“In fact,” she said, raising her head to look at him, “the only time I felt I might actually live to see the next day was in the library at Aubrey Hall.” She stood and walked to his side, resting her cheek on his lap as she knelt before him. “With you,” she whispered.
He lifted his hand to stroke her hair. The motion was more out of reflex than anything else. He certainly wasn’t conscious of his actions.
He’d had no idea that Kate had any sense of her own mortality. Most people didn’t. It was something that had lent Anthony an odd sense of isolation through the years, as if he understood some basic, awful truth that eluded the rest of society.
And while Kate’s sense of doom wasn’t the same as his—hers was fleeting, brought on by a temporary burst of wind and rain and electricity, whereas his was with him always, and would be until the day he died—she, unlike him, had beaten it.
Kate had fought her demons and she had won.
And Anthony was so damned jealous.
It was not a noble reaction; he knew that. And, caring for her as he did, he was thrilled and relieved and overjoyed and every good and pure emotion imaginable that she had beaten the terrors that came with the storms, but he was still jealous. So goddamned jealous.
Kate had won.
Whereas he, who had acknowledged his demons but refused to fear them, was now petrified with terror. And all because the one thing he swore would never happen had come to pass.
He had fallen in love with his wife.
He had fallen in love with his wife, and now the thought of dying, of leaving her, of knowing that their moments together would form a short poem and not a long and lusty novel—it was more than he could bear.
And he didn’t know where to set the blame. He wanted to point his finger at his father, for dying young and leaving him as the bearer of this awful curse. He wanted to rail at Kate, for coming into his life and making him fear his own end. Hell, he would have blamed a stranger on the street if he’d thought there’d be any use to it.
But the truth was, there was no one to blame, not even himself. It would make him feel so much better if he could point his finger at someone—anyone—and say, “This is your fault.” It was juvenile, he knew, this need to assign blame, but everyone had a right to childish emotions from time to time, didn’t they?
“I’m so happy,” Kate murmured, her head still resting on his lap.
And Anthony wanted to be happy, too. He wanted so damned much for everything to be uncomplicated, for happiness just to be happiness and nothing more. He wanted to rejoice in her recent victories without any thought to his own worries. He wanted to lose himself in the moment, to forget about the future, to hold her in his arms and…
In one abrupt, unpremeditated movement, he hauled them both to their feet.
“Anthony?” Kate queried, blinking in surprise.
In answer, he kissed her. His lips met hers in an explosion of passion and need that blurred the mind until he could be ruled by body alone. He didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to be able to think. All he wanted was this very moment.
And he wanted this moment to last forever.
He swept his wife into his arms and stalked to the bed, depositing her on the mattress half a second before his body came down to cover hers. She was stunning beneath him, soft and strong, and consumed by the same fire that raged within his own body. She might not understand what had prompted his sudden need, but she felt it and shared it all the same.
Kate had already dressed for bed, and her nightrobe fell open easily under his experienced fingers. He had to touch her, to feel her, to assure himself that she was there beneath him and he was there to make love to her. She was wearing a silky little confection of ice blue that tied at the shoulders and hugged her curves. It was the sort of gown designed to reduce men to liquid fire, and Anthony was no exception.
There was something desperately erotic about the feel of her warm skin through the silk, and his hands roamed over her body relentlessly, touching, squeezing, doing anything he could to bind her to him.
If he could have drawn her within him, he would have done it and kept her there forever.
“Anthony,” Kate gasped, in that brief moment when he removed his mouth from hers, “are you all right?”
“I want you,” he grunted, bunching her gown up around the tops of her legs. “I want you now.”
Her eyes widened with shock and excitement, and he sat up, straddling her, his weight on his knees so as not to crush her. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “So unbelievably gorgeous.”