Withered Rose (Desperate And Daring Book 7)

by Dayna Quince

  “Don’t be scared, Rose. Here in this awful, damp, mausoleum of a hunting lodge, it is only us. Only I can see you. Only I will know what we do. I’m here with you, and I will keep you safe. We’re the only ones who exist here. We are free.”

  Rose closed her eyes. It were as if he was casting a spell over her, whispering things she wouldn’t dare want outside her heart. She felt goose bumps rise on her skin as his breath fanned over her cheek. All she could see was he, and she wanted to believe him with all her heart and mind. What she wouldn’t do to simply be, to stop worrying about the future, or thinking about the unpleasantness of the present. She wanted to let go but…

  “I don’t know how to let go.”

  He smiled and kissed the fist that was still curled against his chest. “I can tell.”

  He took hold of her fist, his large hand curving over it, shrouding it in warmth. Her hand relaxed in his. She watched in awe as he kissed her palm and brought it to his cheek. She felt the stubble under her hand, and it felt intimate, causing her to ache. Her fingers twitched and then she cupped his cheek, taking control of her hand. She slid her fingers into his hair. She felt her leash slipping, but instead of clawing after it, she let it go. She imagined him taking hold of it. She was giving the power to him. It scared and exhilarated her, like standing on the edge of a cliff.

  But she needed to fall, didn’t she? If she didn’t, she would always be the same, stuck in her life, incapable of moving forward. She was holding on for dear life to something she didn’t want. If only for right now, if she trusted him, she could hold on to him instead. She wouldn’t look down, wouldn’t open her eyes, she would let herself fall, and he would catch her.

  She looked deep into his eyes. “I trust you. Teach me to let go, Connor.”

  He brushed her hair back from her face, his eyes never leaving hers. “Hold on to me.”

  Chapter 11

  He kissed her deeply. Heat and desire spread through her. She held him, both arms around his neck now, as he stole her breath and gave it back to her repeatedly. She’d been kissed before, but not like this. Peter Quinn’s kisses had been quick and rather damp, his skin smooth and free of stubble.

  But Connor, he kissed her to her very soul. Bruising kisses that should have been overbearing, but instead, they made her ache for more. The stubble on his jaw abraded her skin, reminding her that he was a man. He was larger and stronger, and innately capable of giving her indescribable pleasure. His kiss declared all that and more.

  His lips dragged away, and Rose gasped for breath. His lips and tongue danced over the sensitive skin of her neck. It tickled, but she would never ask him to stop. She wanted everything he was going to give to her. He moved lower, nuzzling the edge of her bodice, his fingers dragging it down. She arched, this was new territory, but it felt right, anywhere his hands moved felt natural and right.

  “Tell me to stop and I will. I don’t want to frighten you,” he spoke into her skin.

  “I’m not frightened,” Rose said on the heels of a sigh. This was new and different, but it called to the same fevered memories she’d felt before. Her body seemed to know. Her skin welcomed the contact, her nipples tightening in eager anticipation. She’d rushed headlong into passion the first time, never seeing all that lead to its ultimate summit. This time, she could relish going slow, she could appreciate all the valleys and vistas on this journey, unrushed.

  Even when she closed her eyes, Connor filled her vision. She tried to remember her first taste of passion, long ago. Peter Quinn was so young compared to Connor. His hands had shaken when he fondled her breasts. Connor’s hands did not shake. They claimed and conquered. He slipped his hand inside her bodice, which was now loose. She hadn’t even felt him undo the back. She arched, welcoming his hot mouth and strong hands. Shivers raced down her spine like shooting stars, burning hot under her skin. Her heart pounded in her chest. Surely, he could feel it. He pressed his mouth over her heart, kissing her, his tongue slipping out to taste her skin over where her heart pumped wildly. It was erotic and wild, but it also made her feel something deeper, heavier. Why did he have to do that?

