Free One Golden Ring by Cheryl Bolen

Lord, it was hot in here!
    Remembering the taste of her tongue mingling with his, he grew winded and began to tug on his cravat. Once more he began to get aroused. As he spread the butter on his roll he thought of slowly stroking every inch of her smooth flesh. His lids lifted and he hungrily watched her tongue nip at her lower lip. He was not at all sure he could make it through the dinner without leaping from his chair, hauling her into his arms, and carrying her upstairs to his bedchamber.
    â€œIs your cravat too tight?” she asked. “I must say they look beastly uncomfortable.”
    How could a cravat that had fit perfectly since ten o’clock this morning now be so wretchedly uncomfortable? “Indeed they are,” he said. For the first time he noticed the metallic glints in her blond hair. She really was exquisite. Warwick was an idiot. “You looked lovely today, my dear,” he said. “You still do.” She wore the same pink gown she had married in that morning. It displayed her creamy shoulders and swept low at the bodice to reveal her delectable decolletage.
    When he had filled his hand with her breast, he had been pleasantly surprised that someone as slender as she possessed any breasts at all. Remembering the feel of her plump little breasts thinned his breath.
    â€œThank you, Nick,” she said, then she sipped her wine, her long lashes lowering seductively.
    On her lips, his name became an endearment. Did she have any idea how acutely she aroused him? Could she possibly understand how tormented he was, how desperately he wished to peel off her clothing, spread her legs wide and embed himself within her?
    Would this blasted meal ever come to an end?
    â€œDid you find your chambers satisfactory?” he asked.
    â€œYes, they’re very nice. It was as if they were just awaiting your wife.”
    â€œThanks to the previous occupant, Lady Hartley,” he said. “Of course, you’re welcome to change anything you like.”
    â€œWill we be spending much time here?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œI didn’t think so,” she said. “I know The Fox does not like to be away from his den.”
    The nickname he’d been proud of now took on almost sinister overtones. “I beg that you and I not discuss my business. We’ll get on better that way.”
    Her blue eyes regarded him with puzzlement. “I want to make you a good wife, Nick. If you don’t wish to discuss business, I promise to never bring it up again.” She nibbled at that lush lower lip of hers. “I shouldn’t like it if we didn’t get on well.”
    â€œNor would I,” he said solemnly.
    It was too soon to tell how they would get along with one another, but he was convinced that on the physical level they would be highly compatible. He had been stunned over the depths of her passion, and he had not yet penetrated her simmering veneer!
    As much as he would like to bury himself within her, he cautioned himself to be mindful that she was a virgin, to hold back from devouring her.
    Perhaps if she imbibed great quantities of wine, the losing of her maidenhead would be less painful, more pleasurable. He lifted the decanter and refilled her glass. “Drink up, my dear. It will make our . . . consummation easier on you.”
    His throbbing intensified as he watched a rosy hue climb into her cheeks. Though she was obviously embarrassed over his reference to their lovemaking, she lifted her solemn gaze to his, then sipped the wine.
    The candles weren’t the only thing in the room giving off heat. Never breaking eye contact with her, he loosened the cravat even more. He had the damnedest feeling he and Fiona were surrounded by flames.
    Still watching him, she took another sip.
    He refilled his own glass and drank.
    â€œI feel guilty for robbing you of the bachelorhood you so cherished,” she said. “I will try to please you in the bedchamber,