Her expression was thoughtful as she casually circled the tip of his cock with her index finger. “Champlain would be done by now. Dressed and one boot out the door, tossing a string of stupid pet names at me over his shoulder.”

“As a wise woman once said, Champlain was an idiot. Lovemaking with you is worth savoring, Abigail. I will tarry on this sofa all afternoon if you’ll allow it.” All week, all year. Stephen traced the curve of her jaw, then her brows, wishing he could make her smile, loving that she wasn’t pretending jolliness for his sake.

She caught his hand and kissed his palm. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought to bring memories to bed with me, but then…” She curled down against Stephen’s chest, the sweetest gesture of trust a woman had ever bestowed on him.

He stroked her hair, searching in vain for some sophisticated witticism that would ease the moment.

No such witticism obliged him, but he had to give her something. Had to. “I want joyous memories with you and for you, Abigail. If now is not the moment to make them, then please stay with me and let me hold you, for that will be delight enough to fill my heart.”

He let his hands wander, over her neck and shoulders, across her chest, along the individual features of her face. He at first feared he’d made a terrible hash of the situation. What woman wanted a mere cuddle when she’d invited a man to be her lover?

Abigail turned her head the better to move into his touch, though, and hope replaced uncertainty.

She truly, truly liked to be petted. He started there, making a slow inventory of every bone in her back, then moving to her haunches and the firm musculature of her fundament.

“Up a bit,” Stephen whispered, patting her bum.

She obliged and he turned his attention to her luscious, perfect breasts and the nipples peaking so sweetly beneath his fingertips. She moved against him, a slow, sinuous reawakening of desire that was both more delicate and more insistent than her previous caresses.

“I want…” She dragged her sex along the length of his cock.

“Have what you want, Abigail.” A watchful, hopeful corner of his awareness realized that she needed to hear her name. She needed him to call her home to her own joy.

“Please, Abigail.” He took himself in hand and used his cock to stroke her intimately. She closed her eyes, and Stephen glossed his thumb over intimate folds. “Say you’ll have me.”

She opened her eyes, took his wrists, and pinned his hands to the pillows. “Yes.”

The next two minutes were the most hard-fought battle for self-control Stephen had ever waged. Abigail pressed herself down over him in slow, rocking increments as she held his hands fast beside his head. He could have wrestled free—probably—but why on earth would he want to?