“That does seem… rather impossible from my perspective. You realize that, don’t you?”

“It’s as natural as breathing. Just takes a bit of getting used to, like anything else.”

“Are you abnormally large? Or are things always… proportional?”

Tom bit his lip to keep from laughing. “I think you’re assuming a level of knowledge on a subject I haven’t taken time to study.”

“Oh?”

“And you’re talking too much.”

Her head fell to the side when he put his mouth there and tasted her. His left hand continued extracting the pins in her hair while his right cupped her breast over her camisole. Slowly, he worked his hand under the fabric and finally, finally he felt her skin.

He groaned. “You’re so soft.”

“And you’re not soft at all.”

Her hair tumbled down, and Tom luxuriated in the chestnut silk that smelled of gardenias and lilac. Dark scents from her garden. Heady scents that wrapped around him as she arched back into his chest. He drew her hair around her as he eased the camisole off. Silk and warm skin and Josie. He banished the sickness from his memory and set his mind to her pleasure. He slowly turned his wife until her breasts were against his chest, and his hands trailed down her back, over the curve of her hips and the swell of her bottom.

“Let me,” he said against her neck. He fought back the instinct to bite. “Let me—”

“Yes. Anything.” Her voice was high and needy. “Everything, Tom.”

Her trust undid him. He lay back, Josie draped across his chest, her hair falling around them like a curtain. His hands slid down, caressing the slick heat between her legs. He slowly worked her body until her eyes glazed over with longing and she fell to the side, begging for release. Then, with a gentle kiss, he pushed her over and she arched her back, shuddering with pleasure.

He carefully removed the rest of their clothes, scattering kisses over her skin and murmuring soft words to soothe her.

“So lovely, my wife.” He lay at her side, his hands and lips arousing her again. “So perfect. So soft.” He wasn’t a small man, and he didn’t want to hurt her, but some pain would be inevitable.

“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t make me wait.”

Tom drew back. There were tears in her eyes and a tremulous smile on her lips.

“Josie?”

“I’ve waited so long,” she said, her voice soft and urgent. “For you. For this. Don’t make me wait, Tom.”

He kissed her, pressing their lips together as he rose and parted her legs. He shifted up and felt the tight squeeze of her body. Slow. So slow. When her muscles tensed, he whispered and kissed her neck, pausing until her body melted for him again. He worked himself slowly to the hilt and then stopped.

“Josie?”

She nodded. “I’m… it hurts a little, but not as bad as I’d imagined.”

“Well, you do have an awful imagination,” he said with a smile, his body locked still so she could grow accustomed to him.

“You’re not moving.”

She squirmed beneath him, and he groaned.

“Wait for it. God, you feel good. Just want to give you a moment.”

Josie reached up, stroking his cheek with her hand. “Oh, my Tom. You take such care with me.”

She filled his heart and broke it all at once.

Tom couldn’t hold back longer. He started to move. Josie’s eyes fluttered closed, but her lips were flushed and red. Her heart raced, and he could feel the swell of her body around his, tight and slick. Her neck arched back, and he bent to kiss her again.

“I will never forget this,” he whispered against her lips. “Not a moment. If I live a thousand years, I will never forget this. Do you understand? I will never forget you.”

She cried out and threw her arms around his shoulders, wrapping herself around him as he let himself go. Tom lost himself in her body, in the smell and taste and feel of her. Hunger for her blood forgotten, he fisted a hand around her wild tangle of hair and tugged, holding her in place as she writhed beneath him.

Josie. Josie. Josie.

She had captured him. Enchanted him. He’d never stood a chance.

He fell.

Chapter Six

JOSIE’S CHEEKS ACHED from laughing as she walked into the library, Anne on her heels. The two had taken in a concert that had been advertised heavily for the previous month but had proved to be less than promised in person. They’d left early, and Josie had agreed to a drink with Anne before she slipped away to write.

“But the tenor—” Anne was laughing. “I think he might have been a she. I’ve never heard a man sing that high.”

“It was extraordinary. Pity he was the only talented one among— Oh! Hello, Tom. What are you doing home?”

Tom was sitting near the fireplace… glowering.

Yes, she did believe that was the appropriate verb. To glower. Her normally composed husband was glowering.

Unsurprisingly, this did not make him any less attractive to her. Josie had become quite his sycophant, though she’d never tell him. In the three months they’d been married, her feelings had deepened to far more than mere affection for her rough-mannered, taciturn husband. She was, quite simply, besotted. And glowering did nothing to quash that.

“What are you doing back from the warehouse?” she asked, frowning.

Anne asked, “Is everything all right? I know there was supposed to be a meeting with Beecham tonight.”