“Damn it, woman. You sing like an angel and heal like a witch, flit around like a butterfly, and call to me like a bloody siren.” He raised his head, searching her gaze. “Which one is the true Caroline Sutton, I wonder? Each of them?”
“The true Caroline Sutton is the one who loves you.”
He groaned. “This isn’t fair to you, love. I don’t even know who I am.”
But I know who you are.
She wet her lips, guilt gnawing at her. “I do not care who you are, aside from the man I see standing before me. Who you were before is immaterial.”
“What if I ain’t the sort of man you would love?” he asked. “What if I remember everything and I’m a monster? A criminal? What if I’m a vile swine like that fancy nob who was accosting you tonight?”
“Hush.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “What if you are none of those things, and all your worrying is for naught? What if you kiss me and allow your worries to slip away?”
He kissed the pad of her finger, then plucked it away from his mouth. “What if I kiss you and I never want to stop?”
“That sounds like heaven to me.”
“Damn. It does to me, too.” He sighed, pinning her with his vibrant-emerald stare. “I did not come to you tonight for this. Especially after what happened in the hell with that bastard of a viscount.”
“Pray do not mention him now. I don’t want to think about that.”
“Fair enough. We shan’t. But, Caro, you must know how it feels, coming to you after what I saw.” His gaze was open, earnest. Loving. “I would never wish for you to regret your decision. If you’re making it in haste—”
“I am not,” she interrupted. “What is between us has no relation to what occurred earlier. You are not that sort of man. You are a true gentleman. Noble, loyal, brave, sweet, and true. You could not be more different from Derby.”
“You are sure?”
His hold on her tightened, his eyes searching hers. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
He gave a jerky nod, his expression turning adorably shy. “If we are to… If we… Hell, Caro. I don’t know how to go about this. Or mayhap I do. The trouble is, I don’t recall. The man I am now has no notion of what comes next.”
She smiled, drinking in the sight of him, flushing and embarrassed and beloved in her arms, this tall, hulking beast of a man. Her gentle giant. Her love.
“I have no notion of what comes next either,” she admitted. She had allowed Philip liberties, but she had never lain with him, and she was more grateful than ever for her restraint now.
Because she wanted to experience lovemaking for the first time with Gavin Winter and no one else. Even if he did not remember who he was.
He inhaled slowly, his hands traveling in the same, delicious caress up and down her back. His head dipped toward hers. “The way you look at me…I could never tire of that. You wear your heart for me to see.”
She smiled, but his words filled her with sadness, too. And more guilt. Just like the song she had sung for him, which had been a soldier’s hopeful belief his love’s prayers would keep him safe in battle, Gavin seemed to believe her an angel.
How wrong he was. And how deeply she hated herself. But not enough to stop.
“I love you,” she told him, because that, at least, was truth.
“I love you, Caro.” His head dipped, and his mouth crushed hers in a passionate, claiming kiss.
They had kissed their way to Caro’s bed, stripped each other of their garments, and settled in it together, bodies entwined, her softness against his hardness. He was acutely aware of his size compared to hers—she felt so small and precious in his arms, and he had no wish to crush her beneath his massive body.
It occurred to him that while his body knew what it wanted, his mind was uncertain of the steps. Was he a bloody virgin? He had no inkling. It hardly mattered, aside from his desire to make Caro weep with bliss.
He wanted to lick her until she screamed and came on his tongue.
That hardly seemed the thought of an inexperienced man, did it?
He deepened their kiss, his tongue teasing hers, as he gave in to his weakness and passed a hand down the smooth roundness of her belly to the apex of her thighs. She was hot and silken. He dared to explore lower, parting her folds until he found her slick and smooth. The plump bud of her sex greeted his fingers, and he swirled over it in a gentle massage, testing her, learning what she liked.
Everything was new. Himself, the woman in his arms, this love. He felt as if the heavens had opened and unimaginable gifts had been showered upon him. Hell, if this was the reward for nearly cocking up his toes behind an East End gaming hell, he would gladly suffer all the pain and punishment again just to have this moment.
Just to have this woman.
To have his Caro.
He increased the pressure on her nubbin, and her hips bucked. She made a low, seductive sound that he swallowed with his kiss. So ready, his sweet Caro. So wet. Fuck, his cock was hard as iron, pressed against the softness of her belly. His ballocks were drawn taut with need. It had been too long—he knew not how long—since he had found true release beyond the comfort his hand could provide.
But he told himself he would not rush their coupling. He wanted to savor her. To seduce her. To give her as much pleasure as he possibly could. He tore his mouth from hers and dragged kisses down her throat, all while his fingers continued plying their torture, fast and hard until she made the most delicious sounds deep in her throat, then slow and soft pets that had her clutching at him and pleading for more.
Oh, how sweet she was.
He kissed down the velvet softness of her chest, stopping when he reached the silken patch of skin between the swells of her breasts. He withdrew his fingers from her cunny so he could leverage himself on his uninjured arm, free of pain, and kissed the perfect roundness of her breast. Her nipple was pink and perfect, hard and calling to him, begging for his mouth. He sucked the stiff peak, then swirled his tongue over her, and she moaned, rocking beneath him.
