A Scoundrels Kiss

by Shelly Thacker

  His only reply was a sound that started as an oath and broke into a groan.

  She brushed her fingers over him lightly, tentatively, marveling at the feel of him—the flat, broad planes, the smoothness of skin stretched taut over hard muscle, the bristly texture of the sprinkling of hair that covered his body. He was so different from her. So fascinating…so remarkable.

  “Am I hurting you?” she repeated tenderly, her own voice sounding husky and strange to her ears.

  “No.”

  From the way he grated out that single word, she wasn’t sure whether the denial was directed at her question or something else. Entranced by the pounding of his heartbeat, the unexpected heat of his body, the solid, muscled male power beneath her fingertips, she moved her hand lower, following the narrowing path of dark gold hair.

  His breathing seemed to stop…and he trembled.

  That filled her with awe. She made him tremble. In that moment she realized it was not anger that wreaked such havoc on him tonight—it was her. Never before had she guessed that her touch could evoke the same kind of response in him that his evoked in her. That she could steal his breath just as he stole hers.

  He was so much larger than her, his body so muscled and hard…and yet he trembled at her touch.

  A melting pool of fire flowed through her. The knowledge that she had such an effect on him filled her with a kind of exhilaration…and curiosity. How strong was this newfound power she possessed? The question begged her to seek an answer. To experiment.

  She slipped her hand sideways beneath his silk robe, her fingers gliding over his ribs. But before she could even begin to investigate this fascinating new world of male response, his hand clamped around her wrist.

  “Marie.”

  He said it like a warning. Of danger, of something forbidden.

  But in that moment, she did not care about danger—and could not accept that anything would be forbidden to them. She knew only that every fiber of her being demanded that she respond to the feelings within her, the wanting and need, the longing, the tenderness that had only one name.

  “Max,” she whispered, her heart beating unsteadily. “Please, yes.”

  She could not move her captive hand, but splayed her fingers over his hot skin.

  The sound that came from deep in his chest made her breath catch in her throat. He released her wrist, moving. Quickly.

  Not away from her—but closer.

  “Yes.” It was the last word she had time to speak before he engulfed her with his body and set her ablaze.

  He pressed her back into the sheets and she was aware of every inch of him, hot and hard and rigid with strain. His hand slid into her hair, his fingers circling her nape, while his other arm slipped behind her back, arching her upward against him. His mouth covered hers, joining them in a spill of lush, glittering hunger and heat.

  His kiss wasn’t soft and slow this time but deep and powerful—and she astonished herself by responding without hesitation, parting her lips, threading her fingers through his hair. The weight of him, the feeling of his lean, muscular form covering her, satisfied some unknown and secret need within her and at the same time kindled an unbearable fire that poured through her veins and left her shivering.

  This was what she wanted. She could not have put it into words if her life depended on it, but now she knew with all her heart. This was what she wanted.

  This exquisite heaviness of Max’s body molding to hers, his arms clasping her close, the taste and scent and feel of him filling her breath, her senses, her soul. To hold and be held. To be close, closer, one with this man who protected and provoked her, cared for her and laughed with her, this ruffian angel, this husband who made her feel special and beautiful, whose eyes burned with a storm of emotions when he looked at her.

  This man who was a stranger no more.

  The flat muscles of his chest pressed her down into the bedclothes, the friction of his hard body against her softness and the glide of thin silk against cotton making her breasts feel heavy and taut and wildly sensitive. A trembling began deep in her belly and coursed through her limbs with a new and strange excitement that felt like…anticipation.

  In only a moment his embrace and his kiss were not enough. The need she felt soared to stunning, dizzying heights, making her want more.

  More of him. All of him. The urgency grew stronger, shimmering through her body. Impatient and relentless. She whimpered in its grasp, not knowing what she needed, only that it must be more and it must be soon. When his lips slanted over hers, shifting and demanding, she opened her mouth at once and felt him shudder in response.

  Then she felt his tongue glide against hers in silky-hot caresses, the sleek heat of him stroking in and out. The sweet invasion fanned that strange, wild excitement in her belly into an all-consuming flame.

  His kisses were just like the ones she had dreamed from the night before—and then she knew that she hadn’t dreamed them. She remembered this. Remembered the deep blending of their mouths, the sensation of tasting him, of sharing the wine they had drunk in a new and exquisite way. But tonight it wasn’t wine she tasted, but something different, heavier, mingled with the tangy, sweet, saltiness that was purely him.

  His arm flexed around her back, drawing her closer, tighter, as if he would bind the two of them together and never let her go. Her senses came vibrantly alive, awakening one by one to revel in this new and extraordinary masculine onslaught—the feeling of his angular body clasped to hers, the clean, musky scent of him engulfing her, the stroking of his tongue as he delved into her mouth, each deliberate, delicious thrust making her shiver for something…more.

  He tore his mouth from hers and kissed his way along her chin, her jaw, her neck, nuzzling and nipping her, the gentle bites sending a new rain of fire through her. His hand found her breast, shaping it against his palm, and she gasped. Her breathing roughened as she felt the peak pinch tight in response to his caress. His thumb brushed over that hard, sensitive pebble, back and forth, and her entire body began to ache, there where he touched her—and lower.

