Then Came You

by Lisa Kleypas

  “You’re hurting me—”

  “I won’t let you go. Tell me what it is.” He let her writhe helplessly, until she realized it was no use. She went still, her body trembling. His hands bit into her arms as he waited, his head bent over hers. Then he heard her emotionless voice.

  “I know what men think when they look at me, what kind of woman they—you—expect. They assume I’ve been with many men. But there’s been only one. Years ago. I was curious and lonely and…oh, I have a dozen excuses. H-he was the first. And the last. I hated every minute of it. The experience was as miserable, dreadful, for him as it was for me. He was a great society favorite, held in high esteem as a lover, so don’t assume the fault was his. It was mine. I don’t have those kinds of feelings. I am the last woman a sane man would want in his bed.” She laughed bitterly. “Now do you still want me?”

  Alex slid his fingers under her chin and forced her face up. His gray eyes were filled with compassion and an underlying darkness as deep and infinite as a moonless night. “Yes.”

  Lily felt a tear roll down her cheek. Humiliated, she twisted away from him. “For God’s sake, don’t pity me!”

  “Does this feel like pity to you?” Lightning-swift, he caught her hips and pulled her hard against his body. She made an inarticulate sound. “Does it?” He held her against his rigid, aroused flesh and stared into her eyes. “Why did you hate it?”

  She shook her head slightly, her lips compressed.

  “It’s always painful the first time,” he said softly. “Didn’t you expect that?”

  “Of course.” She flushed with mortified scorn. “I would have hated it in any case.”

  “So you’ve judged and convicted all men from one experience. One night.”

  “He taught me all I needed to know,” she agreed stiffly.

  Alex pressed his hand on her lower back, keeping her against him. His voice was gently reproachful. “What if my opinion of all women were based solely on my acquaintance with you?”

  “I daresay you wouldn’t be so eager to get married.”

  “Well, you solved that particular problem of mine.” He lowered his head and kissed the side of her neck. She leaned back, stiffening her arms between them. “Fifteen thousand pounds is a great deal of money,” he murmured. “Are you certain you shouldn’t consider spending a few hours with me instead?”

  “Now you’re mocking me,” she said wrathfully.

  “No,” he whispered, the word brushing her cheek like a kiss. She turned her face away. “And you dared to call me stubborn.” He threaded his fingers through her sable curls. “You’ve let the memory fester for years, probably turned it into something even worse than it was—”

  “Oh, go right ahead, belittle my feelings,” she cried, her temper sparking. “But you don’t know the whole of the story, and I would die before telling you, so don’t try to make me—”

  “All right.” He buried his lips in her hair. “I want you,” he said, his voice muffled and determined. “No more talking. We’re going to do this, whether or not I can find a bed in this damn place.” His arms tightened and he nuzzled deeper against her scalp. “All you have to do is let it happen. Just let it happen.”

  Lily closed her eyes, her face wedged against his chest. His arms felt like steel around her. The jutting bulge of his loins burned through the layers of clothing between them. In spite of his urgency, he seemed to be waiting for something. His mouth moved among her curls, and his fingers splayed wide on her back. He whispered against her hair. “Lily, don’t be afraid. I want to please you. I’ll make it good. Trust me. You have to trust me.”

  A strange passiveness came over her, a weariness she couldn’t withstand. She had struggled and fought for so long, using all her wiles to stay afloat in a churning sea. She had no more strength, no ideas. Nothing to lose. Finally she had come up against a will greater than her own, and there seemed to be no choice but to drift, and let herself be towed in its wake. Let it happen…the words seemed to echo in her ears. Hesitantly she turned her head to the doorway on the left, the direction of the bedroom. She spoke in a faltering whisper. “I believe…it’s over there.”

  He picked her up easily and carried her through the next two rooms, until they came to one filled with lamplight and heavy gold-framed mirrors and an enormous bed adorned with carved dolphins and trumpets. Setting her on her feet, Alex took her face in his hands, his thumbs touching the corners of her lips. She looked at him through half-closed eyes, at his harshly perfect features gleaming gold in the muted light. He bent his head, his mouth brushing against hers.