His.
He nipped her lightly, the ferocity of his need making him catch her hungry nipple between his teeth and tug until she moaned, her fingers threading through his hair and her back bowing from the bed. He tormented the both of them a bit more before raising his head to drink in the sight of her, naked and flushed and wanting. She presented a delectable offering, all smooth skin and beautiful curves, pink and feminine and so beautiful, she made his cock weep.
But this was only the beginning.
There was more he wanted.
So much more.
He dragged his lips down her stomach, all the way to the heart of her. When her thighs parted, revealing her pink, glistening depths to him, a bolt of desire so potent that he nearly unmanned himself right then slammed into him. He bowed his head, opened her folds, and sucked her pearl.
She cried out, bucking against him. She was musky and sweet on his tongue, and he took his time devouring her with slow, long licks. Listening to the sensual sounds she made—her mewls and gasps and hitches of breath—he drove them both into a frenzy.
When she reached her pinnacle, crying out as she shuddered beneath him, he knew he could not maintain his restraint for much longer. He rose over her, careful to leverage his body on his good arm, and rolled his hips against hers. Teasing, testing.
She was so slick, his cock glanced over her folds, sending desire roaring through him. The need to be inside her consumed him, and in that moment, he swore he would forego air just to join his body to hers. Rubbing the head of his prick over her seam, he took in her loveliness. Her auburn hair was wild on the pillow, framing her face in a tangle of luxurious curls. Her lips were parted, her skin flushed, eyes almost gray.
“Caro, my darling, my love.” The words were torn from him, his heart pounding fast, his body aflame. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than you naked beneath me.”
“Make me yours,” she murmured, reach
ing for him, careful to avoid the scarred yet healing flesh that still pained him.
Her caress traveled over his shoulders, down his arms, over his chest. He could not resist dipping his head and taking her mouth. She kissed him with wild abandon, dragging him nearer to the edge, closer to losing control.
He sucked on the fullness of her lower lip before raising his head. “Are you ready for me, darling? I can’t wait.”
“Always.”
Gripping his cock, he guided himself to her entrance. It was strange how he had forgotten so much of himself, but this, making love to Caro, was elemental. Natural, easy, right.
Perfection.
In the dim corners of his mind, he recalled a woman’s first time could cause her pain. Though how he knew that, he could not say.
Slowly, he told himself. Gently.
He allowed himself a shallow thrust, then paused as she stiffened beneath him. She was incredibly tight, and he was trapped in her slick heat, but not nearly as deep as he wanted—needed—to be.
He kissed her tenderly, then toyed with the responsive bud of her sex, gratified at her sigh of pleasure. She moved beneath him, hips tipping upward, seeking. He broke the kiss as white-hot desire shot down his spine.
“How are you, love? Shall I go on?” he asked, his voice thick with lust.
“If you don’t go on, I’ll die,” she murmured.
He grinned, her words taking him by surprise. “We can’t have that happen, can we?”
He moved again, thrusting deeper. She clamped on him, her body undulating against his, spurring him on. The tension in her began to fade as he swirled tantalizing circles over her nub. Wetness urged him deeper.
Her fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders. He kissed her again as he finally seated himself deep. Her drenched cunny around him was the most glorious sensation he had ever experienced. Tentatively, he began a rhythm, sliding in and out of her, making certain to continue torturing her pearl and break their kisses to suckle her nipples.
When she seized on him, her body stiffening as another release claimed her, she moaned. He swallowed the sound with his kiss and groaned into her mouth as he moved faster, deeper, harder, spurred on by the way her channel milked his cock. Another instinct rose in him, reminding him he needed to avoid spending within her. But the sensation was too divine, and it had been far too long since he had experienced such pleasure.
His ballocks tightened, and he exploded, his seed pouring from him, filling her before he could withdraw. The rush of bliss showered over him like sparks from a raging fire. Hot, beyond control, dangerous.
In the dizzying wake of their union, he collapsed against her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. He felt as if he had just found the part of himself that had been missing. The emotions buzzing through him were incredible, unlike any he had experienced since waking up without a memory. He felt…whole.
How fortunate he was to have found his way to Caro, his own guardian angel. He did not think he had ever experienced such happiness, such a feeling of belonging, as if he were doing exactly what he was meant to do. Mayhap their meeting had been preordained. It certainly felt as if a higher power had guided them together.
“I love you, butterfly,” he said. “I love you so bloody much.”
Her hands were everywhere, gentle and tender, caressing his back, cupping his face. “I love you too.”
“Thank you for tonight,” he said, stroking her hair as he gazed at her lovely face. “Thank you for finding me, for healing me, for making me whole.”
“Oh, my darling man,” she whispered, shadows passing in her eyes for a moment before they were gone, “it is I who must be grateful to you. You owe me nothing.”
“I owe you everything, Caro.” He kissed her lingeringly, until they were both breathless, and his heart was alive with the endless possibility of the love blossoming between them. “But for now, all I have to offer you is my heart.”
Chapter 10
He woke to sunlight.
To a warm, feminine form curled against him.
