Talk Sweetly to Me
Page 29
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Rose would not let her heart break. Not here, not in the snow, not with her sister’s new child next door. She would stand here and look him in the eyes. She would…
She choked and looked down.
“But there’s something you don’t understand,” he said. “When I said I loved you, I didn’t mean that I would walk away when I realized your life was difficult. The fact that I understand how hard things can be means that I want to stand by you sooner, and try even harder to make it better.”
She could scarcely believe it. She lifted her face to his, her heart pounding.
And then he smiled at her, and all her fears took flight.
“I love you,” he said. “Let me buy you telescopes and kiss you half the night. And when things grow difficult, let me be make them a little easier.”
She looked up at him. She felt dazed, utterly worn out. And so she said the first thing that came to her mind, which happened to be…
“Did you know that Dr. Maro in Italy has calculated the likelihood that the earth will be struck by an asteroid at two hundred and fifty million to one?”
He blinked. “No. I did not know that. Is it…relevant?”
“Yes,” she heard herself say. And then she reached out and opened his door, and before her nerve left her, she stepped inside.
He followed her, scratching his head in bemusement.
“Yes,” she told him. “It’s very relevant. You see, it’s one hundred and sixty times more likely that the earth will be struck by an asteroid than that you will seduce me. And yet…” She swallowed, looking up at him. “I find myself seduced. Utterly. The only explanation is that we are all about to perish.”
He looked down at her, his breath hissing out. “Rose. Darling.”
“And since we are going to die anyway…” Her throat felt dry. “Would you…take me to bed?”
He looked at her. Really looked at her. His eyes were dark; a light danced in them. He leaned over her and drew one finger down her cheek.
“Rose,” he said. “I have just one question.”
She nodded.
“Does probability really work like that?”
Her cheeks burned and she ducked her head. “No,” she moaned, feeling rather ashamed. “It doesn’t. I’m sorry—I was going to tell you afterward. And I know that doing such a thing under false pretenses…” She let out a little laugh. “I know it doesn’t make sense. But I love you, and…and… I think that if we are to do this, I must learn to be a little outrageous.” She swallowed. “And in a few hours my parents will be here, and once we’re engaged, it’ll be four months before we’ll be left alone, and—”
“Four months! No, never mind that for now. Rose, did you just lie to me about mathematics to get me into bed?” He laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so flattered.” He took her hand. His fingers were warm against hers, and her whole body thrilled at his touch. “Come, Rose.”
She followed him up the stairs.
His bed was solid wood, heaped with a quilt of shifting greens. He stopped on the threshold of his room. “Are you sure, Rose?”
Her heart was pounding. “I’m sure.”
She wasn’t sure what to expect. But he didn’t pounce on her immediately. He didn’t take off her clothing. Instead, he turned her to him, set his finger under her chin, and he kissed her.
It was a sweet, intense sort of kiss—soothing in it’s own way. And yet his hand crept around her. His fingers touched the back of her neck. Her skin felt sensitive all over.
“Hullo, there, Rose,” he murmured against her lips.
She smiled and tilted her head back. “Stephen. I love you.”
“Ah, good.”
His touch was gentle and yet so firm, caressing the base of her neck. She didn’t even realize that he was undoing her buttons down her back until she felt the cool air against her skin. But he didn’t stop kissing her, and gradually she felt her whole body coming to life.
He lifted his head for one second—just long enough to slide her gown off her shoulders. She felt the fabric pool at her feet. And then he stepped close to her once more. But instead of kissing her mouth, he bent his head to kiss her shoulder. His fingers tangled in the corset laces she’d tied in front, deftly undoing them, loosening them…and then pulling away the boning and heavy fabric.
When he took her nipple in his mouth through her shift, she tilted her head back. Her breath came shorter and shorter. And yet…
She opened her eyes. He was intent on her, his hands gentle on her skin. But she hadn’t wanted to simply give herself to him. She’d wanted to be brave and maybe a little outrageous. And so slowly, she reached out and put her hands on the placket of his trousers. His eyes shut; she could feel the hard length of his erection through the fabric.
“God, Rose.”
This was what she needed to do—not just to give herself to him, but to take him in return. Her hands were not so practiced as his had been on her buttons, but he didn’t seem to care. He pressed his hips against her hand, urged her as she peeled back his trousers. His smallclothes came next, revealing a long, pale shaft, already swelling under her attentions. She ran a finger over the tip; he gave a little growl.
And then she looked up at him.
“There we are,” Rose said, feeling her lips curl into a smile. “Stephen Shaughnessy, Actual Man.”
He let out a laugh—but before he could say anything else, before she could lose her nerve—she took him entirely in her hand, caressing him from tip to stem. It was the most amazing thing, the male organ—responsive, moving ever so slightly with her every touch. His breath grew uneven; his shaft pulsed in her hands, growing harder and longer.
“Rose.” He set his hand on her shoulder. “Let me have a turn at you, love.”
She looked up at him. And then, ever so gently, he pushed her down to the bed. Her heart was beating wildly; she couldn’t quite believe she was about to do this.
But then he came over her. He let his weight settle into her, slowly, ever so slowly, until their hips fit together, until her br**sts brushed his chest through her last under layer. He kissed her first on the shoulder, then on the chin, and then, tilting her head up, on the lips. That kiss on the lips didn’t stop. She let herself sink into it as his body settled against hers. They were hip to hip, separated only by the sheer fabric of her chemise. It was both too much and not enough. Their bodies found a rhythm together, a push and pull like heartbeats, like the tide of gravity between them.
