Beauty’s Beast(57)
Author: Amanda Ashley

He knew the moment his own transformation took place, felt it in every fiber of his being, saw it in the wonder that spread over her face, felt it in the tremor of her hand as she removed his mask and stroked his cheek. His left cheek.

“Erik,” she murmured. “You’re beautiful.”

“Am I?”

“And I can touch you, can’t I?”

He nodded, hardly daring to breathe as she lifted his shirt over his head and flung it aside, then slid her hands over his chest, his shoulders. His reaction to her touch was immediate and evident.

“Erik, oh Erik.”

He heard the wanting in her voice. Not trusting himself to speak, he swept her into his arms and carried her to bed. Lowering her to the mattress, he stretched out beside her, raining kisses on her brow, the curve of her cheek, her nose, her lips—ah, but she tasted sweet, so sweet.

And her hands. There was no hesitation in her touch, no holding back. She ran her fingertips over him, and there was no mistaking the delight she found in caressing him.

He groaned with pleasure, gasped with aching need as she removed his trousers, then shed her gown.

For a long moment, Kristine let her gaze move over him, admiring his broad shoulders and chest, his flat belly and long, muscular legs. And then she was touching him again. His skin was smooth and warm and firm. Looking at him, caressing him, made her ache deep down inside. Desire unfurled within her when she saw the visible evidence of his need, and then she was stroking him again, her hands trembling in her eagerness to touch, to explore the depth of his navel, the fine curly hair on his chest. She traced the line of hair that arrowed toward his manhood, held him in her hand.

“Kristine . . .”

She heard the urgency in his voice as he swept her into his arms and positioned her beneath him.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight, her hands moving restlessly over his back and shoulders. Never before had she been able to caress him, to see his face as their bodies merged into one flesh. Tears burned her eyes and she blinked them away, afraid he would not understand why she wept, afraid she would not be able to explain that they were tears of joy and gratitude for this moment, of regret for the years that they might have shared, years that had been stolen away by a vindictive witch.

He claimed her lips in a long, passionate kiss as his flesh melded with hers. It had been too long since he had made love to her, too long since he had held her like this. The fire’s glow cast warm golden highlights over her skin and he knew she had never been more beautiful than she was now, her eyes filled with love, her belly swollen with his child.

He wanted to savor each moment, to make it last and last, but his body betrayed him. Unable to restrain himself, he convulsed within her. Her arms tightened around him, holding him closer, closer.

When he would have rolled away, she clung to him. “Not yet.”

He rested on his elbows to spare her the burden of his weight, ashamed of his lack of self-control. He had not meant to take her so quickly, had intended to caress and arouse her, but holding back had been impossible. Her touch had inflamed him and he had taken her like a boy discovering the act for the first time.

He felt her hands stroke his hair, glide over his back, slide down his thighs and over his buttocks. Still embedded within her, he felt himself harden and knew he was ready for her again.

“Kristine?”

She moved beneath him, hips lifting in silent invitation. He made love to her slowly this time, savoring each sensation, holding back until she was clinging to him, her fevered body trembling. Together, they plunged over the abyss into ecstasy.

“Kristine!” Her name was a sob, a prayer. And then he whispered the words he had held back for so long.

“Kristine, my Kristine. You will never know how much I love you.”

She sat by the window, staring into the darkness as she relived every moment of the past hour, remembering the sheer pleasure of lying in her husband’s arms. Nothing could be more wonderful than being wrapped in his embrace, feeling his heated skin next to hers, being able to touch and taste him with wild abandon, to explore every inch of his body. She had never dreamed a man could be beautiful, but Erik was. Or had been.

With a sigh, she turned her gaze to the man sleeping across the way. It seemed like a dream now, the hour they had spent in each other’s arms, an hour she would cherish for the rest of her life. And yet, she could almost wish it had never happened, for it only made what she had lost that much harder to bear.

She felt the baby stir in her womb and she placed her hand over her belly, grateful now more than ever for the child growing within her.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I shall tell you of my love every day of my life, and of your father’s love as well. I shall tell you what a handsome man he was. I shall tell you how fiercely he battled an evil witch so you will know how brave and strong he was.”

“And will you also tell her how much I loved her mother?”

Kristine looked up, smiling through her tears. “I don’t think I will ever find words enough for that.”

“Kristine . . .”

Needing to hold him, to be held by him, she crossed the floor and climbed into bed. He stiffened as she snuggled against his side. His left side.

“Erik, don’t. It doesn’t matter.”

“How can you bear to look at me, touch me?”

“I love you. From now on, whenever I look at you, I will see you as the man you were.”

“And when the transformation is complete, what then?”

“I shall still love you.”

“I want you to marry again. Hoxford, perhaps.”

“No!”

“Kristine, you are a young woman. You cannot live the rest of your life alone. Promise me you will marry again, if not for yourself, then for our child.”

“No, no, don’t ask that of me. Please.”

“I am asking. Wait a year, two if you must. But promise me you won’t shut yourself up at Hawksbridge. Promise me that you will find a good man to be a father to our child. Promise me you will try. Please, Kristine, I cannot bear the thought of your being alone.”

He could not bear the thought of her being with another man, either, could not abide the idea of another holding her in his arms, caressing her, possessing her. Only the certainty that she needed a man to watch over and protect her, and the knowledge that he would not be there to see it, made it bearable.

“All right, I promise. And now you must promise me something.”