  With an erotic shock, she felt the tip of his tongue against her lips, edging the smooth curve, leaving behind a trace of silken moisture. Then he pressed deep, sealing their lips together. The warmth of his mouth was mysteriously pleasant. Lily swayed, suddenly off balance as she stood on her toes. She reached around his neck to keep herself steady, and let her lips drift apart in unconscious invitation. The intrusion of his tongue was gradual, barely venturing past her teeth.

  It was folly to trust him. She knew the gentleness wouldn’t last. She sensed his growing tension, the way his hand shook as he took her wrist and loosened her glove and peeled the velvet from her slender arm. She could feel the raw power in him, the restraint pulling taut until it was in danger of snapping. But he removed her other glove with the same exquisite care. His fingers glided to the edge of her low-cut bodice and he toyed with the feathery border of lace. There was no other movement except for the small, restless stroke of his fingers.

  Lily felt his gaze on her down-bent head, heard the deepening rasp of his breath. She wondered at the reason for his hesitation. Perhaps he might change his mind and let her go…the thought filled her with hope and an odd, sinking dread. Then he took her shoulders around and turned her to face away from him. He began to unfasten the row of tiny buttons at the back of her gown. The garment slipped precariously, held up only by the wispy sleeves that clung to her shoulders. Slowly the mass of silk and lace slid to the floor. He loosened the ribbon of her drawers and pushed them down, leaving her clad only in the flimsy protection of her white shift and embroidered stockings.

  She felt his mouth on her shoulder, his breath wafting in a hot mist against her skin. Gently his arm came around her front, his hand passing over her chest. The floor seemed to shift beneath her feet. Leaning back against his solid strength, she hardly dared to breathe as his fingers curved underneath the slight weight of her breast. Lightly his thumb moved over the shift until he found her nipple, teasing it to a hard point. She couldn’t suppress a gasp, the movement lifting her further into his hand. But the elusive wisp of pleasure was doused by a wave of self-consciousness. Her breasts were small—he must have expected more; her gowns were designed to make her look fuller. A stumbling explanation came to her lips, but before she could utter a word, his hand slipped beneath the shift to cover her naked breast. His fingertips stroked over the smooth curve, finding the dainty crest of her nipple.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said thickly, his mouth at her ear. “Beautiful…like a perfect little doll.” Breathing deeply, he turned her to face him, his hands pushing her shift down until her breasts burgeoned over the top. The swollen ridge of his loins prodded against her stomach and the secret place between her thighs, and she turned hot with embarrassment. But he seemed to relish the intimate pressure, giving a soft groan, his hand clenching over her buttocks to hold her in place. “Lily…God, Lily…” Covering her mouth with his, he reached inside with deep velvet licks. She yielded to the sleek invasion, her arms wrapping tight around his neck. Suddenly he released her with a gravelly sound. He dragged at the sleeves of his coat, trying to struggle out of it, but the garment clung to him like a second skin. Muttering a curse, he lifted his head and pulled harder at the sleeves.

  To his surprise, Lily’s small hands crept to his lapels, spreading them open, pushing the coat from his shoulders. It dropped to the floor in a heap. Not meeting his
eyes, she touched his silk waistcoat and began to unfasten it slowly. The garment was warm from his body. Alex stood motionless, his heart slamming in his chest as he felt the pluck of her fingers against the covered buttons. When the task was done, he shrugged out of the waistcoat and unwound his starched white cravat.

  As Lily watched him undress, a vague recollection stirred, causing a chill to sweep through her. She had tried to forget the night with Giuseppe, but the memory swept over her—his swarthy olive skin covered with black hair, the greedy haste of his hands searching her body. She sat on the edge of the bed and willed herself to stop thinking, to swallow back the emotions rising high in her throat.

  “Lily?” Alex tossed his shirt aside and knelt before her, settling his hands on either side of her hips.