  She was ready to lose herself in sinful pleasure, but when he did that, her heart beat a bit harder. With each surge of blood in her veins came a new ache, something intangible and insatiable. It scared her. She squeezed her eyes tighter, willing the ache away.

  She’d suffered once for her passion. She’d loved a boy on the cusp of manhood. She’d believed in those tender feelings with naïve certainty that they would not lead her afoul. She’d been wrong, but she’d also been extremely lucky. She would not be such a fool again. She could give in to the passion again, as she desperately wanted to, but she would never lose her heart again.

  Connor tempted her beyond reason—his flashing green eyes, his wild smiles, his deep timbered voice, always teasing, easy to laugh. Then there were his broad shoulders, his thick arms, and strong nimble-fingered hands. How could she resist such a man? How could she stop herself from falling?

  The answer was simple. She couldn’t. He would show her how to let go with those lean smiling lips and knowing hands, but she wouldn’t let go of everything. She couldn’t afford to let go of her past. She had no desire to repeat those lessons. She’d learned enough the first time. Passion and desire are intoxicating and dangerous. They must be tasted carefully. Connor was a man, not a boy. He was not playing with tender feelings. He knew what he was doing.

  Rose sucked in a breath as he pulled her nipple into his mouth. Her thoughts scattered. She had to trust in his knowledge because, when it came to denying what her body wanted, she was hopeless. She had no control of this urge to give everything to him. His mouth tugged hard, drawing a cry from her. He released her and moved to the other, repeating the same pleasurable torture.

  “You taste better than I imagined,” he murmured as his lips brushed softly over her nipple and his tongue darted out to sooth it.

  Rose cradled the back of his head, wanting to force his mouth on her again, but afraid of the power of her desires. She remained still. His words thrilled her almost as much as his actions.

  “You imagined me?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Every night since I arrived. You’ve tormented me, Rose. Day and night, I think of you. I’ve made love to you in my head more times than I can admit.”

  She shivered. His words seeped into her body, through her hungry skin, into her blood, and deeper into her heart. She closed her eyes, afraid he might see how much she was affected by them.

  “Kiss me,” she begged. It was all she could say at that moment.

  He did, but as he did so, he pushed himself up and reached for her feet. He broke the kiss and sat up, moving her legs over his lap.

  “I think it’s time to make my fantasies a reality, don’t you?”

  She swallowed and nodded.

  “I want to see and touch your legs, and I desperately want to kiss them, starting here.” He ran his hands along the length of her leg, ending at her foot. He reached up her dress again and undid her stocking, rolling it down quickly over her foot and tossing it aside.

  Rose bit her lip as she watched him stare at her foot, and then he kissed the arch of it. She fought to remain still against the tickle of his lips as he moved from her arch to her heel and up to her ankle. She was mesmerized as she watched him slowly devour her leg with kisses, moving up and up, until he reached the sensitive skin behind her knee.

  “Are you still not frightened?”

  She shook her head. She was feeling many things, but fear was not one of them. He moved to her other leg and did the same. Then he ran his hands over her thighs, pushing her skirts to her waist. It was then she felt a tremor of trepidation. He kneeled between her spread legs and simply looked at her.

  It took all her strength to remain still and not shy away. Peter had never done this. She was exposed and vulnerable to Connor. If not for the hungry look in his eyes, the way he looked at her with such fire, she would h
ave cowered. But instead, she let him look, she let him devour her with his eyes and tease the sensitive skin of her thighs with his hands because she knew that he wanted her and that what he saw pleased him.

  He changed his position, adjusting them both until he curved around the back of her like a spoon. She looked at the fire as he nuzzled the skin under her ear, and one devilish hand stole under her, to hold her and cup her breast while the other returned to her thigh, inching closer to her.

  It was hard to breathe when such anticipation filled her. Tremors of delight and uncertainty racked her, but she held herself still, focusing on the fire, tracking his wicked hand. He touched her gently at first, raining distracting kisses on her neck and shoulder. His fingers sifted through her curls, sliding deeper.

