Daphne shivered with desire. His breath touched only her ear, but her skin prickled across her entire body.
“I could do nothing,” he continued, edging one strap of her chemise off her shoulder, “except imagine.”
“You thought about me?” Daphne whispered, her body thrilling at the notion. “You thought about this?”
His hand at her hip grew tight. “Every night. Every moment before I fell asleep, until my skin burned and my body begged for release.”
Daphne felt her legs wobble, but he held her up.
“And then when I was asleep…” He moved to her neck, his hot breath as much of a kiss as the touch of his lips. “That's when I was truly naughty.”
A moan escaped her lips, strangled and incoherent and full of desire.
The second chemise strap fell off her shoulder just as Simon's lips found the tantalizing hollow between her breasts. “But tonight—” he whispered, pushing the silk down until one breast was bared, and then the other. “Tonight all of my dreams come true.”
Daphne had time only to gasp before his mouth found her breast and fastened on her hardened nipple.
“This is what I wanted to do in Lady Trowbridge's garden,” he said. “Did you know that?”
She shook her head wildly, grabbing on to his shoulders for support. She was swaying from side to side, barely able to hold her head straight. Spasms of pure feeling were shooting through her body, robbing her of breath, of balance, even of thought.
“Of course you didn't,” he murmured. “You're such an innocent.”
With deft and knowing fingers, Simon slid the rest of her clothes from her body, until she was nude in his arms. Gently, because he knew she had to be almost as nervous as she was excited, he lowered her onto the bed.
His motions were uncontrolled and jerky as he yanked at his own clothing. His skin was on fire, his entire body burning with need. Never once, however, did he take his eyes off of her. She lay sprawled on the bed, a temptation like none he'd ever seen. Her skin glowed peachy smooth in the flickering candlelight, and her hair, long since released from its coiffure, fell around her face in wild abandon.
His fingers, which had removed her clothing with such finesse and speed, now felt awkward and clumsy as he tried to make sense of his own buttons and knots.
As his hands moved to his trousers, he saw that she was pulling the bedsheets over her. “Don't,” he said, barely recognizing his own voice.
Her eyes met his, and he said, “I'll be your blanket.”
He peeled the rest of his clothing off, and before she could utter a word, he moved to the bed, covering her body with his. He felt her gasp with surprise at the feel of him, and then her body stiffened slightly.
“Shhh,” he crooned, nuzzling her neck while one of his hands made soothing circles on the side of her thigh. “Trust me.”
“I do trust you,” she said in a shaky voice. “It's just that—”
His hand moved up to her hip. “Just that what?”
He could hear the grimace in her voice as she said, “Just that I wish I weren't so utterly ignorant.”
A low rumble of a laugh shook his chest.
“Stop that,” she griped, swatting him on the shoulder.
“I'm not laughing at you,” Simon insisted.
“You're certainly laughing,” she muttered, “and don't tell me you're laughing with me, because that excuse never works.”
“I was laughing,” he said softly, lifting himself up on his elbows so that he could look into her face, “because I was thinking how very glad I am of your ignorance.” He lowered his face down until his lips brushed hers in a feather-light caress. “I am honored to be the only man to touch you thus.”
Her eyes shone with such purity of feeling that Simon was nearly undone. “Truly?” she whispered.
“Truly,” he said, surprised by how gruff his voice sounded. “Although honor is most likely only the half of it.”
She said nothing, but her eyes were enchantingly curious.
“I might have to kill the next man who so much as looks at you sideways,” he grumbled.
To his great surprise, she burst out laughing. “Oh, Simon,” she gasped, “it is so perfectly splendidly wonderful to be the object of such irrational jealousy. Thank you.”
“You'll thank me later,” he vowed.
“And perhaps,” she murmured, her dark eyes suddenly far more seductive than they had any right to be, “you'll thank me as well.”
Simon felt her thighs slide apart as he settled his body against hers, his manhood hot against her belly. “I already do,” he said, his words melting into her skin as he kissed the hollow of her shoulder. “Believe me, I already do.”
Never had he been so thankful for the hard-won control he had learned to exert over himself. His entire body ached to plunge into her and finally make her his in truth, but he knew that this night—their wedding night—was for Daphne, not for him.
This was her first time. He was her first lover—her only lover, he thought with uncharacteristic savagery—and it was his responsibility to make certain that this night brought her nothing but exquisite pleasure.
He knew she wanted him. Her breath was erratic, her eyes glazed with need. He could hardly bear to look at her face, for every time he saw her lips, half-open and panting with desire, the urge to slam into her nearly overwhelmed him.
So instead he kissed her. He kissed her everywhere, and ignored the fierce pounding of his blood every time he heard her gasp or mewl with desire. And then finally, when she was writhing and moaning beneath him, and he knew she was mad for him, he slipped his hand between her legs and touched her.