A Scoundrels Kiss

by Shelly Thacker

  “No.”

  “And what do you feel for me?”

  Her lower lip quivered. Her tears spilled over, mixing with the rainwater on her pale cheeks.

  Then she leaned into him, her free hand circling his back.

  He caught her close with both arms, shutting his eyes against the burning in them. “This is not a lie,” he said roughly. “What we feel for each other is not a lie.”

  She buried her face against his chest. “I can’t stop loving you. Even if…if you…I can’t stop loving you, Max.”

  “Then don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t stop. Not now and not ever.”

  She dropped the reins and they held one another in the downpour, trembling, silent, until she lifted her head and his mouth sought hers and they kissed, breath and love and longing joined, the storm and all else forgotten. His arms tightened around her as hers did around him, and he felt as if he’d been hit by one of the blinding bolts from above. His feelings for her swept through him, all the more forceful for having been held back so long.

  He wanted to keep her with him, needed to keep her with him, cared for her more deeply than he did for duty or truth or even reason. Their kiss became a hot joining, her lips parting, his tongue stroking into her mouth to caress and claim. Longing ignited into desire as she met his invasion with passion of her own—a small sound of yearning, a sweet, sleek duel of her tongue along his.

  The rain poured over them as they poured themselves into one another, hearts pounding, bodies afire. Her fingers grasped handfuls of his wet shirt. He crushed her close, sealed her mouth with his, shutting out all questions and any chance of retreat. This was the only truth that mattered. The two of them together. No fears, no doubts, no distance between them. Two made one. A bond forged so strong, so infinite, that it could never be broken.

  Before he even finished the thought, he lifted her in his arms. Carried her through the rain. Lost awareness of anything beyond the two of them. And then they were in the shed, cloaked in darkness, in healing blackness that hid them from the world. Their bodies dripping, steaming, their breathing rough in the warm, heavy air, he set her on her feet and slid his greatcoat from her shoulders, let it fall to the floor.

  They kissed, quickly, hungrily, again and again as if each kiss were the first and the last. The storm battered the roof of their shelter, filled the night with the scents of earth and wood and wind.

  His hands were already on the fastenings at the back of her gown, urgency searing through his veins. The ruined fabric gave way and she gasped as he pushed the wet silk to her waist and freed her from her corset. He fell to his knees, pulling her down with him, down into the soft hay at their feet. Down.

  He couldn’t see. Didn’t need to see. Needed nothing but to feel and to take and to surrender. He arched her backward, bent his head to taste her. Her nipple felt hard against his tongue and he groaned at the throbbing need in his groin. She cried out, tangling her fingers through his wet hair as he suckled the pinched, tight peak. Heat and fire licked at his body with every touch of his lips and teeth against her sweet flesh. Her hands fluttered over his neck, his shoulders.

  When he lifted his head, they came together in a feverish embrace, her nails digging into the muscles of his back. He plundered her mouth in a hot, penetrating kiss.

  He could feel the heat of her skin beneath his hands, slid his palms down her bare back to her waist. She was tearing at the soaked fabric of his shirt while he pushed at the ruined silk and lace of the gown bunched about her hips. She arched into him with a small moan, moving, helping him to release her from the rest of her garments.

  He was panting, battling for breath, for control. He didn’t want to be rough with her. Didn’t want to hurt her in his inexperience. He knew so blessed little about virgins and lovemaking.

  Pressing her back into the hay, he tried to slow down, fumbling with the buttons on his breeches, aching for the feeling of her soft nakedness against him. When he was free of his clothes, he lay beside her, brushing his fingers over the triangle of rough silk between her thighs. She uttered a wordless plea, lifting her hips, the scent of her arousal a spicy perfume on the warm air. A groan tore from his throat as her bare thigh pressed against his engorged shaft.

  Lost to a love and a need beyond any he had ever known, he stroked her, his fingers caressing her soft, wet curls and then slipping inside her, deeply, possessively. She moaned, her entire body shuddering, tightening around him. Her passionate response sent a tremor through him. He touched her carefully, delving gently deeper into her most feminine secrets, and he could feel the delicate barrier there, so fragile and yet so forbidding.

  Slowly. He must go slowly. Despite the reckless, relentless pressure building inside him, the demand that would not be denied. She was his. His and no other’s. Now and tomorrow and for all time and for love, his.

  He withdrew his hand and she sobbed in protest—until he moved to cover her, claimed her mouth in a soul-deep kiss, and fitted his hard shaft to the opening of her tender, untried depths.

  And again, as she always seemed to do, she surprised him.

  Instead of a soft whimper of uncertainty and fear, she made an entirely different sound, deep in her throat.

  A glorious sound of astonishment and wonder and welcome.

  Marie couldn’t hold back a long, low moan as Max lit a thousand fires within her all at once. He stroked the sensitive bud hidden within the downy triangle between her thighs while the rigid male length of him pushed slowly forward…parting her softness…moving gently inside her.

  She clutched at his shoulders, shivering as heart-quickening sensations spiraled through her. The incredible fact that his body could unite with hers left her awestruck. Never had she guessed…never had she even imagined…

  But yes, yes. It was so right, so perfect. Her arms tightened around him and she met his kisses eagerly, moaning softly into his mouth. The night wrapped them in darkness as the most tender, feminine part of her yielded and enveloped the most steely, male part of him.