  She closed her eyes. It was heaven, wicked heaven. She didn’t need to see the flames when they were roaring to life inside her. His touch was so much stronger than her own, his fingers firmer and knowing. Pleasure lanced through her body, racing down her legs like lightning. She lost the will to remain still, and her hips bucked against his hand. She needed more. She already felt like she was chasing her pleasure. His fingers slid deeper into her core. She moaned in defiance. Her own hand reached down to hold his tighter against her. She flinched. His fingers delved deeper into her heat, his palm riding hard over her mound.

  “Yes, Rose. Show me what you want.” He breathed into her ear, his voice dark and husky.

  She cried out softly. She didn’t want to reveal her wants to him. She was ashamed of their ferocity, the way they claimed her body and she couldn’t even fight it. She was using his hand to pleasure herself now, shamefully, as she raced the brilliant streaks of light behind her eyes for release.

  She cried out again, the pleasure eclipsing her shame as she reached the summit. She pulled her hand away from his and shivered as he continued to stroke her gently, easing her back to reality. She refused to open her eyes. She lay there in languid defeat, her heart pounding in her ears, her hands tucked in the skirts bunched at her waist.

  He shifted behind her, the prodding of his manhood against her derriere alarming. But he didn’t push for further liberties. He pushed her skirts down, pulled the blanket over them both. The arm under her tucked her tighter against him, and the one over her caressed her arm soothingly.

  “You are magnificent, Rose,” he murmured into her ear, and then kissed her neck. He settled back into the sofa.

  Rose relaxed in his hold. She supposed he thought she was asleep. She laid there until his breathing slowed and deepened. Once she was sure of his state, she slowly slipped out of his hold. She stood and looked down at him. Her face flushed with heat at the sight of him. Part of her wanted to curl back under the blanket and relish the feel of his arms around her, to sleep there, all night long as if she belonged there, but the other part of her was terrified. She chose to follow the latter and took herself off to her chamber.

  She changed into a nightgown and crawled under her own covers, her face burning with shame. What had she done?

  The truth was, she wasn’t sure. This situation was very different from before. Before, she had fancied herself in love. She wasn’t supposed to know these things. She wasn’t supposed to feel the hot flush of desire scorching her insides and know how to feed that carnal hunger.

  But she did.

  Her innocence was only an assumption people made about her. How could they know? No one knew. No one except her and the boy who had taken that innocence. A boy not much older than she at seventeen. A boy who’d whispered fevered promises. Promises of a life that would never come to be. And their bodies had made promises, sweet promises of haste and lust, promises of tender passion and completion.

  She’d succumbed twice before the wool was pulled from her eyes, before she lost all contact with that boy and his promises turned to dust. The weeks that followed were fraught with fear, but in the end, she’d remained unscathed, her ruination a secret she could take to her grave. She came out the following year and learned of his marriage to another. She realized eventually that she hadn’t been in love, not really. But she could not forget what she’d felt. Desire was potent and never forgotten.

  So what did it mean? Was she tarnished? Was she cut from the same cloth as courtesans and light-skirts? She wanted to believe differently, but her body betrayed her. She couldn’t trust it any more than she could trust her heart at seventeen.

  Her stomach roiled in protest, but Rose managed to find comfort under her covers. She ignored the tears that pricked her eyes. The pleasure he gave her was still heavy in her veins, but so was the shame. Sleep began to beckon, but before she succumbed, she promised herself that on the morrow, she’d take back control.

  Chapter 12

  Gabriel woke with a start. The fire was low, but morning light streamed through the windows. He looked around, disheartened to find himself alone. He stood and stretched, looking down at the tent in his breeches. He would likely suffer further pain the deeper they delved on their adventure together. It would be worth the pain. Just feeling her come to pieces in his arms was worth the torture. Next, he wanted to see it.

