Page 70 of For Your Arms Only

Alec smiled, then broke into real laughter. “I doubt it! Sinclair’s a handsome chap and he’s got the devil’s own charm with ladies—although now that he’s to be married, I’m sure his wife will be very pleased you never had the chance to shoot him at all. But enough about my misadventures.” He twisted suddenly, flipping her on her back while he settled on top of her. “Do you have any scars?”

“No,” she said. “I thought I did, here”—she touched her breast, right above her heart—”but it’s small and old."

He glanced down, then back at her face. "The navy scoundrel.”

"Yes." She swallowed. "He asked me to marry him. . . " She paused to gather herself. “It was the first time a man paid me any attention and it went to my head. I was. . . very foolish."

The tiny catch in her voice filled him with fury. He’d been drunk that night when she told him, but not too drunk to remember. That man had deceived her and broken her heart.

Cressida forced a smile, but it was strained. "By the time he broke it off, I feared I was with child. Granny had warned us and warned us about girls who let gentlemen have their way, and there I was, about to disgrace myself and her."

"Any man who leaves a woman in that condition," he said quietly, "should be shot."

Some of her usual confidence returned. “I rather thought so, too. That is when I learned to use a pistol. But later, when I knew I was not expecting his child, I was glad he had gone. It was a hard lesson, but I didn't have to pay for years and years. . . "

"Like your sister did," he finished when she fell silent.

She gave a tiny nod. "Yes."

He touched the spot above her heart, his hand sliding naturally around her breast, then he bent his head to kiss the spot. Her breath hitched. "I can’t feel the hurt of it anymore,” she said.

He smiled, already done talking about the vile navy lieutenant. “That’s the way of it, when they heal.” He molded his fingers to her flesh, pinching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and feeling the shiver that went through her. “Has it healed?”

Cressida arched into his caress. “Yes,” she said breathlessly.

“Are you certain? Perhaps I should check.” He lowered his head and teased that pert nipple with his tongue, relishing the way her hands fisted in the bedsheets.

“It’s healed,” she gasped. “Completely, thanks to you. . . ” She cupped her hands over his shoulders, holding him to her.

And Alec realized with a mental jolt that he felt the same. Cressida wasn’t disgusted by his scars or by how he’d got them—any of them. She didn’t recoil in distrust and revulsion when he told her why he’d hidden away, and what he’d done in that time. She didn’t expect him to go about challenging anyone who accused him, making a show of defiance. She knew he had no proof of his innocence, but she believed him innocent anyway.

It wouldn’t be trust if it had to be proved, would it?

He rose up on his knees and sat back. For a moment he just looked at her, lying beneath him. He had been intrigued from the moment she pointed a pistol at him in her stable. He’d come to respect her strength, to admire her honesty and decency, to find her dry humor entertaining, to crave her smile, and touch, and kiss. He was fascinated and charmed, unable to imagine life without her.

Alec had never been a romantic, sentimental man, but tonight, with her, he was happier than he could ever recall feeling in his life. He could absolutely get used to this.

As he sat there staring at her, feeling the earth shift beneath him, she began to squirm self-consciously, reaching for the blanket.

"Don’t.” He caught her hand. “Please. Let me see you."

"I'm not much of a beauty," she muttered.

He raised his eyebrows, running his hands down the insides of her thighs. "I beg to disagree. No—that is insufficient. I find every inch of you gloriously beautiful."

"Every inch?" She smiled uncomfortably. “Nonsense.”

"Indeed." He took hold of her ankle. "Lovely ankles, trim and neat." He stroked her calf. "Slim, strong legs, well-turned with exercise." She gave a reluctant laugh as he palmed her hips. "Lovely hips," he said fervently. "A perfect waist." She tried to bat his hand away, and he brought her fingers to his lips. "Elegant hands, but strong and capable. Also very steady, which is helpful when aiming a pistol." Cressida cringed, and he grinned. "Arms, the perfect length and diameter. Beautiful breasts. . . " He cupped one lightly. "More than beautiful, now that I consider the point." Still fondling her, he cocked his head. "Stunningly beautiful."

Cressida met his eyes, her face pink with uncertainty. She wasn’t used to being admired, let alone so brazenly, he realized. But she deserved to be, and he meant to be the man who did it.

"And I could look at your face for the rest of my life and never grow tired of it." She gaped at him, and he leaned down to press a kiss on her mouth. "Even if you will persist in looking at me as if I've just gone mad."

"Perhaps you have," she exclaimed, but she was smiling again.

"Ah." He winked at her. "If this is madness, there is method in it." Now he lowered himself until they were face to face, her breasts pressed into his chest, his arms tucking around her shoulders to hold her snugly under him. "But the most beautiful part of you," he murmured, "is here." He laid one finger on her lips.

"My mouth?"