He watched her face closely, suddenly mesmerized by the way her lips were forming words.wI promise you," she vowed, "I will like it all."
A strange bubble of joy began to rise within him. He didn't know what benevolent god had chosen to bestow her upon him, but he was thinking mat he needed to be a bit more attentive next time he went to church.wI will like it all," she said again, "because I'm with you."
He took her face in his hands, gazing down at her as if she were the most wondrous creature ever to walk the earth.wI love you," she whispered. "I've loved you for years."wI know," he said, surprising himself with his words. He had known, he supposed, but he'd thrust it from his mind because her love made him uncomfortable. It was hard to be loved by someone decent and good when you didn't return the emotion. He couldn't dismiss her, because he liked her and he'd not have been able to forgive himself if he'd trampled on her emotions. And he couldn't flirt with her, for much the same reasons.
And so he had told himself that what she felt wasn't really love. It had been easier to try to convince himself that she was merely infatuated with him, that she didn't understand what true love was (as if he did!), and that eventually she would find someone else and settle down into a happy and contented life.
Now that thought—that she might have married another— nearly left him paralyzed with fear.
They were side by side, and she was staring at him with her heart in her eyes, her entire face alive with happiness and contentment, as if she finally felt free now that she had spoken the words. And he realized that her expression held not one trace of expectation. She hadn't told him she loved him simply to hear his reply. She wasn't even waiting for his answer.
She had told him she loved him simply because she wanted to. Because that was what she felt.wI love you, too," he whispered, pressing an intense kiss against her lips before moving away so that he could see her reaction.
Penelope gazed at him for a very long while before responding. Finally, with an odd, convulsive swallow, she said, "You don't have to say that just because I did."wI know," he replied, smiling.
She just looked at him, her widening eyes the only movement on her face.wAnd you know that, too," he said softly. "You said you know me better than you know yourself. And you know I would never say the words if I didn't mean them."
And as she lay there, naked in his bed, cradled in his embrace, Penelope realized that she did know.
Colin didn't lie, not about anything important, and she couldn't imagine anything more important than the moment they were sharing.
He loved her. It wasn't anything she'd expected, nor anything she'd even allowed herself to hope for, and yet here it was, like a bright and shining miracle in her heart.wAre you sure?" she whispered.
He nodded, his arms drawing her closer. "I realized it this evening. When I asked you to stay."wHow..." But she didn't finish the question. Because she wasn't even really sure what the question was.
How did he know he loved her? How had it happened? How did it make him feel?
But somehow he must have known what she could not verbalize, because he answered, "I don't know. I don't know when, I don't know how, and to be honest, I don't care. But I know this much is true: I love you, and I hate myself for not seeing the real you all these years."wColin, don't," she pleaded. "No recriminations. No regrets. Not tonight."
But he just smiled, placing a single finger on her lips to silence her plea. "I don't think you changed," he said. "At least not very much. But then one day I realized I was seeing something different when I looked at you." He shrugged. "Maybe I changed. Maybe I grew up."
She placed her finger on his lips, quieting him in the same manner he'd done to her. "Maybe I grew up, too."wI love you," he said, leaning forward to kiss her. And this time she couldn't reply, because his mouth remained on hers, hungry, demanding, and very, very seductive.
He seemed to know exactly what to do. Each flick of his tongue, each nibble of his teeth sent shivers to the very core of her being, and she gave herself over to the pure joy of the moment, to the white-hot flame of desire. His hands were everywhere, and she felt him everywhere, his fingers on her skin, his leg nudging its way between hers.
He was pulling her closer, rolling her on top of him as he slid onto his back. His hands were on her bottom, pulling her so tightly against him that the proof of his desire seared itself into her skin.
Penelope gasped at the astounding intimacy of it all, but her breath was caught by his lips, still kissing her with fierce tenderness.And then she was on her back, and he was on top of her, and the weight of him was pressing her into the mattress, squeezing the air from her lungs. His mouth moved to her ear, then to her throat, and Penelope felt herself arching beneath him, as if she could somehow curve her body closer to his.
She didn't know what she was supposed to do, but she knew she had to move. Her mother had already conducted her "little talk," as she'd put it, and she'd told Penelope that she must lie still beneath her husband and allow him his pleasures.
But there was no way she could have remained motionless, no way she could have stopped her hips from pressing up against him, nor her legs from wrapping around his. And she didn't want to allow him his pleasures—she wanted to encourage them, to share them.
And she wanted them for herself as well. Whatever this was, building inside of her—this tension, this desire—it needed release, and Penelope couldn't imagine that that moment, that those feelings wouldn't be the most exquisite of her Me.wTell me what to do," she said, urgency making her voice hoarse.