The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

She stood quite close to him now, and his eyes were drawn to her full breasts clearly outlined by the shimmery material. He felt desire stir strong in his groin. By all that was holy, he didn’t trust himself to speak, or do anything else, for that matter. Damn her, what did she want?

“Julien, may I stay with you tonight?” Her voice was soft, a tantalizing whisper from deep in her throat.

He had to be dreaming, that was it. Never had he heard her speak like that. The nightmare, yes, she’d come in here afraid, that was all. He blinked away what surely must be an apparition, but the apparition that was his wife didn’t move. He felt a gentle hand on his bare shoulder. “May I, Julien? Let me stay with you.”

He drew a deep breath, knowing he was hard as a stone, but he wouldn’t frighten her. What did she want? Why did she want to stay with him? She wasn’t acting at all like she had when she’d had the nightmare. Slowly he took her hand in his. “Sweetheart, I don’t understand you. You can talk to me, you know, about anything. Really, what’s the matter? I will help if I can, you know that.”

Then her fingers fastened about his hand, and he forgot that he didn’t understand anything.

Her lips curved into a smile, a gentle, tentative smile, yet one so provocative he jerked. She slipped her hand out of his and took a step back. Her white hands moved to the white ribbons about her throat. Slowly she began to pull them loose, one by one. There were six of them.

The gown parted in the wake of her fingers and revealed to him the full curve of her breasts. Her hands dropped to her sides, and she stood motionless for what seemed an eternity to Julien. She lowered her eyes from his face and in one long fluid moment shrugged the gown from her shoulders. The soft satin floated down about her waist and rested momentarily on her hips before falling light as a feather about her feet. Almost defiantly she tossed back her head, her long hair swirling about her face, and gazed at him. “You haven’t answered my request, Julien. May I stay with you tonight?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind Julien dimly realized that he was being seduced, not an altogether new experience, but one that could not but be ironic, given that the lady who was doing the seducing was his wife.

What the hell did it matter? “Come, sweetheart,” he said simply. He tossed the now-meaningless novel into the dark corner of the room and moved toward the center of his bed. “I trust, my love, that the pleasure will be both of ours. I surely intend to do my damndest to please you.” He held back the covers, and without pause she slipped in beside him.

He balanced himself on an elbow above her, not yet touching her. He needed to savor the fragile moment, one that he had awaited for so long. His wife coming to him. It was almost too much to take in. Dear God, her body, her beautiful body, all of her here now, for him.

“You’re exquisite, do you know that?” His hand smoothed waving tendrils of hair away from her face.

“I want to give you pleasure, my lord.”

A discordant note sounded sharp in his mind, but dissolved as she lifted her arms and wrapped them about his neck, pulling his face down to hers. He kissed her, trying to keep it light, not demanding at all, but he couldn’t help himself, for he wanted her, had wanted her for longer than he could remember, for longer than he’d even known her, perhaps. For an instant, his lust overcame good sense, overcame the excitement, the hope he’d felt to look up to see her standing there, wanting him, peeling that nightgown off herself, standing there naked for him to look at her.

He tasted the sweetness of her mouth and grew more demanding, probing possessively for her tongue. He felt her stiffen and slowed yet again. Damn, but it was difficult. He forced himself to release her. He came up on his elbow above her and simply looked down at her. He saw a flicker of fear in her eyes before she quickly lowered her lashes.