She choked and looked down.
“But there’s something you don’t understand,” he said. “When I said I loved you, I didn’t mean that I would walk away when I realized your life was difficult. The fact that I understand how hard things can be means that I want to stand by you sooner, and try even harder to make it better.”
She could scarcely believe it. She lifted her face to his, her heart pounding.
And then he smiled at her, and all her fears took flight.
“I love you,” he said. “Let me buy you telescopes and kiss you half the night. And when things grow difficult, let me be make them a little easier.”
She looked up at him. She felt dazed, utterly worn out. And so she said the first thing that came to her mind, which happened to be…
“Did you know that Dr. Maro in Italy has calculated the likelihood that the earth will be struck by an asteroid at two hundred and fifty million to one?”
He blinked. “No. I did not know that. Is it…relevant?”
“Yes,” she heard herself say. And then she reached out and opened his door, and before her nerve left her, she stepped inside.
He followed her, scratching his head in bemusement.
“Yes,” she told him. “It’s very relevant. You see, it’s one hundred and sixty times more likely that the earth will be struck by an asteroid than that you will seduce me. And yet…” She swallowed, looking up at him. “I find myself seduced. Utterly. The only explanation is that we are all about to perish.”
He looked down at her, his breath hissing out. “Rose. Darling.”
“And since we are going to die anyway…” Her throat felt dry. “Would you…take me to bed?”
He looked at her. Really looked at her. His eyes were dark; a light danced in them. He leaned over her and drew one finger down her cheek.
“Rose,” he said. “I have just one question.”
She nodded.
“Does probability really work like that?”
Her cheeks burned and she ducked her head. “No,” she moaned, feeling rather ashamed. “It doesn’t. I’m sorry—I was going to tell you afterward. And I know that doing such a thing under false pretenses…” She let out a little laugh. “I know it doesn’t make sense. But I love you, and…and… I think that if we are to do this, I must learn to be a little outrageous.” She swallowed. “And in a few hours my parents will be here, and once we’re engaged, it’ll be four months before we’ll be left alone, and—”
“Four months! No, never mind that for now. Rose, did you just lie to me about mathematics to get me into bed?” He laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so flattered.” He took her hand. His fingers were warm against hers, and her whole body thrilled at his touch. “Come, Rose.”
She followed him up the stairs.
His bed was solid wood, heaped with a quilt of shifting greens. He stopped on the threshold of his room. “Are you sure, Rose?”
Her heart was pounding. “I’m sure.”
She wasn’t sure what to expect. But he didn’t pounce on her immediately. He didn’t take off her clothing. Instead, he turned her to him, set his finger under her chin, and he kissed her.
It was a sweet, intense sort of kiss—soothing in it’s own way. And yet his hand crept around her. His fingers touched the back of her neck. Her skin felt sensitive all over.
“Hullo, there, Rose,” he murmured against her lips.
She smiled and tilted her head back. “Stephen. I love you.”
“Ah, good.”
His touch was gentle and yet so firm, caressing the base of her neck. She didn’t even realize that he was undoing her buttons down her back until she felt the cool air against her skin. But he didn’t stop kissing her, and gradually she felt her whole body coming to life.
He lifted his head for one second—just long enough to slide her gown off her shoulders. She felt the fabric pool at her feet. And then he stepped close to her once more. But instead of kissing her mouth, he bent his head to kiss her shoulder. His fingers tangled in the corset laces she’d tied in front, deftly undoing them, loosening them…and then pulling away the boning and heavy fabric.
When he took her nipple in his mouth through her shift, she tilted her head back. Her breath came shorter and shorter. And yet…
She opened her eyes. He was intent on her, his hands gentle on her skin. But she hadn’t wanted to simply give herself to him. She’d wanted to be brave and maybe a little outrageous. And so slowly, she reached out and put her hands on the placket of his trousers. His eyes shut; she could feel the hard length of his erection through the fabric.
“God, Rose.”
This was what she needed to do—not just to give herself to him, but to take him in return. Her hands were not so practiced as his had been on her buttons, but he didn’t seem to care. He pressed his hips against her hand, urged her as she peeled back his trousers. His smallclothes came next, revealing a long, pale shaft, already swelling under her attentions. She ran a finger over the tip; he gave a little growl.
And then she looked up at him.
“There we are,” Rose said, feeling her lips curl into a smile. “Stephen Shaughnessy, Actual Man.”
He let out a laugh—but before he could say anything else, before she could lose her nerve—she took him entirely in her hand, caressing him from tip to stem. It was the most amazing thing, the male organ—responsive, moving ever so slightly with her every touch. His breath grew uneven; his shaft pulsed in her hands, growing harder and longer.
“Rose.” He set his hand on her shoulder. “Let me have a turn at you, love.”
She looked up at him. And then, ever so gently, he pushed her down to the bed. Her heart was beating wildly; she couldn’t quite believe she was about to do this.
But then he came over her. He let his weight settle into her, slowly, ever so slowly, until their hips fit together, until her br**sts brushed his chest through her last under layer. He kissed her first on the shoulder, then on the chin, and then, tilting her head up, on the lips. That kiss on the lips didn’t stop. She let herself sink into it as his body settled against hers. They were hip to hip, separated only by the sheer fabric of her chemise. It was both too much and not enough. Their bodies found a rhythm together, a push and pull like heartbeats, like the tide of gravity between them.