  As she stared into his intent gray eyes, the unpleasant memory vanished like smoke into air. Her vision was filled with him crouching there like an inquiring tiger, his skin and hair burnished gold. Tentatively she reached to his shoulder. Without conscious direction, her fingers moved lower, grazing the uneven border of springy, coppery hair. He was close enough that her calves were pressed into the ridged muscle of his stomach. He kept her at the edge of the bed, his fingers moving to the top of her thigh. Lily held her breath as he deftly unfastened her garter and began to roll her stocking down.

  Something made him pause. His fingertip touched the tautness of her inner thigh, where years of riding astride had pared down a woman’s usual plump softness. Bashfully she tried to pull the hem of the shift down, covering herself. “No,” he muttered, brushing her hands away. His head dropped closer and closer into her lap. She tensed in astonishment as she felt his mouth against her inner thigh. The scrape of his cheek, the intimate heat of his breath, sent an electric shock through her. With a stammering denial, she tried to push his head away, but he caught her knees in his large hands and pressed them wide, holding her still.

  Alex stared into the tantalizing shadow beneath the hem of the shift. He tightened his hold on her legs as she made a move to be free. His senses burned with awareness of the mysterious softness and scent before him. The protesting ripple of her voice brushed the edge of his consciousness. “Quiet,” he whispered, driven forward by a clamorous beat that resonated through him. “Quiet.”

  Searching with his mouth, he pressed into the shadow, using his hands to crush back the delicate edge of her shift as it got in the way. Hotly he breathed into the thick cluster of curls, lured by a maddeningly sweet, carnal scent. He hunted for the source and found softness and a place of damp, trembling sensation. Delving slowly, he drew his tongue through the moisture, back and forth, discovering a rhythm that caused her thighs to quiver against his restraining hands.

  Turning ruthless, he probed for the exquisite place where softness gathered into tension, and he opened his mouth to draw her in, pulling gently, gently, until he felt the resistance leave her legs. Her shaking fingers slid into his hair, tangling in the thick waves, pressing him closer. Moving upward, he dragged his mouth through the wet curls, and lifted his head from her body.

  Lily was red-faced, her eyes glittering and bewildered as she stared at him. She allowed him to push her back on the bed. Rapidly he worked at the fastenings of her shift, then gave up with a curse and pushed it to her waist. He cupped her breasts in his hands and bent over her slim body, his tongue tracing the line where creamy white skin merged into the deeper color of the crest. Opening his lips over the tender peak, he tugged until it contracted to a silky point.

  Lily slid her hands around him, over his broad, flexing back, using all her strength to pull him down to her. Some primitive instinct demanded his weight upon her, his heaviness bearing down on her breasts and between her thighs. With a quiet growl he left her breasts and sought her mouth. As her hips writhed upward, she skimmed the bulging ride of his loins, strained so tightly beneath his pantaloons. The slight contact made him groan against her mouth, and his kiss turned violent.

  He gasped words against her neck and face while he reached eagerly between her legs. “Sweet…hush, I won’t hurt you…I won’t…” Gentle and sure, his fingers worked into her, gliding far into the wetness, teasing and sliding against the swollen inner surface. She whimpered, first trying to shrink away, then holding still underneath the gentle ministrations, her mouth falling open with a sigh of astonished pleasure. All of Alex’s plans of patience and self-control crumbled into dust. Her body spread beneath him, allowing whatever he wanted, and he succumbed to a tide of greed and tenderness and lust. Fumbling at the fastenings of his pantaloons, he freed himself and climbed over her, and pushed her thighs wide. Slowly he nudged against her and pressed inside. She cried out, helplessly tightening against his entry, but it was too late; he had already sunk deep into the clinging heat of her body.

  Taking her head in his hands, he sifted his fingers through her hair and scattered kisses across her mouth. Her heavy lashes lifted, and she gazed at him in tearful amazement. “Am I hurting you?” he whispered, his thumbs wiping at the trail of wetness beneath her eyes.

  “No,” came her low, shaken reply.

  “Sweet, sweet…” He pulled back and drove forward, trying to keep his movements smooth and easy, while rampant pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. Lily closed her eyes and breathed deeply, her hands traveling restlessly over his back. She felt his lips on her forehead and his muscled weight settling on her and the slow rocking, the steady rhythm that drew an aching delight up from the very depths of her. “Oh,” she gasped when the feeling grew more intense, and he pushed deeper in answer. She couldn’t suppress a frantic sob, straining up against the hard, heavy slide of his flesh, up, and up again, grasping at his slick body.