To the sweet, floral scent of Caro Sutton teasing his senses.
And memories.
He woke to his name.
Gavin Winter.
And that was it. After so many weeks of wondering, of agonizing, of scouring his mind for something more than the mists inhabiting it since he had been beaten and shot and left for dead, his answers returned to him. The flow of remembrance was slow at first. His siblings—Gen, Demon, Devil, Dom, Blade, Dev, Bea, Grace, Pru, Eugie, and Christabella. The interior of the rooms he kept—spare and small, nothing but a bed and a place to shave in a seedy part of the rookery where a chap would as soon pick your pocket as bid you good day.
Then more. His favorite food: pigeon pie with lemon pudding for dessert. His favorite poison: arrack. And hell, the nights he had recently spent with his brother Demon, drinking himself to oblivion in preparation for his fight…
Fight.
His hands flexed into fists.
He was a prizefighter.
Suddenly, all the flashes of violence, the understanding of what it felt like to hit a man—he understood them. He had spent the last few years of his life building his reputation as one of the best damned prizefighters in London. And his body had taken a beating over those years.
Worse, cumulatively, than the beating he had received…
As remembrance rained down on him, like a sudden storm on a clear day, he found himself immobile, stiffer than a statue in Caro’s bed. Searing pain, the likes of which he had not suffered since the early days of his recovery, shot through his head. It was almost as if the memories were too much, too fast, rushing at him, arsey varsey.
He clutched his head in his hands, closing his eyes tight against the sunlight, but the memories kept coming. He remembered being surrounded by men. Five of them. Defending himself as best he could, but he had been outnumbered. Just flashes of remembrance, this. But he recalled the crack of the pistol, the crash of something over his skull, the darkness that had claimed him. The faces of the bastards responsible remained indistinct.
Fucking hell.
Had he known them? Who had attacked him, and why?
A moan tore from him as his head continued to ache. Slowly, he became aware of something beyond his inner torment. Of a soothing hand on his brow, of a soft, dulcet voice laced with concern.
“What is the matter? Are you unwell?”
Gavin struggled to form words, but the overwhelming return of his memories seemed to have rendered his tongue numb. Or mayhap the connection from his knowledge box to his mouth had been severed. Whatever the case, he could not speak.
Could scarcely manage to turn his head and meet her beloved hazel gaze.
Beloved.
Bloody hell.
He had fallen in love with a Sutton. With Caro Sutton. Their families had been enemies for far longer than they had been in a reluctant truce.
Once more, he tried to speak, but there was nothing. No words. Words were filling his head, however, and so was concern. None of this made sense. How had he ended up in the alleyway behind The Sinner’s Palace? He had not been going there, had he? Gavin didn’t give a damn about gaming, and if he wished it, he could always scratch that itch at his own family’s hell, The Devil’s Spawn.
Caro’s expressive face showed her concern. “Can you not say anything, darling?”
He shook his head.
“Water?” she asked.
Aye, maybe that would help. But what he truly required was arrack. A whole damned bottle of it, poured straight down his gullet. That way, he could dull the pain and chase the memories until he was ready to confront them.
There was a rush of movement as she left the bed. Had he not been in utter agony, he would have admired her curves, her waist, all that glossy auburn hair cascading down her back to brush the perfect handfuls of her rump. But he was in misery, so all he could do was stare and hope the water would loosen his tongue and mind both.
She was at his side in a breeze of cool morning air, holding a cup to his lips. He allowed her to tend him as she had done when he had been an invalid. It was an eerie echo of the last time he had awoken from a deep sleep to find Caro Sutton at his side. He drank greedily, his mouth somehow drier than it had ever been.
At least swallowing was an action he was capable of performing.
When he’d had his fill, she withdrew the cup. “Enough?”
“Aye,” he managed past a throat that felt thick and unused.
But that wasn’t true, was it? He had spoken plenty in the last few weeks when he had been a man with no name and no past. It was somehow the oddness of speaking as Gavin for the first time in so long, coupled with the ache in his head, that had rendered him badly shaken.
“Speak to me, my love,” she coaxed gently, perching on the bed beside him.
She was completely naked. Even in his strange state, he could not keep his eyes from her bare breasts and pretty pink nipples, hardened by the chill in the air. He recalled in exquisite detail just how much she liked it when he sucked them.
The buoyancy in his chest was sudden and strange. He felt as if he were inhaling fresh breath, new life. As if he were reborn. The man he had been before and the man he was now joined.
“I remember,” he said, dragging his gaze to her wide hazel eyes. “I know who I am.”
“You remember?” The cup in her hands fell to the floor with a dull thud, sending the rest of the water spilling across the carpet.
Neither of them paid it much heed.
He was too fixated upon her, upon the memories returning to him, the odd change overtaking his body and mind. He wanted to smile, but could not. Was it the pain of remembrance? Or was the return of so much information at once too damned much for his mind to bear?
He couldn’t be sure. “I remember everything except what happened the night I was wounded. It’s the devil of a thing, but I woke with my name in my mind. And as I saw the sunlight, it all came rushing over me like a flood.”
Winter's Warrior (The Wicked Winters Book 13) Page 11