“I promise it won't be uncomfortable in the least, darling.”
When she offered no more arguments, he swung down from his horse and came around to assist her. Eleanor was transfixed by the look in his eyes when he reached up to grasp her by the waist and lift her from her saddle.
Letting her slide down his body, Damon bent close. His voice was an amused rumble against her ear as he murmured, “If you insist on being missish, we can make use of that copse of beeches at the top of the hill to provide a measure of concealment. I will even let you keep your clothing on.”
Clearly he was back to his usual provocative self- the same irresistible suitor who had swept her off her feet in the early days of their courtship. The transformation was very welcome, especially compared to the dark, brooding, anguished man he had been last evening. Eleanor was hard-pressed to deny him.
When she hesitated, he nipped at her earlobe. “You wanted to succor me last night. I still need succoring, sweet Eleanor.”
Strangely, beneath the seductiveness of his voice there was a serious undertone that suggested complete honesty. And when she drew back to search his face, his expression held a hint of that same vulnerability she had glimpsed last night.
Her heart melting, Eleanor smiled up at him. “How can I possibly refuse such an enticing offer?”
A spark kindled in his eyes at her reply. Leaving their horses to graze, Damon took her hand and led her up the slope of the grassy hillock, stopping just short of the copse.
When he began to remove the pins that held her shako hat in place, Eleanor raised her eyebrows. “I thought you said we would remain dressed.”
“We will, but I want to see your hair loose.”
Tossing her hat down, he wove his fingers through her curls and held her head still as he gazed down at her.
His face was filling the sky above her, blotting out the bright sun, but she could clearly see his eyes. The possessive hunger in the dark depths made heat uncoil inside her.
“What are you waiting for, my lord husband?” Eleanor queried, the question almost taunting.
He smiled, a promise, and answered by kissing her. Capturing her head between his hands, Damon slanted his mouth over hers and took her lips in a searing assault.
The very rawness of his male desire stole Eleanor's breath and set her heart racing. And that was before he guided her backward until she was pressed up against the trunk of a very large beech tree.
Those fervent kisses kept on coming while his hands dropped to her riding jacket and made short work of the buttons there. Then lifting her skirts, he pulled them up to bare her naked thighs.
When his fingers searched out the heart of her, he found her feminine entrance slick with the liquid evidence of her own need. Eleanor gasped as he slid his fingers into her ready wetness, scarcely believing how damp and swollen she already was for him. Her state of arousal evidently satisfied Damon, for when he broke off his kisses and drew back, his eyes smoldered darkly.
Something deep inside her flared in response to that primal look, and she fumbled for the front buttons of his breeches, fighting the reckless urge to rip them away. When she managed to open the front placket, his rigid phallus sprang free.
He was rock hard, magnificently long, Eleanor thought dazedly, curling her hand around him. Damon groaned as her fingers cupped his sex, and when she raised her face to his again, searching blindly for that clever mouth, he gave a growl of approval and took her lips hard.
His mouth was hot and fevered, devouring hers while he pushed aside the lapels of her jacket. His hands roamed her bodice, covering the swells of her breasts, as if all he cared about was touching her, exploring her.
Eleanor moaned, arching into his possessive caresses. Damon was stirring an aching pool of want inside her, making her long for him with a kind of primitive ferocity. But she needed more, craved more from him.
As if sensing her unspoken entreaty, he obliged her, moving his hands lower, gliding over her hips to grasp her buttocks. Bending his legs slightly, he lifted her up and slowly slid the engorged crest of his erection into her pulsing cleft.
The sensation of his claiming her was exquisite. Shuddering, Eleanor whimpered against his mouth and opened to him fully, desperate to take him deeper, to fill herself with his essence.
When he buried himself all the way inside her, she melted into him with a seizure of need. Her arms tightening around him, she wrapped her legs around Damon's hips hungrily, clutching him to her as he thrust into her.
His whole body was hard with demand, commanding her passion and giving his own in return. Yet Eleanor met him with the same sweet fierceness, her hips moving in an elemental, primitive, needful rhythm as he drove his powerful length deep within her hot, throbbing flesh.
Another keening whimper escaped her throat. Damon was possessing her so completely that she felt mindless, lost. There was so much heat and need and pleasure that her whole body was shaking.
And then the heat between them became too much to bear. The blaze erupted into a firestorm, violent, fierce, raging. An instant later, Eleanor cried out, convulsing wildly as wave after wave of ecstasy buffeted her.
Damon captured the muffled screams of bliss tearing from her throat, but then a hoarse groan ripped from him as he rode his own explosive climax. Shuddering, his body contracting savagely, he spilled his seed deep within her.
She was still pulsating around him when he slumped weakly against her, letting the tree at her back support them both. Eleanor clung to him, her legs wrapped around his thighs, her face buried in his throat. They remained there for a long while, their ragged breaths mingling, their frantic heartbeats slowing.
Eleanor began to recover her shattered senses moments before Damon did. His passion had been devastating, shaking her to her very soul. And when finally she managed to draw back and look up at him, she discovered his eyes glazed with spent desire as he stared back at her.
She felt him move then. Still joined intimately to her, still holding her tightly, he turned and carried her from the protective shelter of the trees, into the sunlight.
When they reached a flat slab of rock on the hillside, he eased her down gently and stretched out beside her, then gathered her close.
As they lay there, tangled in each other's arms, a peace stole over Eleanor. She breathed a contented sigh of exhaustion and satisfaction, wishing she could stay this way forever, lost in the pleasure of Damon's embrace on this beautiful, joyful morning.
Damon, however, did not feel quite the same peace as he watched her. Twice now he had made fierce demands on her body even though she was unaccustomed to such harsh usage.
Yet Eleanor seemed utterly content-in sharp contrast to the agitation stirring inside him. His need to claim her, to possess her, was overpowering, overwhelming, threatening.
He wished he could draw back from her allure. If the fire between them continued to burn this hotly, this fiercely, he would be in grave peril.
And yet… this was exactly what he craved just now. What he needed. This tenderness. This quiet intimacy.
His fingertips tracing the length of her spine, Damon savored the feel of them lying together as he tried to make sense of his warring inclinations.
Part of him hungered fiercely for Eleanor. Part of him wanted desperately to run. And still another part-an intensely insistent part-was beginning to question his long-held convictions. He'd sworn never to let himself love anyone, to let himself become so vulnerable to pain again.
But was loving Eleanor something he needed to run from any longer?
If so, then why did it feel so good just to watch her? Her face was soft, lazy, sleepy; her mouth evocative and passion-bruised. Her hair was a wild, curly tangle, glistening ebony in the sunlight, the heavy fringe of her lashes brushing her cheeks.
Almost without volition, Damon moved his hand upward over her shoulder to stroke the delicate curve of her cheekbone.
Without even opening her eyes, she smiled softly.
Her response touched him, warmed him… unnerved him.
Wanting Eleanor, desiring her, needing her as he did, was precariously close to love.
Love.
Flinching, Damon clenched his jaw as he fought the unwanted emotions swelling inside him. He ached to be inside her again, to bury himself so deep he could never break free; to absorb her healing power and let it renew him. In truth, the feeling was so intense, it shocked him. But so were the voices clamoring in his head, warning him to beware.
The same warning signals he'd heeded two years ago.
Circumstances now were not the same as then, however. Eleanor was not merely the beautiful, spirited heiress he'd become obsessed with two years ago. She was his wife now. Their marriage alone changed the stakes.