“Oh, Matt. Oh…” She was panting and smiling and laughing out loud, as ready as any woman he’d ever known. But he still cautioned himself to give her only as much as she could handle. Or maybe it was more a question of how much he could handle without losing control of his own body. Her pleasure alone must be all that mattered, for now.
He leaned down and kissed her on the mouth, and she opened her lips to allow him to touch his tongue to hers. He let his hands follow the lines of her body, beneath the water. Kittenish sounds of frustrated delight escaped from her lips. With one hand he cupped her bottom and caressed her softly. The other moved between their bodies, stroking the inside of her thigh, sliding upward, finding the elastic opening of her bathing suit leg.
He waited, letting her get used to the touch of his hand, giving her time to react—to push him away, show any sign of fear or uneasiness. But she was returning his kisses with fervor now. Smoothing her palms up over his bare chest, she curled her fingers between spirals of dark hair.
When she pressed herself against his hand cupped between her thighs, he took that for as green a light as he was likely to get. Matt slid his fingers inside the stretchy fabric and found the fragile lips of her womanhood. If he touched her just right, there… If he didn’t give into the impulse to penetrate her, he’d do no physical damage.
His fingertips moved in slow, gentle circles, pressing upward against the moist, velvety flesh, but not forcing within her. Abby began to respond in an instinctive rhythm to his touch. Her head fell back and her eyes closed. Her face shone as brightly as a new day’s sun. Her eyelashes fluttered, her lips pouted, drew inward, then parted. The elegant contours of her face displayed a hundred subtle emotions. He loved watching her.
“Tell me if you’re not all right,” he whispered in her ear.
She didn’t respond, and he wondered if she had even heard him. He sensed that she was concentrating very hard on the touch of his hands, the feelings rushing through her. Cradling her against him, he slowly, patiently moved a single wide finger over the velvety nubbin, flicking it again and again. Until she shuddered and clutched at his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his flesh.
At last he felt her body go rigid then convulse on waves of pleasure so intense he could only imagine. Abby buried her face in his chest and smothered ecstatic whimpers he felt as vibrations through his entire body.
Matt continued to hold her, supporting her in the water while her world steadied, her legs found their strength again and her breathing evened out. He grinned. Not a bad compromise at that. He had kept the woman’s virtue intact, at least in the anatomical sense, while showing her what all the excitement was about. Lesson #1.
Only problem was—he ached for her. Never before had he been so moved by witnessing a woman’s passion. She aroused his own need to the very edge of the male precipice…but he wouldn’t ask her to satisfy him. That would have to wait, although waiting was a gamble. What if she changed her mind about wanting Lesson #2?
Matt started to walk them toward the beach, his arm low around Abby’s waist, guiding her unsteady steps through the water. She brought him to a halt. “Not yet,” she whispered throatily, and looked up at him with a far different expression than he’d ever seen in those coffee-and-cream eyes.
He chuckled. “Don’t tell me you want more?”
“Yes.” She blinked up at him. “But not for myself.”
He stared down at her in disbelief. “We agreed to wait for the rest, until you had time to think.”
She shrugged, a soft smile lifting her moist lips. “I was just considering alternatives. You did that to me. You made me…made my body feel wonderful things.” She shook her head in amazement, unable to find words to explain what had just happened to her. “What is that called?”
He laughed. “Let’s just say I was making love to you with my hands.”
“I had no idea. I thought there had to be…thought you needed to—” She blushed and looked away from him.
“So now you know.” But she still wouldn’t allow him to move toward the shore. She took a hasty look around.
“No one saw,” he assured her.
“I know,” she said, then smiled impishly at him. “It wasn’t that.”
“What then?”
“A woman can do something similar for a man, am I right?”
“Well, yes…” Abby must have seen movies, read books. The act of sex was less a mystery these days to the uninitiated. “But you don’t need to—”
She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and faced him with an adorably solemn expression. Then he felt her small hand press over him through the fabric of his trunks. Matt flinched, then locked his knees and let her satisfy her curiosity.
“You’re very, um…taut,” she announced.
“Yes.” He stifled a laugh. He was a steel rod, for all the good it was going to do. A cold shower, a short brandy…he’d survive.
“Does it hurt?” she asked curiously.
“Difficult to explain. I’m not in actual pain.”
“But you’d feel better if—” She let the twinkle in her eyes finish the message.
“Come on, we’d better go,” he growled. His will-power was seeping away with every minute he lingered in the warm water with her. Didn’t she know the hell she was putting him through? Making him stand here with her, after having touched her that way, after having felt her release herself to him.
“In a minute,” she said firmly.
Her fingers slipped into his trunks and wrapped around him. He let out a groan and looked hastily around. No one on the beach. No one on the cliffs above. All the action was beneath the waterline anyway.