  She could not see him, could barely hear the words of love he whispered beneath the thunder that raged outside their shelter. But she could feel him surrounding her, touching her, kissing her…

  And becoming part of her.

  The sense of being so open, so vulnerable to him only captured her heart more fiercely than ever and filled her with joy. This was Max. Her Max. Her ruffian angel, treating her with exquisite care though his every muscle shuddered with strain and longing, cherishing her with his body the same way he had cherished her with loving words outside in the rain.

  Her husband kissed her deeply, his tongue gliding in and out before he lifted his head to dust feverish kisses over her chin, her jaw, her throat. Groaning, he melded their mouths again—and pressed forward with another slow thrust of his hips, opening her more deeply to admit his velvet hardness. She took small, astonished gulps of air, sharing his very breath, her mind and heart and soul ablaze with heat and light.

  His fingers teased and flicked at the swollen bud that so ached for his touch and the cascade of sensations left her gasping. Liquid flame melted downward from the tightening core of her body to meet the throbbing male flesh that stroked higher. Fire swirled through her limbs, burning her as never before, and she felt again the strange hollowness low in her belly, the stirring ache that had puzzled her so when he shared her bed and her passion last night.

  Now she understood it. Knew that she had yearned for this. To have him inside her. To feel stretched and filled and…complete.

  It brought a sob from her throat, that she could have forgotten what it felt like. That this glorious way of joining, sharing, loving had been lost with all her other memories.

  But her body clearly remembered, for she could feel herself shivering, straining forward, impatient for him to take her completely and make her his as he had already taken and claimed her heart.

  She tightened her arms around him, returned his kisses with all the passion sh
e felt. Clung to him in the darkness. And felt each warm, delicate fold parting like the petals of a rose as he moved with gentle caution into the depths of her body.

  And then he stopped.

  She uttered a soft, questioning murmur against his lips. Beneath her fingertips, the muscles of his back and shoulders shuddered with a forceful tremor. He lifted his mouth from hers, his breathing harsh beneath the sounds of the storm, his chest heaving. Balanced on one arm, he poised over her and began kissing and nuzzling her jaw, her neck.

  She tipped her head back, whimpering with impatience as he bit her gently, his teeth grazing her throat. The spirals of heat burned her, coiling tight in that secret hollow that he had not quite filled. Now that she knew what she wanted and needed, she could not bear to have it withheld.

  He dipped his head to tease her breasts with his tongue, drawing the sensitive peaks to tight fullness, wrenching a gasp from her lips.

  “Max,” she cried, tossing her head against the rough-soft grasses that pillowed her. “Please.”

  He replied with a low groan, yet still did not give what her body demanded.

  But he began to move.

  With small, deliberate motions he withdrew from her depths and returned, thrusting slowly out and in, back and forth, his body sliding against hers, hard against soft, skin against skin, both of them wet with perspiration and rain. He kissed and suckled at her breasts while his fingers swirled and teased below, but always he pulled back just short of a complete joining.

  She cried out and bit her bottom lip to hold in the wild sounds rising in her throat, inflamed by the shimmering tension that clenched her every muscle tighter, tighter. Maddened with wanting, she tilted her hips upward to take more of him inside her—but he moved his hand to her hip, holding her down. She uttered a broken sound, shuddering, frustrated at the way he held her still.

  Yet at the same time it sent a thrill of excitement through her to surrender to his control, to give herself over to him so completely. It was a trust beyond any she had felt or expressed before, one that stirred the most secret places of her heart and soul.

  Cries of wanting and love and pleading tumbled from her lips as he held her still and thrust faster, each stroke making it feel like rain and thunder raged within her. An unbearable tension began building, stealing all her control, all awareness of anything but the feel of him moving inside her and—”

  Suddenly the gathering storm broke and crashed through her in a dazzling explosion of ecstasy.

  She arched beneath him, filling the air with soft, sharp cries. It was like being struck by a thousand icy-hot raindrops from unknown reaches of the night sky, by light from a hundred bolts of brightness all at once. Scorching, sharp sensations rivered through her blood. Melted her every muscle.

  And then he was there, there where she most wanted him. Completely and fully part of her while she was still caught in the fierce, brilliant storm.

  And it was remarkable. Incandescent. Light created by heat.

  Sweetness and silk and hot, pure ecstasy.

  He wound his arms around her, pulling her closer, thrusting hard and fast. Yes, yes. She couldn’t fight the tears of joy that slipped down her cheeks and into her damp hair. She moved beneath him, making his rhythm her own, felt herself soaring again before she even came to earth.

  He shouted her name and thrust so deep that he filled her completely as he joined her in the storm, pulsing and flowing inside her in a searing rush.

  It was a very long time before she floated back down through the clouds. Kissing, nuzzling, they gazed silently at one another in the flashes of lightning that arced through the darkness. And they held one another, exhausted, spent, still joined.

