt right, being with him. It was right.

Then why was she so damned scared? All of her fears and insecurities resurfaced as he reached for the buttons of her blouse. How could he possibly want her? She was just plain old Isabel, and he was an English lord, more handsome than any man she'd ever known. Why would he want her when he could have a woman who was titled, and beautiful, and everything she wasn't? Before he'd been dead, and she was his only real contact with the living. It made sense that he would want her then, but now everything was different.

A low grumbling yanked her from her depressing thoughts. Swallowing the lump of nerves welling up in her throat, she said, “I do believe, his lordship is hungry."

"Famished.” He continued placing delicate kisses against her neck, not the least bit distracted by his stomach. He slid his hands down her arms to her wrists as she slowly slipped from his grasp.

"Maybe we could go downstairs and see if Constance has fixed anything for dinner,” she said.

"I don't want food. I want you."

"But I'm sure Constance will have something really wonderful for dinner.” She backed away, moving toward the door.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no. Nothing's wrong."

"Love, come here."

She hesitated a moment then moved closer. Once she was within reach, he pulled her back into his arms.

"Tell me what's bothering you now,” he commanded softly.

She dropped her forehead to his chest and toyed with a button on his shirt. “I guess I'm just nervous,” she mumbled, unwilling to expand on the truth.

He chuckled and lifted her chin. “I'm nervous, too."

"You are?"

"Of course I am. I'm wondering the same things you are. Will it be as perfect as we dreamed it would be? How will we feel about each other afterward?"

She nodded as she chewed at her lip, her gaze darting away from his.

"But we don't have to do anything,” he said. “We can take our time. We have the rest of our lives together."

"It isn't just that.” She stepped from the circle of his arms and moved to the window. “I'm not just nervous about it being perfect. I—well, I don't really have much experience with this."

He smiled. “I'm rather pleased about that."

"You would be, but that doesn't help me feel any better."

"We'll go as slow or as fast as you like. I won't do anything you don't want me to do, and I won't ask you to do anything you don't want to do."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know."

He moved up behind her and pulled her back against his chest. “Then why are you still so tense?"

She glanced down and ran her hand across his arm, relishing the feel of the hairs tickling her palm. “Even your arms are perfect,” she mumbled.

He chuckled softly against her hair. “I'm far from perfect, love."

"No, you're wrong. You are perfect. You're the handsome prince in every girl's dream.” She paused, her eyes lifting to the darkness growing beyond the gardens. “But I'm not the beautiful princess,” she added.

He gently turned her around and took her face in his hands. His gaze bore into hers, deeper than anyone had ever gone before.

"You are the most beautiful woman I know. You're the only woman I want. I love you, Isabel. I love you as you are. The look and feel of your hair, the color of your eyes, the shape of your lips."

"But I'm not—"

"Shh.” He kissed her as he spoke. “I even love your tenacity, although at the moment it's bordering on irritation,” he said, smiling against her lips. “You are the woman I love. Today, tomorrow, and always."

Tears burned beneath her lids as he kissed her, driving away the last of her doubts. He truly loved her, and she loved him. That was all that mattered.

His stomach growled again, and she giggled. He chuckled as he pulled her into his arms.

Her nervousness about making love still lingering, she asked, “Are you sure you don't want something to eat?"

Half of her hoped he wanted to go down to the kitchen, and the other half wanted him to sweep her off her feet and carry her to bed.

"If feeding me is what you want to do, then that's what we'll do. I must admit I've always wanted to taste Constance's cooking."

Decision made. She wasn't going to second-guess fate. “Then you're in for a real treat."

They walked hand in hand to the kitchen and found Constance and Jerome having dinner. To say her uncle and soon to be aunt were surprised to see them was an understatement.

"Hi.” Isabel cleared her throat. “We thought we'd come raid the fridge."

Constance grinned. “There's spaghetti on the stove, sweetie. Or sandwich fixings in the refrigerator. I guess it really depends on how hungry you are."

"Starving,” William said, and covertly winked at Isabel.

Holding back a giggle, she pulled two plates down from the cabinet and piled them high with spaghetti. While she set the places for them at the table, William poured each of them a glass of tea. She could feel the tension hovering in the room as they joined her uncle and Constance at the table. It was thicker than the spaghetti sauce. With everyone knowing William was staying in the Elizabethan room, her stomach twisted into knots a seasoned Boy Scout couldn't untie.

Constance, apparently sensing her uneasiness, patted her on the back in a motherly fashion as she cleared away her and Jerome's dishes. “Don't you have some research you were working on, Jerome?"

"Oh, um, yes. Have a good evening, William, Isabel. I have—research—I have to do."

"I'll help.” Constance took Jerome's arm and led him from the kitchen.

The moment the door swung closed, Isabel and William laughed. Her uncle's moustache hadn't twitched that much since she was a child and into her usual mischief.

Turning her attention back to the living, breathing man across from her, she asked William about his life as Thomas. She felt she knew so little and yet so much about him. The whole situation was too odd for words. She thought if he talked more about his life in this century, perhaps she would begin to feel more at ease with him and less like he was going to disappear at any moment. It was difficult enough to keep from pinching herself to see if she was dreaming.

Learning about Winifred put a major damper on her spirits, but she did her best to push that aside. The way he spoke of his Aunt Tess, however, made her feel a little better, and she smiled as he described his friend, Jon. It seemed strange that he had family and friends after having him to herself for so long, but she could hardly wait to meet them.

William picked up his empty plate and carried it to the dishwasher. “I was right about Constance's cooking."