Abby moved her hand experimentally along him, her fingers gently encircling him. “Tell me what to do,” she whispered.
Matt shut his eyes to better absorb the pleasure she was bringing him. “Woman, you’re doing it.”
She stroked him until his body pulsed with fire. Burying his face in the damp waves on top of her head, he bit down hard on his lower lip to stop himself from bellowing out her name. Flames roared through him. He pressed against her hand and let nature take its glorious course.
For a considerable while, the world went away.
He couldn’t tell how many minutes passed. But when he opened his eyes she was standing back from him, her arms lapped around his hips, watching him. “Thanks,” he murmured dryly and lifted her hand to his lips.
“My pleasure.” She gave him a smug little smile.
For the first time, he feared he might have unleashed forces far beyond his control.
Seven
“Idiot!”
Matt had made a huge mistake. A mistake that was going to cost him more than he could predict even at this moment when thoughts came more clearly to him. How had he ever convinced himself that he could act as sexual mentor to Abby without becoming…becoming what? Becoming involved with her. Already he felt addicted to the way a clear golden light shone through her brown eyes when she gazed up at him.
He’d left Abby a note that afternoon saying he had business in Hamilton and would return in time for dinner at La Coquille. But he had no business, he felt he just had to walk somewhere…anywhere. However, what Matt was doing now couldn’t be called walking. He ate up ground in long, powerful strides. He moved fast and furiously for a full six miles west of Hamilton, through the country lanes of Pembroke Parish, down narrow paths nearly taken over by tropical growth, along the low cliffs of the north shore, past cottages and through hamlets, until welcome exhaustion overcame him. He stopped to sit on a rock, held his head in his hands and groaned in frustration with himself.
When he had first planned how he might initiate her into the mysteries of womanhood, he had viewed the process as very simple, even mechanical. He had suspected he’d have one hell of a good time teaching her; he wasn’t a fool. But he had no warning of how powerful her impact on him would be. Or of the unfamiliar feelings she’d elicit. Protectiveness…de
sire…possessiveness…and other tender, undefinable feelings he didn’t dare analyze too closely.
And now, what was he supposed to do? He had made a pact with her. He had given her a taste of intimacy so intense that even he, the well-initiated to sexual encounters, had been overwhelmed by their coming together. It hadn’t mattered that they had stopped short of intercourse in the traditional sense. Everything else they’d done had felt like…like what?
“It wasn’t sex,” he whispered, amazed by the direction his mind was tumbling, not wanting to believe what he was thinking. “It was making love.”
But that wasn’t the same as being in love. No. You could care about a person and still not be in love with them, he argued silently. Love was a very touchy subject, and something he’d avoided all his life. Love meant fragile attachments, which could be broken even when one didn’t want them to break. Love meant committing to one person and trusting that person to honor promises and never leave. His mother had left them. His father had left his sons too, perhaps not physically and not immediately…but he’d absented himself in spirit from his sons. The distance between them had been gaping and unvarying. No warmth, no admission of love. Ever.
And now Abby, little Abby who didn’t have a clue what making love was all about, had become a threat to the shield he’d built around himself. The shield called Smythe International. If he had any sense at all, he would keep on walking until he hit the sea, then jump on the first boat for the States. He should keep on going and never look back.
But he had promised Abby certain things. An education in both the import business and the bedroom. Never in his life had he gone back on his word. This had been the sacred rule of his life—to never do to someone else what his parents had done to him.
La Coquille was located, surprisingly, in a marine museum called the Bermuda Underwater Exploration Institute. Nevertheless, it was considered by many to be the best gourmet restaurant on the island. The elegant dining room was white from top to bottom, enclosed by glass and overlooking Hamilton’s famous harbor. The waiters were attentive and polite. The atmosphere was one of modern polish and romantic simplicity.
It was difficult for Abby to choose from among the delicacies offered on the menu. She at last opted for just two courses: a cold gazpacho soup served with chunks of fresh lobster, and steamed mussels in a white wine and Pernod cream sauce, with a garlic-rubbed baguette. Matt followed his soup with a huge salad brimming with mesclun leaves, shrimps, avocado, baby artichokes, calamata olives, tiny tomatoes and a walnut oil dressing, and this was in turn followed by a seared rack of lamb with sun-dried tomato crust, whipped potatoes with roasted garlic, and rosemary jus.
Abby ate with relish, chattering between bites, ignoring Matt’s unexplained sullenness. She refused to let his mysteriously dark mood spoil what remained of the most remarkable day of her life. When the meal was over and coffee poured, she knew she could wait no longer to give Matt her decision.
She’d spent the afternoon digesting the implications of what had happened in the cove that morning.
