Marrying Mr. English: The English Brothers #7 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 11) (10 page)

Finally she dropped her hands, her fingers playing nervously with the simple gold band on her ring finger as she took a step back in defeat.

And then she saw it:

Two hands clasped together, with the sunset behind them, and the words
The most perfect place in the world . . .
Eleanora reached for the card and opened it, whispering aloud, “. . . is anywhere with you. Happy Birthday, with love.”

She hadn’t realized that she was holding her breath until she released it, then drew in another, and it was stilted and ragged with emotion because the words felt so right. Tom wasn’t the only person who’d given up his life, she thought, plucking an envelope from behind the small stack of cards and adding both to her basket, careful not to get them wet. Eleanora had given up her life too—living with and looking after her cousin in Vail, college, and independence. Not that she believed Tom would begrudge her visits with her meager family, and he’d already insisted that her education would be one of their priorities as couple, but surely she was giving up her independence, wasn’t she? Yes. She was. Whatever dreams she’d had as a single girl were gone for now, as she and Tom tried to make a go of marriage.

And yet, she thought, picking up the cake without looking at the baker and making her way to the checkout, she was exactly where she wanted to be. She’d chosen Tom, not the other way around. She’d asked to bind her destiny to his, to marry him. And when he finally did choose her this afternoon—to the exclusion of his family—she’d chosen him again.

Yes, I want you against the odds. You choose me? Well, guess what? I choose you too.

She handed the cashier her emergency credit card and signed her name to the receipt, taking her bags and walking out of the store. And there was Tom, pulled up close to the curb, no doubt because snow had started to fall.

His eyes met hers through the passenger window, and he grinned at her as she opened the door.

“You’re back,” he said.

“You doubted?”

“No,” he said, pulling away from the store. “I’m just happy to see you.”

She smiled back at him before turning to her window to watch the snow fall. And in a rare state of perfect contentment, she heard the words in her head and knew they were true:

The most perfect place in the world . . . is anywhere with you.

***

Tom had taken the two grocery bags from Eleanora as they walked into his building from the car, but she shooed him from the kitchen when he tried to help her unpack them. So banished, he headed back to his bedroom for a few minutes. A nervous energy, fueled by today’s daring and in anticipation of his time alone with Eleanora, made Tom straighten up and make his bed—something he hadn’t done in years, since his building employed a maid service. But the service didn’t come on Christmas Eve, so Tom plumped the pillows and straightened the sheets on his own, then bent down to gather up his laundry and place it in the bathroom hamper. He brushed his teeth and briefly considered lighting the two candles he found in his medicine chest, but he heard Eleanora call his name, and wiped off his mouth quickly, heading back to the living room.

She stood in front of their Christmas tree in her black skirt and lavender blouse. She’d kicked off her boots, but her feet were dark in black panty hose. Holding two glasses of red wine, she held one out to him, and that’s when he noticed the little cake, covered with a blaze of candles, on his coffee table.

“Happy birthday,” she said, smiling at him as she lifted her glass to clink his.

“Is this what you bought in the grocery store?” he asked.

“Among other things.” She nodded, bending down to place her glass on the table and lift the little cake. “Everyone should have a cake on his birthday.”

He laughed softly, trying to remember the last time a woman had had his name written on a birthday cake, and his smile faded when he realized it was probably his fourth birthday, when his mother was still in the picture. Such frivolities hadn’t been part of Haverford Park celebrations after she left. His birthday had been celebrated with a donation to a local charity in his name and a brief, perfunctory salutation at breakfast.

“Is it okay?” Eleanora asked.

He nodded, overcome with emotion, unable to trust his own voice.

“Then make a wish,” she encouraged him.

“It already came true,” he whispered, holding her eyes as he blew out the candles.

His declaration changed the electricity between them from playful to intense, and he set his glass down on the coffee table beside hers, then carefully took the cake from her hands, listening to the sound of her breathing as he placed it back on the serving plate.

