—John Donne, "The Dreame" Nathan could all but feel Isobel beneath him, silken skin and welcoming arms that would twine like vines around him. He could hear her quickened breath, sense the rushing pulse that would pound beneath his fingers as they traced the hollow of her throat, the sensitive expanse of her inner wrist. Ah, it was a heady dream he had while standing in the doorway between their chambers, and it had not limited its effects to his head. He was well heated, hard as stone, and at an utter loss as to what he was going to do about it. He could, he knew, enter her chamber with all the arrogance of both lord and husband and demand his marital rights. He did not think she would refuse him. But that was not how he wanted Isobel: reluctant and obligated. No, he wanted her willing and fiery with the passion that blazed so clearly under the surface of everything she did. Isobel would not be having her own erotic thoughts about him, Nathan knew. He had no doubt she was a virgin. And no doubt the sight of him fell somewhat short of driving her mad with desire.