  His face was above hers, a fierce gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. Bending his head to her breast, he pulled her nipple between his teeth. The pleasure condensed into a single, unendurable spasm, and she jerked against him with a whimper. He gathered her close, his entire being focused on the flexing of her inner muscles, the wild shudders that went through her. With a few hard thrusts he found his own release, a climax of sharp, dizzying intensity.

  Lily lay unmoving beneath him, her arms locked around his waist. Her body throbbed, pleasantly sore, more relaxed than she could ever remember being in her life. For a moment he was crushingly heavy, his face buried in her soft neck, and then he withdrew and lifted his weight from her. She protested faintly, wanting to keep his anchoring warmth over her. He rolled to his side, his arm curving loosely around her waist. Lily hesitated before drawing closer. His masculine scent filled her nostrils as she rested her face against the crisp hair on his chest. Had he been moved to say something, be it sardonic or kind, she would have felt too awkward to snuggle close in such a manner. But he was mercifully silent, allowing anything, everything.

  His breath filtered through her hair, and his hand moved up to her head. Idly he toyed with her cropped curls, his fingers drifting through the lustrous strands, winding and unwinding. Lily was conscious of an odd feeling of abandonment, lying there naked except for the tangled shift around her waist, surrounded by an unfamiliar earthy scent. Her skin was touched with a shiver as her perspiration cooled. She was so drowsy—she felt as if she were drunk on strong red wine. The air chilled her, but her body was warm where it touched his. She should get up and dress and put herself to rights again. In a minute—soon—she would move.

  She was aware of saying something groggily, something about the covers. He tugged at the front of her shift with both hands until it tore away from her. Obeying his coaxing, she crawled between the smooth linen sheets. When he joined her, he had removed the rest of his clothes. Lily was briefly startled by the sensation of his bare legs against hers. “Easy,” he whispered, stroking her back. A shivering yawn overtook her, and she relaxed in his arms.

  She didn’t know how many hours had passed when she emerged from a deep, restful slumber. Alex slept soundly. His arm was lax as it draped over her, the other curled beneath her head.
Quietly Lily absorbed the strangeness of it: the masculine body pressed against her, the feel of his breath on her neck, the silkiness of his hair against her face. The thought of the intimacy they had shared made her blush. She had considered herself wordly wise, having overheard conversations between women of the demimonde, praising the prowess of their lovers. But no one had ever described such a thing as Alex had done tonight. She wondered about his past, the women he had known, the particulars of his experience…a frown collected on her face, and a disagreeable feeling came over her.

  Inch by careful inch, she disentangled herself from him. There were twinges in the secret places of her body, not pain, but reminders of what had happened—the pressures and sensations, the searing invasion. She had never dreamed it would be like that. It wasn’t at all like the time with Giuseppe. It hardly seemed like the same act. She slipped from the bed, and heard a sound from Alex, an inquiring mumble. She didn’t move or answer, hoping he would fall back to sleep. There was the sound of sheets rustling, a deep yawn.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice sleep-scratchy.

  “My lord,” she said awkwardly. “Alex, I thought…perhaps…I should leave now.”

  “Is it morning?”

  “No, but—”

  “Get back into bed.”

  For some reason, his drowsy arrogance amused her. “Spoken like some feudal lord addressing a peasant,” she said pertly. “I suppose the dark ages would have been an ideal time for you to—”

  “Now.” He didn’t want to have a conversation.

  Slowly she went toward the voice in the darkness, sliding back into the warm cocoon of damask, and linen and hair-roughened masculine limbs. She lay near him, not quite touching. Then all was still.

  “Come closer,” he said.

  A reluctant smile plucked at the corners of her lips. Shy but willing, she rolled to face him, her slim arm sliding over his neck, the tips of her breasts brushing against his chest. He didn’t move to embrace her, but she heard a change in his breath. “Closer.”