Free Irresistible by Mary Balogh Page A

increasing comfort of wetness, hearing the accompanying rhythmic squeaks of the mattress. She had not realized that sound could be erotic. Or that this could be. A feast, he had called it. She braced her feet flat on the bed, lifted her hips slightly, let her body feel the rhythm, and moved with him.
    For a long time. Until they were both hot and sweating and panting with the exertion. Until she was almost mindless with the ache of a crescendoing desire. Almost. But not quite. She would not allow herself to give in to pure sensation. She wanted to know. She wanted to feel. She wanted to experience every moment. She wanted to understand with every thrust and withdrawal that he was Nathaniel. That she was in bed with him. Loving him. Loving him openly and at last with her body and with all of herself.
    And feeling like a woman. Feminine. Normal. Incredible, wonderful feelings. Because he found her desirable.
    After what must have been several minutes the rhythm quickened. And then deepened. And then broke altogether as his hands came beneath her and held her still while he pushed deeper than deep. She felt the hot gush of his seed as he sighed against the side of her head and then relaxed his weight onto her.
    “Ah, beautiful,” he murmured. “Beautiful.”
    She knew that he spoke of the experience more than of her—and it had been beautiful. But she felt beautiful too. For the first time in a long, long while.
    They were both still hot and panting. Her body was still humming with undefined aches and yearnings. But she was living through one of those moments that occurred only rarely and only briefly in life, she knew. She was utterly, totally happy.
    He moved off her and lay beside her on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes while his breathing quietened and she felt the thudding of her own heart grow fainter in her ears. He would get up and go away in a few moments, she supposed even as the last of the candles flickered and went out. And perhaps tomorrow he would be sorry—perhaps they both would. But for now she was consciously happy. And for the rest of the night after he was gone she would relive what had happened. She would not allow the bed to feel empty once he had gone. She would move over and lie on his side of the bed. She would keep the warmth there with the heat of her own body. Perhaps the smell of him—of that musky cologne he wore and of him —would linger. She would imagine that it did even if it did not do so in fact.
    And she would not allow herself to feel guilty. She would not.
    He reached down to pull up the bedcovers and turned onto his side with a sigh. He slid one arm beneath her neck and drew her onto her side against him. He kissed the top of her head as he tucked the covers warmly about them both. And then, just like that—she could tell unmistakably from his breathing—he was asleep.
    She could have cried and almost did. But if she did, she would wet his chest and then need a handkerchief in which to blow her nose. She would have to move and that would wake him and send him on his way. She bit her upper lip again and breathed deeply of the warmth and the smell of him.
    She would not sleep. She would not sleep. There were more moments—more blessed moments to savor.
    Perhaps he would stay all night.
    Oh, she had so little experience, she thought, with what love and marriage might have been. With what tenderness might have accomplished. Almost everything about tonight had been a surprise—just as if she were a raw innocent. Would that she were!

    Nathaniel awoke feeling warm and comfortable and rested, though it was still dark. He was not in his own bed. He was with a woman. For one disoriented moment he could not remember with whom.
    But for one moment only.
    She moved her head away from his chest and looked up at him. There was enough light in the room after all to see her face quite clearly enough.
    Sophie.
    With her always wild hair loose and in tangled disarray about her face and over