On the Way to the Wedding
“He was beautiful. She hadn’t realized a man could be beautiful, but it was the only word that could possibly describe him. She lifted one hand and gingerly placed it against his skin. His blood leaped and pulsed beneath, and she nearly pulled away. “No,” he said, covering her hand with his own. He wrapped his fingers around hers and then took her to his heart. He looked into her eyes. She could not look away. And then he was back, his body hard and hot against hers, his hands everywhere and his lips everywhere else. And her nightgown— It no longer seemed to be covering quite so much of her. It was up against her thighs, then pooled around her waist. He was touching her—not there, but close. Skim-ming along her belly, scorching her skin. “Gregory,” she gasped, because somehow his fi ngers had found her breast. “Oh, Lucy,” he groaned, cupping her, squeezing, tickling the tip, and— Oh, dear God. How was it possible that she felt it there? Her hips arched and bucked, and she needed to be closer.
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