She scooted around to allow herself a better view of him while he slept. His face always held a boyish appeal, but in slumber the effect was exaggerated. He looked a perfect angel, without a trace of the cynicism that sometimes clouded his eyes.
"We have Leticia to thank for that," Miranda murmured softly, touching his cheek.
He stirred, mumbling something in his sleep.
"Not yet, my love," she whispered, feeling brave enough to use endearments when she knew he could not hear her. "I like to watch you sleep."
Turner slept, and she listened to him breathe.
It was heaven.
Eventually he stirred, his body stretching its way awake before his eyelids lifted. And then there he was, watching her with sleepy eyes, smiling.
"Morning," he said groggily.
He yawned. "Have you been awake long?"
"Just a little while."
"Are you hungry? I could have some breakfast sent up."
She shook her head.
He yawned again and then smiled at her. "You're very pink in the morning."
"Pink?" She couldn't help but be intrigued.
"Mmm-hmm. Your skin…it glows."
"It does not."
"It does. Trust me."
"My mother always told me to be suspicious of men who said, 'Trust me.'"
"Yes, well, your mother never knew me very well," he said offhandedly. He touched her lips with his index finger. "These are pink, too."
"Are they?" she asked in a breathy voice.
"Mmm-hmm. Very pink. But not, I think, as pink as some other parts of you."
Miranda turned positively scarlet.
"These, for example," he murmured, grazing his palms over her nipples. His hand stole back up and tenderly cupped her cheek. "You were very tired last night."
"Yes, I was."
"Much too tired to attend to some important business."
She swallowed nervously, trying not to let out a little moan as his hand trailed softly up her back.
"I think it's time we consummated this marriage," he murmured, his lips warm and wicked at her ear. And then he pulled her against him, and she realized just how soon he wanted to take care of the matter.
Miranda gave him a smile full of humor-tinged reproof. "We took care of that quite some time ago. A trifle prematurely, if you recall."
"Doesn't count," he said blithely, waving off her comment. "We weren't married."
"If it didn't count , we wouldn't be married."
Turner acknowledged her point with a rakish smile. "Ah, well, I suppose you're right. But everything worked out in the end. You can hardly be upset with me for being so tremendously virile."
Miranda might have been fairly innocent, but she knew enough to roll her eyes at that. She could not remark, however, as his hand had moved to her breast, and he was doing something to the tip that she could swear she felt between her legs.
She felt herself sliding, slipping off the pillow and onto her back, and she felt herself sliding on the inside, too, as his every touch seemed to melt another inch of her body. He kissed her breasts, her stomach, her legs. There seemed to be no part of her that did not interest him. Miranda didn't know what to do. She lay on her back beneath his exploring hands and mouth, squirming and moaning whenever the sensations began to overwhelm her.
"Do you like that?" Turner murmured as he inspected the back of her knee with his lips.
"I like everything," she gasped.
He moved back up to her mouth and dropped a quick kiss onto it. "I cannot tell you how much it pleases me to hear you say that."
"This can't be proper."
He grinned. "No less so than what I did to you in the carriage."
She flushed at the memory, then bit her lip to keep from asking him to do it again.
But he read her mind, or at least her face, and he let out a purr of pleasure as he kissed his way down the length of her body to her womanhood. His lips touched first the inside of one thigh, then the other.
"Oh, yes," she sighed, beyond embarrassment now. She didn't care if it made her a brazen hussy. She just wanted the pleasure.
"So sweet," he murmured, and he placed one of his hands on her soft tuft of hair and opened her even more. His hot breath touched her skin, and her legs tensed, even though she knew she wanted this. "No, no, no," he said, amusement in his voice as he gently pried her apart. And then he leaned down and kissed that most sensitive nub of flesh.
Miranda, quite unable to say anything coherent, squealed from the sheer sensation of his kisses. Was it pleasure or pain? She wasn't certain. Her hands, which had been balled into fists at her sides, flew down to Turner's head and planted themselves in his hair. When her hips began to writhe beneath him, he made a move as if to get up, but her hands held his head firmly in place. He finally eased his way from her grasp and moved back up her body until his lips were on level with hers. "I thought you weren't going to let me up for air," he murmured.
Miranda didn't think it possible in her position, but she blushed.
He nibbled on her ear. "Did you like that?"
She nodded, unable to voice the words.
"There are many, many things for you to learn."
"Could I…?" Oh, how to ask it?
He smiled indulgently at her. "Could you what?"
She swallowed down her embarrassment. "Could I touch you ?"
In response, he took her hand and guided it down his body. When they reached his manhood, her hand jerked back reflexively. It was much hotter than she'd expected, and much, much harder. Turner patiently moved her hand back to him, and this time she made a few tentative strokes, marveling at how soft the skin was. "It's so different," she marveled. "So very odd."
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