  Then he slid her nightdress from her shoulders, pushing it down to her waist.

  Baring her to his gaze, his touch…his mouth.

  Her head tipped back, her lips opening on a soundless cry of astonishment as he cupped and lifted her naked breast and brushed a kiss over the taut, sensitive tip, alternately teasing it with his tongue and his thumb. Fever cascaded through her, making her arch beneath him. She tried to reach for him, to grasp his shoulders, but her arms were held prisoner by her tangled gown.

  He kissed her again in that shocking way, a wet, slow stroke that made her writhe beneath him. Low in her belly a liquid heat began that melted downward between her thighs.

  Then he drew her more deeply into his mouth.

  The warm, velvety feel of his lips and tongue and teeth sampling her sent one pulsing wave of sensation and pleasure after another shooting through her. She felt his knee shifting between hers, gently parting her thighs, and her breath rose in her throat and came out as a groan, an inarticulate sound that wasn’t any one of the three words she was thinking. Yes…more…now.

  But he seemed to know, to read her thoughts. His hips pressed against her and she became stunningly aware of the throbbing, hard flesh there, that mysterious male part of him, concealed only by the silk of his robe. His free hand glided downward, over her leg, pulling her nightdress up and out of the way, lifting it over her head.

  In a heartbeat the garment was gone and she wore nothing.

  She lay naked on the sheets, her body quivering with wanting, exposed to his gaze, his kisses, his hands. She felt no shyness, no shame. The smoky, smoldering heat of his gaze made her feel so beautiful, so wanted, that any thought of shielding herself from him lasted less than a second before it burned to ashes.

  She did not want to be shielded or protected or separated from him anymore. Not by garments or words or a door or an inch.

  He moved ove
r her, covering her with his body, the silk of his robe and the rough hair of his chest and legs a tantalizing contrast against her naked skin. There was only one word, one thought, one need left in her passion-hazed mind and her pounding heart, and it came out as a whisper.

  “Max.”

  He responded with sweet, rough endearments as the stubble of his beard abraded her tender skin. He treated her other breast to the same hot, wet kisses he had rained upon the first, until the sounds of harsh breaths, pounding heartbeats, restless sighs and groans blended together and she could no longer tell which were hers and which his, where she ended and he began.

  They were so much the same, and yet so different. He was hard where she was soft, angular where she was curved, rough where she was smooth. And he was the light, the only light that could penetrate the darkness surrounding her.

  He was her light. Max, with his silver-bright eyes and golden hair. He chased away the fear and the shadows, encircling her in his strength and a brilliant hot glow brighter and stronger than any flame.

  She wrapped her arms around him, surrendering fully to his sweet, melting heat. His knee parted her legs farther and his robe fell aside…

  And she could feel the length of hot male flesh, naked against her skin.

  His mouth covered hers once more, stealing her breath and her cry of discovery and wonder. His body rigid, trembling, he moved, the throbbing, silky hardness of him brushing lightly over the soft triangle of hair between her thighs. The aching sensation in her belly stretched tight…tighter…and she cried out deep in her throat, certain she would tear apart from the fierce need.

  He rubbed his maleness against her, each gliding motion making her delicate flesh feel sensitive and hot and wet. A new longing was born inside her—an ache, a hollowness deep within that yearned to be filled.

  When she thought she could bear no more, his fingers skimmed down her body and touched her there, lightly stroking the soft place between her thighs.

  She arched beneath him, new sensations pouring through her, one careening into another so quickly she did not have time to sort them out. They blended, building, rising. His tongue caressed hers while his thumb found and circled a tiny bud hidden below and she cried out into his mouth. Heat and pressure and pleasure twined one around the other. Clenching into a knot. A tangle of aching, yearning, wanting.

  And then his hand shifted, parting her gently…and he slipped one finger inside her.

  It was shocking, mind-stealing, exhilarating beyond imagination. His palm pressed against her, his thumb brushing over that swollen bud, his finger penetrating gently deeper—

  And the knot of pleasure inside her exploded.

  In a single dazzling instant the tangled yearnings snapped like ribbons of fire and a tremor began deep within and rippled outward through her entire body. Shattering. Swirling. Catching her in a cascade of hot sparks that washed over every inch of her. She was falling, soaring, and a long, low moan, a sound of awe and revelation and release, came from her throat and he drank it in with a deep, soft kiss.

  She almost wondered whether she fainted, for when she lifted her lashes and drifted back to awareness, her heart thrumming wildly, Max had gone utterly still over her, breathing harshly, his cheek pressed against hers, his face buried in her hair.

  She reached up to stroke his back, unconsciously arching her hips to capture the last of the delicious little shivers still glittering through her.

  “Marie,” he choked out, “don’t—”

  Suddenly his whole body jerked with a violent spasm and he groaned, long and low, shudders trembling through him as she felt a liquid heat flowing over her abdomen.

  He collapsed atop her, the tension and strain in his body gone, the muscles beneath her fingertips suddenly slack.

  “—move,” he finished hoarsely.

