A McKettrick Christmas (17 page)

Morgan whispered her name, came toward her.

She slipped into his arms.

They’d looked forward to making love on their wedding night, both of them. Now, by tacit agreement, they waited, savoring every nuance of being together.

Morgan threaded his hands through Lizzie’s hair.

She felt beautiful.

“To think,” Morgan said quietly, “that I almost didn’t get on that train last Christmas.”

“Don’t think,” Lizzie teased. He’d said the same thing to her, once, while they were stranded on the mountainside.

He chuckled, and kissed her with restrained passion. Eagerness and wanting sang through Lizzie, but she was willing to wait. There was no hurry: she and Morgan were married now, after all. They would make love countless times in the days, weeks, months and years ahead.

They’d already conceived a child, and Lizzie knew something of the pleasures awaiting her, but tonight was special. It was their first time as husband and wife.

Her breath caught, and her heartbeat quickened as Morgan caressed her, touching her lightly in all the places she loved to be touched, all the places she
needed
to be touched.

She gave herself up to him, completely, joyously, with little gasps and sighs as he pleasured her, slowly. Ever so slowly, and with such expertise that Lizzie wished that night would never end.

She was transported, in the bed with the tree carved into the headboard. She died there, and was reborn, a new woman, even stronger than before. She gasped and whimpered and sobbed out Morgan’s name, clinging to him with everything she had, riding wave after wave of sacred satisfaction.

Hours passed before they slept, sated and spent, arms and legs entwined.

Lizzie awakened first, to the cold, snowy light of a clear Christmas morning. The fire had gone out during the night, but she was warm, through and through, snuggled close to Morgan under a heavy layer of quilts.

He stirred beside her, opened his eyes. “I’d better get the fire going,” he said, his voice sleepy.

“Not yet,” Lizzie whispered, burrowing closer to him.

“We’ll freeze,” he said.

Lizzie laughed and shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she answered, nibbling mischievously at his neck.

He rolled on top of her, his elbows pressed into the mattress on either side. “Have I married a hussy?” he asked.

“Most definitely,” Lizzie answered, beaming. “And you thought I was only a schoolmarm.”

Morgan laughed, and the sound was beautiful to Lizzie, and in the distance the church bells pealed, ringing in Christmas.