Secrets of a Summer Night
Page 82
“If one of the maids finds us, we’ll be thrown out of the hotel.”
“Believe me, the maids have seen far worse than this.” Her dress was crushed beneath Simon’s feet as he shoved Annabelle’s drawers to her ankles.
She made a few more halfhearted protests, until Simon reached between her thighs and discovered the evidence of her arousal, after which further remonstrations seemed rather pointless. Her mouth opened to his kiss, eagerly returning the rough, stroking pressure of his lips. The plush entrance of her body stretched easily to take him, and a whimper slipped from her throat as she felt his fingers there, spreading her so that every rolling thrust of his h*ps gently abraded the sensitive peak of her sex.
They struggled to press closer, their bodies flexing, fusing, each kiss a searching invasion that aroused her further. Her corset was too tight, but there was unexpected delight in the constriction, as if extra sensation had been detoured to the lower half of her body and trapped in pleasure-swollen tissues. Her fingers clawed uselessly at his clothes as her desire escalated to near madness. Simon invaded her in deep lunges, his rhythm insistent, until rapture shot and echoed through both of them, and their lungs pulled in drafts of air laden with the scent of clean, pressed linen, and their entwined limbs tightened as if to trap the sensation between them.
“Damn,” Simon muttered a few minutes later, when he was able to catch his breath.
“What?” Annabelle whispered, her head resting heavily against his coat lapel.
“For the rest of my life, the smell of starch is going to make me hard.”
“That’s your problem,” she replied with a languid smile, and inhaled as she felt his body, still joined with hers, nudge upward.
“Yours, too,” he told her, just before his mouth found hers in the darkness.
CHAPTER 23
Soon after Simon and Annabelle’s return to England, they were confronted with the inevitable interaction of two families that could not have been more different. Simon’s mother, Bertha, demanded that they come to dinner so that they all could become better acquainted, as they had not been able to do before the wedding. Although Simon had warned Annabelle what to expect, and she in turn had endeavored to prepare her mother and brother, she suspected that the encounter would produce, at best, mixed results.
Thankfully Jeremy was happily reconciled to the fact that Simon Hunt was now his brother-in-law. Having grown tall and lanky in the past few months, he stood over Annabelle as he embraced her in the parlor of their home. His golden brown hair had lightened considerably from all the time he had spent out of doors, and his blue eyes were bright and smiling in his sun-browned face. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read Mama’s letter saying that you were going to marry Simon Hunt,” he told her. “After all the things you’ve said about him during the past two years—”
“Jeremy,” Annabelle scolded. “Don’t you dare repeat any of that!”
Laughing, Jeremy continued to keep an arm around her while he extended his hand to Simon. “Congratulations, sir.” As they shook hands, he continued mischievously, “Actually, I wasn’t a bit surprised. My sister complained about you so often and for so long that I knew she entertained a strong feeling for you.”
Simon’s warm gaze fell on his scowling wife. “I can’t imagine what she found to complain about,” he said blandly.
“I believe she said—” Jeremy began, and gave an exaggerated wince as Annabelle shoved her elbow against his ribs. “All right, I’ll be quiet,” he said, holding up his hands defensively and laughing as he staggered back from her. “I was just having a little polite parlor conversation with my new brother-in-law.”
“‘Polite parlor conversation’ entails talking about the weather, or asking after someone’s health,” Annabelle informed him. “Not revealing potentially embarrassing remarks that one’s sister made in confidence.”
Sliding an arm around Annabelle’s waist, Simon pulled her back against his chest and lowered his head to murmur in her ear, “I have a fair idea of what you said. After all, you were willing enough to tell me face-to-face.”
Hearing the note of amusement in his voice, Annabelle relaxed against him.
Having never seen his sister interact so comfortably with a man, and noticing the changes in her, Jeremy smiled. “I would say that marriage seems to agree with you, Annabelle.”
Just then Philippa entered the room, and she rushed to her daughter with a glad cry. “Darling, I have missed you so!” She embraced her daughter tightly, then turned to Simon with a brilliant smile. “Dear Mr. Hunt, welcome home. Did you enjoy Paris?”
“Beyond telling,” Simon replied pleasantly, bending to kiss her proffered cheek. He did not look at Annabelle as he added, “I especially enjoyed the champagne.”
“Why, of course,” Philippa replied, “I’m certain that anyone who…Annabelle, dear, what are you doing?”
“Just opening the window,” Annabelle said in a strangled voice, her face having turned the color of pickled beets at Simon’s remark, as she remembered the evening when he had put a glass of champagne to especially creative use. “It’s terribly warm in here— why on earth are the windows closed at this time of year?” Keeping her face averted, she struggled with the latch until Jeremy came to help her.
While Simon and Philippa conversed, Jeremy pushed the paned glass open and grinned as Annabelle turned her overheated cheeks toward the cooling breeze. “It must have been quite a honeymoon,” he murmured with a swift grin.
