Page 119 of Midsummer Magic (Magic Trilogy 1)

“Now, what worries you, Frances? You are handling Beatrice quite well. Otis has regained some of his color and informed me that Mrs. Jerkins won’t poison my sister’s tea.”

“Your sister doesn’t like me,” Frances said, side-tracked for a moment.

“No, but she will come about. She cares about me, at least I think she does a bit, and when she observes that I can’t keep my hands away from you, she wilt—”

“Enough of that! You are utterly impossible and I won‘t—”

“Won’t what, my dear?”

“You are putting my legs asleep,” she said acidly. “You are heavy.”

; “I certainly wouldn’t want that,” Hawk said, and in a graceful, swift motion, brought himself up beside her. His fingertips touched her nose, her chin, and finally stroked lightly over her lips.

“Hawk—”

“You are beautiful, Frances,” he said, and there was no mockery in his voice now. Indeed, he sounded faintly worried.

He was leaning over her, his green eyes darker now, with desire, she knew, and she gulped. “So are you,” she said, quite honestly.

He grinned, and the knowing, very warm intimate look was back. She felt his hand lightly touch her breast, and her eyes widened.

“I never knew that a simple touch could make me feel so very strange,” she said.

“It makes me feel strange too.” He closed his eyes a moment, and Frances had the feeling that he was memorizing her, learning about her.

He said abruptly, opening his eyes, “You will not sell your ring, Frances.”

“I ... I don’t wish you to be forced into doing anything you don’t wish to do. I don’t wish to be beholden to you.”

“I am your husband,” he said, and she realized those words meant to him that any further arguments from her would be more than unwelcome. Likely the grounds for a shouting match, she thought, and gave it up, at least for the time being. There was not another thing in her mind, all her thoughts having vanished as the very pleasurable sensations were beginning to course through her body.

“Hawk,” she said, her fingertips stroking his face, “I want you.”

Those simple words, spoken so softly, with such longing, made him a wild man. He brought her with him, making her as wild as he. When he gently covered her mouth with his hand to feel the soft cries and raspy moans erupt, he lost what control he had left. His mouth replaced his hand and she felt his harsh, very warm breath fill her mouth as his manhood, thrusting deeply within her, filled her very being with him.

“Christ,” he said on a long sigh, collapsing on top of her. “You will kill me, madam, before I have reached thirty.”

“Well, I have nearly reached twenty, and am on the very brink myself.”

He rubbed himself over her, felt himself growing hard within her again, and laughed at himself. “You make me a randy goat, Frances,” he said, and began to fill her and move within her again.

“This is very nice,” Frances said with great but inadequate sincerity.

She awoke during the night at the caressing kisses against her neck and a strong hand kneading her belly. Hawk was pressed against her back, his manhood hard and ready against her buttocks. She sighed and smiled in the darkness.

“Lift your leg, Frances,” he said softly, and she did. She pressed her hips back when she felt him come into her. “Oh,” she whispered, “all right, yes ... oh!”

She felt him explode inside her, flooding her with his seed, even as his deft fingers sent her spinning into pleasurable oblivion.

He was still resting inside her when she fell asleep again.

Hawk awoke early the next morning, feeling as if he could conquer the world single-handed. Frances was cuddled next to him, so deeply asleep that he couldn’t bring himself to awaken her. But he wanted to, oh yes, he did indeed. He sighed, rose, and went to his bedchamber.

He was feeling the happiest man alive when he entered the breakfast room sometime later. He was further pleased to find only Edmund at the table.

“Good morning, Hawk,” Edmund said in his pleasant deep voice. “The ladies are still abed, I gather.”