Free Pride and Fire by Jomarie Degioia Page A

to the front door. She opened the door and peeked out. Motioning for him to be silent, she let him in. He closed the door and followed her into the parlor.
    She crossed to the mantle and lit the candles there, turning to face him. “Paul, what is this about?”
    “Shh.” He closed and locked the parlor doors. “Michelle, I had to see you.”
    “When you were here this afternoon—”
    “I know, darling,” he cut in. “I was a fool.”
    She considered him closely. “True.”
    He chuckled softly. He crossed to her and took her hands in his and led her to the settee, pulling her down to sit beside him. “I love you, Michelle. I’m sorry about this afternoon.”
    His simple words set her heart soaring. She’d been half in love with him since last year at Kanewood, when she’d first seen his smile. And now with his kisses, his caresses, his acceptance of her mind and opinions…
    “I love you, too, Paul,” she admitted. “When I thought you didn’t want to marry me, I nearly died.”
    He held her close, stroking her hair. “I want to marry you, love. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”
    “Why, then, did you want to wait until next Season?”
    She couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice. He pulled back and cupped her face with his hand.
    “Never mind the reason,” he said gently. “I don’t want to wait for you.”
    “What are you saying?”
    “Will you marry me this Saturday?”
    She blinked up at him. “Saturday?” She smiled. “First you wished to wait a year and now you won’t wait a week?”
    He quirked a half smile at her. “I don’t want to lose you.”
    She regarded him closely. “Yes, Paul.” She nodded. “I’ll marry you this Saturday.”
    He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. He grinned at her and she arched a brow at him in question.
    “I don’t know which lovely hand I will take in marriage.”
    “Take them both,” she said sweetly.
    He turned them and placed a kiss in each palm. He brought his eyes up to hers. “And will they hold me as they did on our picnic?” he asked, his eyes dark.
    Her breath caught at the desire evident in his gaze. “They will never push you away again,” she breathed.
    Paul stood then, bringing her with him. His lips captured hers in a searing kiss, his tongue sweeping through her mouth. She moaned and reached up to twine her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck, pressing herself against him. He pulled back as if to catch his breath, holding her away from him. He ran his gaze over her and her mouth went dry.
    “Ah, Michelle,” he said, bringing his eyes back to her face. “I can scarcely wait to make you mine.”
    “I am yours,” she answered. “Always.”
    Paul untied the sash at her waist, loosening her wrapper. He pushed the garment off of her shoulders, all the while keeping his eyes on her face. He held her nightgown open, his hands cupping her breasts. His thumbs circled her nipples, eliciting a gasp from her parted lips.
    She leaned her head back and strained toward him. “Paul…”
    He dropped his hands to her slender waist, holding her still while he trailed hot kisses down the front of her. His mouth found her breast. His tongue rasped over the nipple and she clutched at his shoulders as she arched in response.
    “Ah, the way you respond to me, love,” he whispered. “We’ll be incredible together.”
    Michelle only whimpered in response. He kissed the valley between her breasts, teasing her. “Oh, please…” she begged, her eyes closed tight.
    He finally obliged her, closing his mouth over the sensitive bud. He suddenly pulled his head back, his breathing ragged. “I want you so badly I ache with it.”
    “I want you, Paul.”
    “God, Michelle. If I don’t stop myself I’m liable to throw you down on this fine oriental carpet and take you here in the parlor.”
    He brought his face up to hers, kissing her lightly on her parted lips. His hands shook as he closed her nightgown.