  But first, he would have to find his lovely companion. He hoped to God she wasn’t suffering from remorse. He probably shouldn’t have let her begin her journey to passion under the effects of whiskey. She hadn’t been overly sauced, only enough to loosen her tongue, if he remembered her words from last night correctly.

  But if she was feeling the least bit regretful, he would have to work very hard to convince her to let that regret go. There was no time for regret in life. It wouldn’t change anything. She had nothing to regret. The pleasure of the body was a gift from God. Without it, Gabriel was certain the population would die off.

  It could almost be viewed as a trap, the way the flowers in the jungle lured insects to their deaths with colorful petals. Without the pleasure their bodies created together, man and woman would not procreate. There would be no children, no marriage, no humanity. It was unfortunate that the English chose to frighten young women away from carnal pleasure. Everyone would be so much happier if they just accepted who they were—carnal creatures.

  Gabriel went up to the room he used to relieve himself and change into fresh clothing. He stopped by her door and pressed his ear to it, not hearing a sound, he knocked tentatively but received no answer. She was either sleeping deeply or ignoring him. Either way, nothing would be achieved without first filling their stomachs. Negotiating should never be had on an empty stomach

  As he approached the kitchen, he heard several sounds. He pushed open the door, surprised to see her up and about, but gratified that she wasn’t hiding. He tempered his amusement when he saw her bent over the pot hung over the hearth. She was muttering something as she poked at the water with a spoon.

  He cleared his throat. “Good morning.”

  She stood and turned. “Good morning.”

  She gave him a shy smile but didn’t meet his eyes. “I made a fresh pot of tea.” She gestured to the table.

  Gabriel sat at the table and poured himself a cup. “Did you sleep well?” He watched as she resumed her stirring.

  “Passably,” she said without turning.

  He grew annoyed. They had no use for civil whiskers between them. This time was too precious to be wasted. “I slept well, but I was surprised to wake up alone…” He let the silence stretch until she stood and moved over to the sink with the pot.

  “Well?” he prodded.

  “Well?” She looked at him over her shoulder briefly. Steam rose from the sink as she emptied the pot. He couldn’t see what she was doing until she turned around holding a plate with four steaming eggs on it. She smiled triumphantly.

  “I told you I could boil eggs.” She set the plate down before him.

  “I see.”

  She turned away and returned with scones, butter, and jam. Only then, did she sit down and pour herself a cup of tea. Gabriel let her think she’d successfully avoided the discus
sion as he spread butter and jam over a scone. She took two eggs from the plate and lightly tapped the shells with her spoon.

  He watched her take two bites of egg and then pounced. “I want you to tell me exactly what you were feeling regarding our intimacies last night.” He thought she might choke, but remarkably, she swallowed her food and met his eyes.

  She blinked once. “I beg your pardon.”

  “I’ll go first if it helps. We must have nothing but honesty between us. I have no problem telling you that you’re sneaking away during the night did not please me. I wanted to wake up with you.” He watched as rosy color washed over her face. “Now it’s your turn. Why didn’t you stay with me?”

  “Well…” She swallowed again and then took a sip of tea. “If you must know…”

  “Oh, I simply must.”

  She stared pointedly at him, and her lips pinched. “The sofa is too small.”

  He raised a brow. “Indeed?” Shit. He couldn’t argue with that. He barely fit on it himself.

  “I’ve never… slept with someone,” she added.

  He relaxed his features. She looked uncomfortable enough already. “Thank you for your honesty. I understand how sharing a bed, or sofa, as it happens to be, can feel strange after your first foray into passion.”

  She looked away.

  “I promise it will get easier.”

  “I don’t want it to get easier,” she murmured.

  She was looking down into her tea as if it would reveal secrets. He’d seen an old Romany gypsy divine the future from a basin of water in just the same fashion.

  “The first step to freeing yourself is to recognize that fear is only fear, and you are in control of what you do.”