When he straightened, her eyes were wide and dark, full of promise and invitation. Tom reached for her face, placing his palm gently on her cheek, his body tightening as she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

“I’m crazy about you,” he said softly, his voice thick and gravelly with lust and tenderness and wanting it to be good for her, and him, and . . . and . . .

Her eyes opened slowly, and her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “Then kiss me.”

Flattening her hands on his chest, she felt the strength of him through his shirt and undershirt, the ripples of toned muscles, the certain, steady pressure of his lungs as he breathed her in, sucking her tongue into his mouth and groaning softly.

From the moment they’d walked back up the driveway of Haverford Park hand in hand, Eleanora had known this moment was coming. She’d been nervous, of course, but her feelings for Tom—and her pure, undiluted lust for him—overpowered any notions of backing away or putting on the brakes. She wasn’t a wanton woman, but she wanted him every bit as badly as he wanted her.

Sliding her fingers to the lapels of his navy suit jacket, she pushed it over his broad shoulders, listening as it dropped to the floor. As he ravaged her mouth with his, her fingers skimmed to the buttons on his shirt. They trembled with nerves and longing as she opened each in its turn, one by one. Then, smoothing her hands down his arms, which tensed beneath her touch, she pushed the material to his wrists, where it got caught.

Leaning away from him, her lips slick and raw, she said, “Take it off.”

“My shirt?”

“Everything,” she whispered.

His face registered surprise at first, then he grinned at her as he unbuttoned his cuffs and let his shirt drop to the floor. Her fingers reached to pull his T-shirt from the waistband of his pants, but he covered her hands gently with his, stopping her.

“Eleanora?”

She gulped, her nerves taking over now that they’d stopped kissing and she’d more or less demanded that he strip. Taking a deep breath, she looked up into his intense blue eyes.

“I have no problem getting naked for you, baby,” he said, cupping her face with his hands. “And if you want fast, we’ll go fast.” His thumbs stroked her cheek, and she felt herself relaxing, melting, his touch stoking her desire. “Because whether it’s now or later, I’ll have you slow too. I’ll have you so slow that every tremble, every gasp, every goose bump, will know where I’ve been and belong to me.”

His thumb slipped into her mouth, and she sucked on it, trying to remember how to breathe. He rubbed the slick digit along her bottom lip, his eyes dark, almost fierce, as he stared down at her. Then he reached behind his neck and tugged his T-shirt over his head, baring his chest to her as she’d asked.

She dropped her eyes to his torso, noting that, while it was muscular—he did, after all, ski—it wasn’t oversculpted. Strong, and dusted with blond hair, he was so beautiful in her eyes, she almost winced. Reaching out to touch him, the pads of her fingers alighted on his chest, and she flattened them, her palms covering his nipples, which beaded under her touch, making him groan softly.

Her eyes darted up, and his lips tilted up in a tender smile, even as his brows furrowed in an expression caught somewhere between pleasure and pain.

“Your turn,” he said, holding her eyes as he slowly unbuttoned her blouse and spread it open. He ran his palms reverently along her collarbone, and the silk sluiced down her arms with a soft whoosh. Without asking, he pulled her into his arms, unfastening her bra and sliding the straps down to her wrists, then watching as they slipped to the floor.

Fighting the overwhelming urge to cover herself, Eleanora blinked her gaze away from him and closed her eyes as Tom’s hands landed on her bare waist. As he raised them upward, he leaned forward, and his lips brushed against hers as the blond hair on his chest grazed her nipples. They tightened as though on command, puckering for him, straining shamelessly closer to the source of their pleasure. His hands bracketed her breasts as he deepened their kiss, running his tongue along the seam of her lips, which she opened willingly, welcoming his tongue to meet and mate with hers as his hands shifted, gently covering her naked breasts.

She moaned into his mouth, arching her back to thrust her breasts more fully against his hands, and he massaged them tenderly, circling his thumb around her erect nipple.

