The sun was rising, light streaming through the gaps in the drapes when he slipped from the bed. Kate still slept, her hair a wild tangle across her bare shoulders and breasts, her face soft and young in sleep. He contemplated his bride for a moment. Howe must have been an idiot. Kate wasn’t a beauty, and her figure wasn’t lush, but she was exquisitely responsive, and her body … His blood surged at the memory of how tightly and wetly she sheathed him. And how pliantly she opened herself to him. His intention to be slow and gentle vanished, blown away by the single soft moan that slipped from her lips as he entered her, then he’d been lost to the driving need to bury himself in her again and again. And despite his lack of finesse, she still reached climax. His Kate was a more sensual being than expected. Yes, he was going to like being married. Which only freed him up even more to pursue that bloody blackmailer. By day he could set himself on the hunt for his father’s tormenter, and by night he could lose himself in the pleasures of seducing his wife.