“Believe me, the maids have seen far worse than this.” Her dress was crushed beneath Simon’s feet as he shoved Annabelle’s drawers to her ankles.
She made a few more halfhearted protests, until Simon reached between her thighs and discovered the evidence of her arousal, after which further remonstrations seemed rather pointless. Her mouth opened to his kiss, eagerly returning the rough, stroking pressure of his lips. The plush entrance of her body stretched easily to take him, and a whimper slipped from her throat as she felt his fingers there, spreading her so that every rolling thrust of his h*ps gently abraded the sensitive peak of her sex.
They struggled to press closer, their bodies flexing, fusing, each kiss a searching invasion that aroused her further. Her corset was too tight, but there was unexpected delight in the constriction, as if extra sensation had been detoured to the lower half of her body and trapped in pleasure-swollen tissues. Her fingers clawed uselessly at his clothes as her desire escalated to near madness. Simon invaded her in deep lunges, his rhythm insistent, until rapture shot and echoed through both of them, and their lungs pulled in drafts of air laden with the scent of clean, pressed linen, and their entwined limbs tightened as if to trap the sensation between them.
“Damn,” Simon muttered a few minutes later, when he was able to catch his breath.
“What?” Annabelle whispered, her head resting heavily against his coat lapel.
“For the rest of my life, the smell of starch is going to make me hard.”
“That’s your problem,” she replied with a languid smile, and inhaled as she felt his body, still joined with hers, nudge upward.
“Yours, too,” he told her, just before his mouth found hers in the darkness.
CHAPTER 23
Soon after Simon and Annabelle’s return to England, they were confronted with the inevitable interaction of two families that could not have been more different. Simon’s mother, Bertha, demanded that they come to dinner so that they all could become better acquainted, as they had not been able to do before the wedding. Although Simon had warned Annabelle what to expect, and she in turn had endeavored to prepare her mother and brother, she suspected that the encounter would produce, at best, mixed results.
Thankfully Jeremy was happily reconciled to the fact that Simon Hunt was now his brother-in-law. Having grown tall and lanky in the past few months, he stood over Annabelle as he embraced her in the parlor of their home. His golden brown hair had lightened considerably from all the time he had spent out of doors, and his blue eyes were bright and smiling in his sun-browned face. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read Mama’s letter saying that you were going to marry Simon Hunt,” he told her. “After all the things you’ve said about him during the past two years—”
“Jeremy,” Annabelle scolded. “Don’t you dare repeat any of that!”
Laughing, Jeremy continued to keep an arm around her while he extended his hand to Simon. “Congratulations, sir.” As they shook hands, he continued mischievously, “Actually, I wasn’t a bit surprised. My sister complained about you so often and for so long that I knew she entertained a strong feeling for you.”
Simon’s warm gaze fell on his scowling wife. “I can’t imagine what she found to complain about,” he said blandly.
“I believe she said—” Jeremy began, and gave an exaggerated wince as Annabelle shoved her elbow against his ribs. “All right, I’ll be quiet,” he said, holding up his hands defensively and laughing as he staggered back from her. “I was just having a little polite parlor conversation with my new brother-in-law.”
“‘Polite parlor conversation’ entails talking about the weather, or asking after someone’s health,” Annabelle informed him. “Not revealing potentially embarrassing remarks that one’s sister made in confidence.”
Sliding an arm around Annabelle’s waist, Simon pulled her back against his chest and lowered his head to murmur in her ear, “I have a fair idea of what you said. After all, you were willing enough to tell me face-to-face.”
Hearing the note of amusement in his voice, Annabelle relaxed against him.
Having never seen his sister interact so comfortably with a man, and noticing the changes in her, Jeremy smiled. “I would say that marriage seems to agree with you, Annabelle.”
Just then Philippa entered the room, and she rushed to her daughter with a glad cry. “Darling, I have missed you so!” She embraced her daughter tightly, then turned to Simon with a brilliant smile. “Dear Mr. Hunt, welcome home. Did you enjoy Paris?”
“Beyond telling,” Simon replied pleasantly, bending to kiss her proffered cheek. He did not look at Annabelle as he added, “I especially enjoyed the champagne.”
“Why, of course,” Philippa replied, “I’m certain that anyone who…Annabelle, dear, what are you doing?”
“Just opening the window,” Annabelle said in a strangled voice, her face having turned the color of pickled beets at Simon’s remark, as she remembered the evening when he had put a glass of champagne to especially creative use. “It’s terribly warm in here— why on earth are the windows closed at this time of year?” Keeping her face averted, she struggled with the latch until Jeremy came to help her.
While Simon and Philippa conversed, Jeremy pushed the paned glass open and grinned as Annabelle turned her overheated cheeks toward the cooling breeze. “It must have been quite a honeymoon,” he murmured with a swift grin.
