Chapter 7

The chill of the room against her cheek woke Laura from a sound sleep. Oh, her backside was warm enough, with Remington spooned around her as he was. He'd made them a pallet before the fire last night, where they'd made love, yet again, before falling asleep, their bodies sated… at least for now. A smile lifted her lips as her eyes opened and she stared at the dying fire before her.

Carefully, she eased herself from Remington's embrace, smiling when he mumbled his discontent. Since becoming lovers two nights ago, he seemed to have a pressing need to stay connected to her in some manner. Those artless touches he'd employed with her from the beginning multiplied three-fold. His eyes no longer traveled over her face, assessing whether she'd be receptive to a kiss, instead he drew her to him at will, kissing her at his leisure. When she wasn't in close enough proximity for either of those, his eyes followed her every movement, waiting for that moment when her eyes would meet his, at which point he'd inevitably grace her with a quick, quiet smile.

Was it all done to reassure her she'd made the right decision in allowing them to finally move past that line at the bedroom door? She wasn't sure… and didn't know if she particularly cared. She didn't have a single regret, and if she did? Well, those doubts would have been vanquished by the way he made love to her or held her as though she was made of the most fragile glass when they were falling to sleep. There was a vulnerability in his eyes during those times that even a con artist as verse as himself could not feign… and he'd be horrified to know was even there to begin with.

Lifting a log from the stack, she carefully positioned it in the hearth, watching as it sizzled then began to burn, oblivious to the pair of blue eyes intently admiring the portrait she made as she kneeled nude before the hearth. The flames brought out the reds in her hair, those lovely freckles on her skin, and shadowed her gentle curves so he might appreciate them – and appreciate them, he most certainly did.

He'd been ill prepared for her, of that there was no doubt.

Years before, the bloke with whom she'd once lived had warned of her passionate nature.

Warned.

Oh, he'd had a good laugh at that, after the initial surprise had worn off. Warned, as though that were a bad thing – a sure sign of a man who couldn't keep up, he'd quickly assessed. But for him? Well, those fantasies and dreams in which she'd been his sole star for quite some time, had heated up even further.

Not a single one of them lived up to the reality of her.

She was as insatiable as he. She was uninhibited, creative, athletic, inventive. She enjoyed drawing every ounce of pleasure from his body that she could, as though it were a challenge to drag him to the edge again and again, only to leave him hovering there, wondering if it was to be this time that she'd leave him there until he begged for sweet release. Yet as much as she enjoyed giving him pleasure, she enjoyed taking it as well. Quite freely, at that. She hid nothing from him, her gasps, sighs, soft cries guiding his way. He'd quickly discovered the muscles in her inner thighs tightened and her fingers clenched his back, arms or bed in the moments before her body quaked… and that she preferred to be as close to him physically as she could be when it did. He couldn't recall a time when he'd talked as much… laughed as much… during sex, as he did with her. And he'd learned there had never been a more sensual feeling that being cradled within her warmth.

No, he not been prepared, at all, for the reality of her…

Or that he'd be so loathe to let her get too far away from him when they weren't making love. He'd played endless hands of pinochle, a game called Life, then Monopoly with her, for no other reason than to keep her near. He'd uttered not a complaint when, twice now, they'd spent near on two hours boiling water and pouring it into the tub, just so they could soak together in the bath.

And now, here he was wide awake at this godforsaken hour for no other reason than he'd missed her, even in his sleep, which was bloody ridiculous if you asked him… But it seemed his heart had weighed in that it didn't give a damn.

That same heart caught in his throat when Laura turned her head and looked back over her shoulder at him. A portrait fitting to hang in the Louvre, he thought to himself.

His gaze held hers, as he pushed up to kneel behind her, a hand at her waist urging her to turn around. Burying his hands in her hair, that she'd left hanging loose, he stared at her for long seconds before slowly bending his head and covering her lips with his. He kissed her with such a languid, tender thoroughness that it left her toes curling and her heart pounding. When he drew his lips away from hers, she slowly lifted her lashes until his blue eyes kept her brown eyes spellbound yet again. As his hand caressed her neck, she moved closer to him, as his eyes seemed to request that she do, until their bodies touched from knee to breast.

When he leaned in to kiss her again, he vowed to himself that this time he'd count every single dapple of color sprinkling her skin by the time dawn came, and only then would he make her his once more.