“Tom,” she murmured as the sharp sensations started stealing her breath away.

Tom seized the moment as a chance to slide his lips down her throat to her chest, then lower, capturing one pert bud between his lips as his fingers teased its twin into a tight point. His other hand slid to the zipper at the back of her skirt and tugged it down so that her skirt slipped over her slim hips and pooled at her ankles, the cool air of his apartment touching her legs at the same time his teeth grazed her nipple.

She whimpered, reaching for his head and pulling it up to kiss her again, her hands skating between them as she searched for his belt buckle. Tom tilted his head, sealing his lips completely over hers, kissing her hungrily as she unfastened his belt, unbuttoned and quickly unzipped his pants.

He reached down and pushed them over his hips, then stepped out of them, reaching for Eleanora. Cupping her ass, he lifted her into his arms, and she kissed him madly as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, her panties and stockings a frustrating barrier between his skin and hers.

Walking purposefully through his apartment, as though she weighed nothing, Tom carried her away from their first Christmas tree, through the living room, down the back hallway, passing the guest bedroom and striding into his own. He didn’t stop until he’d laid her down on the bed and covered her body with his, planting his elbows on either side of her head as he finished kissing her.

***

Finally, he drew back, cradling her face in his palms and looking down at her. The light was dim, but he could easily make out her features from the light streaming in through the hallway and from the windows, which had a direct view of Independence Mall.

Her eyes searched his.

“What?” she asked.

“Do you still want to go fast?”

Her lips tilted up, into a grin. “This feels nice, whatever speed it is.”

His cock, which throbbed behind his boxers, didn’t agree. It wanted fast. It wanted now. But it was Tom’s heart—the very heart that insisted upon making love in lieu of fucking—that kept him from taking her right this minute. He wanted these moments with her to last. He wanted their first time together to be memorable, to be . . . good.

“I care . . .,” he started, then flinched at the word
care
. Wasn’t there a better word? Something that came after like but before love? And if there was, what was it? How could he define the immensity of what he felt for her—his sweet, bright Eleanora, his sunshine, his wife. “I care about you very much.”

Her smile widened just a touch because his stupid, half-assed, inaccurate declaration pleased her. “I know. I care about you, too.”

“I didn’t expect . . .” He cleared his throat, stroking her golden hair. “I didn’t expect to fall for you so fast.”

“Me neither.”

“You’re so young,” he breathed, staring down at her loveliness. It made his chest tighten and his heart throb even worse than his cock. “I want to make you happy.”

“Tom,” she said, adjusting beneath him to cradle his erection in the soft valley between her thighs, “I’ve never been this happy in my life. Not in my whole life. When you blew out your candles tonight, you said your wish had already come true. Mine too. Being with you is a dream come true.”

Her voice was thready and emotional as she finished her short speech, and Tom leaned down to nuzzle her nose gently, brushing his lips tenderly against hers and pushing his hips experimentally into hers.

She surged against him eagerly, meeting his shallow thrust and skimming her hands down the sides of her body to the waistband of her panty hose.

“Help me.”

Tom shimmied backward, kneeling on either side of her thighs and gazing down at her as he slipped his fingers into the waistband of her panties.

“You sure?”

She arched an eyebrow in challenge. “Are you?”

His lips twitched under his mustache because he loved the way she could be nervous one moment, tender the next, and sassy as hell the moment after that.

He peeled the second skins away from her hips, which revealed a lightly swelled stomach that he ached to kiss . . . her pelvis and the tight thatch of light curls that made his balls fist . . . her thighs, which were toned and white in the moonlight . . . her gorgeous legs, ankles, and feet. And finally his wife was naked on his bed, beneath him, where he’d wanted her since the very first moment he laid eyes on her.

“You’re breathtaking,” he said.

“And a little chilly,” she added, grinning at him.

He pulled his boxers quickly down his legs and threw them on the floor, then lowered his body to hers, skin to skin, his hard angles against her softness, his eager sex probing the damp, hidden depths of hers. As his cock slid over her clit, she whimpered softly, arching her back and burying her head back against his pillow.