  Welcoming his weight and his warmth, she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him, awash in contentment. Her limbs felt heavy, her body and mind wrapped in a pleasant fog that made words impossible. She had never imagined, never, in all her curiosity about kissing and what took place between a husband and wife, that this was the grand secret.

  It was more beautiful, more stunning than anything she could have imagined.

  She kissed his shoulder, nuzzled his neck.

  “Oh no,” he groaned into the pillow. “Marie, you’re going to be the death of me. I swear to God you are going to be the death of me.”

  Sleepy, smiling, she nibbled the only part of him within nibbling distance: his earlobe.

  He trembled and shifted his weight off her, rolling onto his side. She murmured a protest, but then he pulled the covers over her, circled her waist with his arm and tucked her against him. “Please, Marie,” he whispered, his voice strained. “Please go to sleep.”

  Feeling limp and drowsy, her eyes already closing, she snuggled into him and obeyed with a sigh.

  Dawn forced its way in over the top of the curtains and stole across the ceiling and Max still lay beside her, holding her tight, feeling miserable, frustrated, contemptible.

  And grateful.

  It seemed his life had taken on a perverse, circular logic: whenever he found himself in an impossible situation, the very thing that landed him in trouble seemed to be the one thing that got him out.

  The other night during their supper in the garden, one deception had saved him from another deception…and last night, his lack of control had rescued him from his lack of control.

  Marie’s innocent touches and pleas had driven him to the brink of madness and straight over the edge—and if he were more experienced, if he had managed to last another thirty seconds, if Marie hadn’t moved, he would have been buried deep inside her.

  Only the fact that he had lost control had kept him from taking her innocence. There was no denying it. He hadn’t been thinking of his mission, his duty, or anything but his feelings for her.

  Feelings he couldn’t define. Wouldn’t define.

  All he knew was that it had seemed perfectly natural for a husband to make love to his wife.

  That was the most unsettling fact of all: the overpowering emotions and passions raking through him had let him forget that he was not her husband. That this was not real and never could be. The line between his role and reality had blurred. Dangerously. Just for a moment.

  For more than a moment.

  He couldn’t let it happen again. Had to remember that she was an enemy prisoner. There was no choice: he had to do his duty, complete his mission.

  And then forget her.

  But as he lay beside her, listening to the gentle rhythm of her breathing, with her body fitted so perfectly to his, every soft curve branding him, he knew it was too late for that.

  He would never forget her

  His throat tightened and his heart beat unsteadily. Not long ago—was it only weeks?—he had believed he possessed everything he needed in life to be happy. He had his health, his family, friends, academic pursuits. When Wolf and Fleming had asked him to name a price for undertaking this mission, he honestly hadn’t been able to think of anything more he wanted.

  But now he could.

  He drew her closer, brushing a kiss over her hair as she slept. She was not his and never would be. Two countries at war, her secrets, and his lies made anything beyond a few passionate, stolen moments impossible. He might fool himself for an hour, a night…

  But even now the night was breaking into day.

  And it was time for them to leave Paris.

  Marie sat in the coach in front of the town house, perched on the edge of her seat, twisting the gold band on her finger around and around as she waited for Max to join her. She didn’t know where they were going. Only that they had to leave. Because these men who were searching for them might be close to finding them.

  Because of her foolish visit to the Rue Saint-Honoré yesterday.

  But that wasn’t the only reason her pulse was uneven this morning. She also hadn’t seen Max since…
since…

  Since the wondrous event that had happened in her boudoir last night.

  She tried to stop fidgeting and settle back against the plush velvet seat, but couldn’t. This morning she had awakened to find herself alone, his place in the bed beside her empty and cool. It was Nanette’s knock on the door that had disturbed her sleep. The maid had brought a breakfast tray, explaining that Max had ordered it sent up to her before he left to secure a coach to take them out of Paris.

  He was busy making preparations for their departure and hadn’t wanted to wake her.

  But he was so busy that even when he returned with the coach, he hadn’t had time to see her. Nanette had helped her dress in a gown of summery green silk with a matching cloak that the older woman pronounced “très à la mode” and perfect for travel. Marie had taken longer than usual with her toilette, not sure why powder and perfume and brushing her hair to a glossy sheen suddenly seemed important when they never had before.

  And now she sat waiting for her husband.

  She touched the curls pinned loosely at the nape of her neck and toyed with the silver magnifying glass she wore on its delicate chain. Unable to sit still, she drew aside the curtains that covered the coach window and leaned out to say farewell to Nanette one last time.

  “Thank you for everything, Nanette.”

  “De rien. You are welcome, madame.” The maid handed the last of Marie’s bundles to the driver and shaded her eyes in the morning glare, being careful to speak slowly. “I will see that the rest of your belongings and the portrait and books are sent to the château in Touraine as Monsieur instructed.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “It is such a shame that you must cut short your stay in Paris, madame.”

  “Yes, it is.” Marie wasn’t sure what she was allowed to say about their abrupt departure. She didn’t like to lie, so she tried to stay as close to the truth as possible. “Monsieur feels that it will be good for us to get out into the countryside.”