Shattered Vows by Carol Townend Page A

moved slowly down Rosamund’s body. Every inch of her felt perfect. That soft breast arching towards his touch, the curve of her waist, the rounded hip... He caught the hem of her gown and pulled back to ease it from her, smiling at her murmur of protest.
    ‘Angel, I must take this gown off. Lovely though it is, I prefer you without it. Lift up your arms. There.’
    Oliver stared at the girl lying flushed and willing in his bed. His breath caught, she was even lovelier in the flesh. Beauty personified.
    ‘Oliver?’ Her voice was uncertain. She reached for the sheet and dragged it over herself, clutching it to her body as though it were a shield.
    ‘You were created for loving,’ he whispered, brushing the sheet aside. He felt her shudder as their bodies touched. Luminous blue eyes turned trustingly to his. What was it about this girl? She was irresistible. If Geoffrey but knew what he had given him this night...
    Oliver buried his head in a cloud of hair – kissing her through it. Pushing the long, silky strands out of his way. All thoughts of his cousin melted from his mind as his body heated.
    Rosamund could do nothing but cling to Oliver. His kisses filled her senses, her limbs felt weak. Still clad in his hose, Oliver lay half across her. His leg was heavy between hers and the impulse to press herself against that leg was as sudden as it was shocking. How unseemly! With a moan, she twisted beneath him.
    He was raining soft, biting kisses on her face and neck. His head moved lower, to her breast and she held in another moan as he kissed first one breast and then the other. Her nipples tightened.
    ‘Oliver?’
    Oliver felt Rosamund’s gasp in his groin. She was clutching his head to her breast, straining towards him, urging him on. Unashamedly, wantonly. Wriggling beneath him with such abandon that he could contain himself no longer.
    His breath was coming fast. He eased himself back. In his eagerness, he fumbled at the ties of his hose. Slender fingers were there before him, swiftly untying the cord and pushing at the material. He held his breath.
    ‘Shocked, Oliver?’ Her husky whisper was an incitement to sin. ‘I chose you, remember?’
    Oliver moved his body over hers, not entering her yet, it was too soon for that. He swallowed her gasp with a kiss. ‘Merciful Heavens, woman! Will you stop wriggling? Or I won’t be able to wait until you’re ready for me.’
    Her reply was muffled. ‘I’m ready.’
    He shook his head at her. ‘Not yet, you aren’t.’ His knee met no resistance and he nudged her legs apart.
    Rosamund found herself holding her breath as his fingers found that secret part of her that no man had touched until now. It was ecstasy and it was agony. She wanted more. She pushed against his hand and his clever fingers sent her spiralling higher and higher. She writhed beneath him, her whole being yearning for release from a torment so exquisite she must surely die.
    ‘Please, Oliver, please.’ And then a wild shudder took her and she was hurtling away from him, out of this chamber, away from the castle, away...
    From head to toe every fibre tingled. She clung to him, stunned with pleasure.
    Grey eyes were fixed steadily on hers. ‘Now?’ he whispered.
    She nodded.
    Oliver bent his head and his lips covered hers. He kept his control. He felt one small hand slip into his a moment before he heard the sharp intake of breath which accompanied the loss of her maidenhead. There was no cry of pain. He searched her face. No tears. Just a tiny hand in his. He felt oddly moved.
    And then he lowered his head and their lips clung. And Oliver forgot the need to take care, for they were moving in perfect unison. It was as though they had made love a hundred – a thousand – times before. Their rhythms matched exactly.
    Rosamund removed her hand from Oliver’s so she could run it down his back and hold his hips to her. She heard him gasp her name. He was muttering incoherently. Love-words. Foreign