  The unmistakable love that she had seen burning in his eyes was there in every sweet caress, in the way he trembled when she touched him, and the emotions blazing in her heart told her that she was right to believe in him and trust him and give him her love. The last lingering doubts and questions had faded like distant stars fleeing at the first touch of dawn.

  For in a way that went deeper than words, beyond questions, beyond even this physical joining, she felt connected to Max. Nothing could ever change that. Not her lost memory, not angry words, not the man at the inn who had grabbed her and tried to trick her with lies.

  Nothing.

  She let her lashes drift downward, smiling. Today she had seen that her husband could be dangerous, could wield a weapon with frightening ease, yet she knew that he would never hurt her. On the contrary, he always used his power to protect her, to envelop her in his strength and his light, to love her until all the shadows vanished.

  And for the first time since she had awakened in the life of a stranger, she knew no fear. No fear of herself or Max or the future.

  Or the past.

  The last traces of darkness within her unraveled completely and she let them go. She had no need of the past, not when she had such a glorious present and a future filled with such love. If she never recovered her memory, she would not care.

  Her life was with him. Her memories would begin anew, now, with this moment.

  This rainswept night that she would cherish forever.

  Lying on his side with her body curled against his, Max held her in his arms for more than an hour, unwilling to let her go even while she slept. His heart ached with a love and possessiveness that made any other emotion he had ever felt seem frail by comparison.

  He stroked the graceful curve of her spine, listened to the rain that continued to fall in a soft patter, and felt no regret at what they had done.

  Even with the fires of passion banked and some semblance of reason trying to reclaim him, he felt no regret.

  Instead what he felt—irrationally, considering all the trouble they faced and all the danger surrounding them—was hope.

  When he finally, reluctantly left her side, he tried not to disturb her. She didn’t stir. He found their discarded clothing by feel, donned his breeches, and tore a strip of fabric from one of her petticoats.

  Rising quietly in the darkness, he stepped outside the shed and held the cloth up in the rain. The clouds above still blotted out most of the moonlight.

  “You’ve been keeping secrets.”

  He went still.

  Her whispered comment made something inside him wrench painfully. Her tone seemed sweet, not angry, but for days he had imagined—dreaded—her saying those exact words to him.

  Holding his breath, he returned to their bed in the hay and stretched out alongside her. “I’m sorry I woke you.” He kissed her lightly, warmly, and kept his voice just as light. “What secrets?”

  She snuggled into him with a sigh. “About the real meaning of ‘husbandly rights.’”

  He exhaled, knowing he should feel relieved. She referred to their lovemaking, nothing more. She was teasing, not accusing.

  But her trusting innocence made him feel like hell.

  “Are you all right?” he asked gently, pressing her back into the hay, tenderly touching the cloth to her cheek, her neck, her shoulders. He needed to do this carefully, and before dawn, while darkness prevented her from seeing what he could not allow her to see.

  “Yes,” she said, softly but without shyness. “Oh, yes.”

  He moved the cloth over her arms, her breasts, her ribs, resisting the fires that rose again so quickly. He didn’t need vast experience to know that if they made love a second time, she would leave their rustic hiding place tomorrow sore and uncomfortable.

  And if he made love to her as many times as he longed to, neither of them would have enough strength left to leave their rustic hiding place at all.

  Rather an appealing notion, he thought wistfully. Appealing and impossible.

  “I’m glad you’re all right,” he whispered, moving the cloth along the flat curve of her abdomen. “It’s been a long time since we…were together. And since you lost your memory, I was afraid you might be…shocked or…” He cleared his throat. She was making a small
sound of contentment as he bathed her—which made it difficult for him to concentrate on the subject he needed to discuss. “Sometimes, Marie, if a woman is nervous or if it’s been a long time since she made love, it…hurts.”

  “Oh, no.” She sat up with a little gasp. “Oh, Max—I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  He went still, almost could have laughed at the idea…except that she sounded so earnest. So concerned for him.

  That she could be worried about him at this particular moment only made him feel worse.

  “Not me,” he clarified. “I meant you. The woman is the one who feels the pain. Sometimes, that is. If the man isn’t careful enough.”

  That was partly true. He simply left out the first time. At worst, it was a fairly small lie.

  Compared to all the others he had told her.

  “I didn’t feel any pain,” she hastened to assure him, reaching out in the darkness to caress his cheek. “You were very careful, Max. You were…it was so…so wonderful. I only wish we had spent every night together this way, from our very first night at the town house.” She moved her fingertips over his face as if in awe. “Why did you wait so long?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered in a pained voice, easing her back into the hay. “I was afraid.”

  That was perhaps the first truly honest thing he had ever said to her.

  No, not the first. The second.

  He moved his hand across her hip…her thigh…then tenderly pressed the damp cloth to the warm center of her femininity. His intimate touch brought a small sound from her lips, one that made something inside him clench tight. It was not a sound of surprise and wonder anymore, but of acceptance. Acceptance that he had a right to touch her there, that he had claimed her as his own in every way.

  She had gone beyond trust, to surrender.

  His eyes burning, he vowed that he would not repay her love and faith in him with betrayal. The hope he had felt became a fierce determination: he would find some way to protect her, to keep her safe.