“Tom,” she moaned. “I want more.”

He panted lightly, heat pooling below his stomach, stretching and swelling his already-straining erection. “Are you . . . baby, are you on the, um, the pill?”

“I, um,” she sighed, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. “No.”

“No?”

“No, I . . . I can’t afford a prescription every month. Especially since . . .”

“Since?”

“I mean, I’m not like my cousin, Tom. I wasn’t dating anyone seriously in Colorado. I didn’t need monthly birth control.”

As much as it pleased Tom to know that Eleanora hadn’t been with anyone in a while, he also wasn’t eager to get her pregnant.

“I don’t have anything here,” he said, rubbing against her, his body demanding more even though common sense was telling him to put on the brakes.

“You could, um, pull out,” she said, cringing and quickly reaching up to cover her face with her hands, which was so adorable, he started chuckling lightly.

“Are you covering your face?”

“It’s embarrassing,” she said, her voice muffled under her arm.

“Baby, I hate to break it to you, but we’re both buck naked in my bed, about to have sex. You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.” She didn’t move her arms from over her eyes, so he leaned down and peppered her arms with kisses until she did. Even in the moonlight, he could tell her cheeks were flushed and rosy.

“Not to mention,” he said, grinning at her, though his voice was suddenly husky, “we’re married. You’re my wife. You don’t have to be embarrassed about anything with me.” He paused. “I can pull out.”

“You don’t mind?”

Hell, yes! I wanted to feel every inch of you.

“You’re going on the pill tomorrow,” he answered gruffly, reaching down between them to guide his cock into the valley of her clit. He glided against her, and she moaned.

“T-tomorrow’s Christmas.”

“The day after, then. As soon as possible.”

“You’re . . . bossy,” she sighed, her body moving in rhythm with his, meeting his shallow thrusts, her breathing quick and ragged.

“You’re delectable.”

“I’m ready,” she said, opening her eyes slowly. There was only a thin band of blue around her enormous black irises. She licked her lips and widened her legs. “I want you, Tom.”

It was all the permission he needed to pull back, readjust, then thrust forward slowly. The opening of her sex was hot and slick, and he held his breath, savoring the feel of her sucking him forward.

“Is this okay?” he asked in a strangled voice.

Her hands landed on his ass, and suddenly she surged up, her back arching, her fingers pushing him forward. “More.”

He groaned, sliding forward into her completely, the walls of her sex pulsing and trembling around his erection, which swelled impossibly within her, throbbing with the immensity of his desire, with the sheer pleasure of being joined with her. The downside, however, to this much lust: one more thrust and he’d come.

“Next time,” he ground out, pulling back, “I’ll go slow.”

He reached between their bodies, finding her pebbled nub of flesh just over the spot where they were so intimately connected, and he circled it, rubbing gently as he pushed back inside her body. His eyes clenched shut, any remaining self-control utterly gone as he felt the walls of her sex tighten around him, hold him, massage him while she cried out his name. He groaned with pleasure so sharp, so consuming, he didn’t know how much more he could stand.
One more time. One more time.
Slowly, slowly, he slid back in, feeling the gathering, the tightening, the inevitable.

Jerking back just in time, he came in hot spurts on her stomach before pulling her into his arms so she could ride out her own orgasm clasped tightly against him.

When her body had finally stopped trembling, she sighed happily against his neck, her breath making his cock harden again like she’d placed an order.

“Shower?” she murmured softly, flattening her hands against his chest and pressing her lips to his throat.

“In a little bit,” he answered, kissing her head. “Let me hold you for another minute or two.”

“Mmmm,” she sighed, snuggling against him.

And Tom, who’d known his wife for less than a week, realized that love—a word he’d been reluctant to use before now—didn’t ask for permission. Sometimes it just arrived. Fully formed. And all you could do was hold on to it for dear life.