"Yeah, she does have a way with food.” Isabel placed her plate beside his.

"I used to watch her while she prepared Jerome's dinner. It seems like such a long time ago.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he went to stand at the large window overlooking the garden and swimming pool. “Sometimes it seems like a dream.” He looked over his shoulder where she leaned against the counter. “Then I touch you and I know it was real. That it is real.” He turned back to look out the window.

Isabel smiled, her eyes misting. Both men had been lonely for so very long. She turned and gripped the counter, trying to clear the lump in her throat. She wanted to cry for joy, and yet she wanted to weep for his pain. God, could she give him what he needed? Could she ease the hurt that he would carry with him for the rest of his life?

William's strong arms slipped around her waist as he tenderly kissed her temple. “Why are you crying?"

"Oh, you know us women. We cry for just about any old reason,” she said with a watery voice.

"Is this a sad any old reason or a happy any old reason?"

"Both."

He turned her around in his arms and kissed each of her eyes. “That was for the sad, and this...” He kissed her while one hand slipped to her lower back and pressed her firmly against him, leaving no doubt to how much he wanted her. “Is for the happy."

Isabel breathed long and deep. “I'll take the happy."

"Do you want to take that happy thought upstairs?” His eyes twinkled with the question.

Without a word, she took his hand, and they returned to their room. Once there, Isabel decided she needed to regroup. Her nerves were still a jumbled quivering mess.

"I think I'll take a shower. Do you mind?"

"No, not at all. You take a bath and I'll unpack,” he said.

With a nod, she practically ran into the bathroom, feeling like a virgin on her wedding night and utterly foolish. She knew William wouldn't force her to do anything. He understood her insecurities, and she loved him all the more for being patient. She just wished that now that she knew that he loved her for who she was, she could stop being nervous.

She started the water and stepped beneath the pounding spray, determined to get a grip on her screwy emotions. Scrubbing her body from head to toe, she made certain she was clean and soft everywhere. Everywhere she knew William would touch. The more she thought about his caresses, the more excited her body became.

"I can do this,” she said, stepping out of the shower.

She dried her hair and brushed it out then wrapped a large towel around her. “And I want to do this. Boy, do I want to do this. I'm just a little nervous, that's all. Perfectly natural."

Taking a deep breath, she emerged from the bathroom, her blood pulsing through her veins at an incredible rate. Her eyes took in the sight of the man she loved lounging on the bed with his hands behind his head, wearing nothing but a pair of faded jeans. She repressed the urge to gulp.

He was the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen. She imagined him this way so many times, but seeing the real thing somehow sucked all the oxygen out of the room, leaving her feeling a little dizzy.

William slid off the bed and walked toward her, stopping a few feet away. He held out his hand, and she tentatively laid her fingers against the warmth of his palm. Tingles skittered across her skin, so similar to his invisible touch and yet so very different.

He pulled her into his arms until their bodies barely touched. Lifting his hand, he brushed her cheek with the tips of his fingers then slipped them into her hair.

"You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

"I was going to say the same thing about you."

He smiled as he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. His tongue slipped between her lips, urging them apart. The moment she accepted him, he moaned and pulled her against his chest. She could feel the incredible heat of his skin against hers through the towel and yearned for nothing to be between them. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she sank her fingers into his silky, dark hair. He cupped her terrycloth covered bottom, and pressed her against the rigid heat of his sex.

"Isabel,” he murmured.

The sensation of feeling him so hard and hot sent wave after wave of heat coursing through her veins. She wanted this. She wanted him. She wanted it all. This was so much better than his invisible touch.

"Make love to me, William."

He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. Placing her in the center, she drank in the sight of her twenty-first century lord leaning over her. She took his face in her hands and brought him down for another soul drenching kiss. As he explored the inner recesses of her mouth with his tongue, his hands roamed over her body. His fingers slid in between the folds of the towel and Isabel gasped at the heat of his touch.

Lifting himself up onto his elbow, he peered into her eyes. “Do you want me to stop?"

She could barely find the breath to speak. “If you stop, Purgatory won't be anything compared to what I'll do to you."

With a crooked grin, he lowered his head and kissed her bare shoulders as he stroked her stomach in teasing circles, inching closer and closer to her breast, the towel spreading apart as he went. She grasped his shoulders and shuddered as his fingertips brushed her hardening nipples. The terrycloth fell away, exposing her fully to him, but she felt no uneasiness, no doubts, only love and heat. A white-hot heat. His lips followed the path his fingers had taken until he reached one of the taut peaks.

"So sweet,” he whispered.

His breath blew teasingly across the tip of her breast. She arched her back with an aching need she'd never experienced, and nearly screamed with pleasure as he took her swollen nipple into his mouth.

William suckled deeply, pulling the fine chord that ran through the center of her body, while his hand moved lower across her belly and brushed her mound. His fingers found the sensitive tip of her desire and teased her to distraction before delving into her moist heat.

Sounds she'd never knew she was capable of making turned to raspy pleas. “William,” she breathed, as he teased and tormented her.

He quickened the movement of his fingers, rubbing his palm against the swollen nub.

"Please.” She arched wildly against his hand.

"Let go, love. Let it take you. But know that this is only a taste of what we'll share."

His words increased the delicious sensations flowing over her ten-fold. She never dreamed there were so many pleasure points on her body. Exquisite delight flowed from his hands, his mouth, and even the dark curls of hair covering his chest as he rubbed against her. Each singularly wonderful, but experiencing them all together sent her reeling over the edge. Tumbling and turning, she let the current take her, until she finally resurfaced.