At the time, their intimacy had seemed a natural progression of their growing closeness. Genuine affection. Adult play. She didn’t know why she felt this way with Matt, which was so different from experiences she’d had with men before. His kisses…the way he’d touched her…the places he’d touched her…. All seemed part of a dance for which she’d stood in the wings all of her adult life, waiting to perform. She’d only been lacking the right partner.
When he took her in his arms and the look in his eyes told her that he had plans for her—intimate, secret, delicious plans—she hadn’t felt the least trepidation. It had just felt right.
Matt had taught her a lot in the span of a few exhilarating minutes. He had taught her about her own body—its hungers and ways to satisfy them. He had also allowed her a glimpse of her own power to arouse a man, and to gratify him. It thrilled her that she had given Matt pleasure equal to her own. She wanted to repeat their sensual dance, to learn the next step…and the next…until she had mastered all there was to the entire ballet.
“Look,” she began slowly, “I don’t know what’s bothering you. But we can’t just not talk about what happened this morning, or about what we are going to do from here on.”
Matt drew a deep breath and moved his lips but, at first, nothing came out. “Of course,” he finally managed. “Let’s not do it here, though. Finish your coffee and we’ll take a carriage back to the house. It will give us time to talk.”
Several horse-drawn carriages were parked along Front Street, just below the restaurant. Matt arranged a route with the driver. Then he and Abby settled themselves into a seat beneath the pink-fringed canopy. She nestled against his arm as he rested it along the seat back. She felt him tense but did not move away. Neither spoke for several minutes as the horse clop-clopped along the narrow streets between colorful shops. It was Abby who felt she must clear the air or burst.
“At the cove this morning,” she began nervously, “you made it so easy to be with you.” She drew a deep breath for strength. “And all day long I’ve thought of nothing but—”
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he snapped. “What you felt then and still feel now, is called lust. A taste of it, and people do insane things.”
Abby considered this. “No,” she said slowly, “I don’t think it can be just that.” Of course, she tingled at the thought of his body reacting to her touch, and her own body responding to his. It was delicious just to remember. But there must have been some other reason why she’d thrown off a lifetime of caution and a solemn vow. “I feel differently about you than any other man I’ve known.”
He paled and looked away.
“Matt,” she said angrily, but lowered her voice to keep the driver from hearing, “I’m not so naïve that I expect a lifetime commitment because we were intimate. No one’s mentioning the L word here. I just want you to know that I’ve made my decision. I want to sleep with you.”
His scowl nearly broke her heart. “That isn’t wise,” he whispered.
“It was your suggestion!”
“I know, but I was acting…I don’t know…selfishly, I suppose. Men say a lot of things to get women into bed.”
A chill settled at the back of her spine. Was that all this was? Could any woman have been with him at the cove today and received the same attentions?
She bit her bottom lip and stared into the dark as the whistle of the tree frogs filled the night with music her heart didn’t want to hear.
“Listen,” he said, his tone softer. “You’ve waited this long. You’ll regret doing this now.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I know what I want.” And I want you, Matthew Smythe, the words erupted silently in her head. “Things have changed…I have changed. Maybe I don’t want to go to my marriage bed without understanding how to please my husband. Maybe I don’t want to always wonder if the man I marry will be able to satisfy me,” she said under her breath but with an urgency she felt deep down in her soul.
Matt winced. He hated hearing her talk this way. The mere notion of another man touching her, sent him teetering into rage. What had he been doing? Preparing her for another man who would someday reap the benefits of his instruction?
But if she was so set on making the leap from virgin to woman-of-the-world, did he want to pass off that duty to someone else? He was trapped. There was no place of comfort for him. Either way—make love to Abby or not—he would eventually be the loser. He couldn’t turn her away, and he couldn’t keep her.
“Matt?” He became vaguely aware that she was repeating his name. “Matt, are you all right?” Her hand settled gently over his. “I said, if you have changed your mind and don’t want to be my lover…”
The disappointment mirrored in her eyes nearly shattered him. “Of course it’s not that. I don’t want to hurt you, that’s all.” Not all. He didn’t want to destroy himself either. But the temptation was just too great. She was
beautiful, willing, eager, and the cove had shown him her potential as a generous lover. What man could turn down an offer like that?
The carriage pulled up in front of the house, and Matt paid the driver. He helped Abby down to the pebbly path and held her hand as they walked in silence toward the front door.
With each step, he cursed himself and his runaway libido. He should be strong enough to walk away from her without explanation. He had done it dozens of times with other women—sent flowers and an innocuous note thanking her for a pleasant evening. Never lying, but letting them know that they shouldn’t expect to hear from him again.
But Abby…he couldn’t do that to her. Something had happened between them since they met, something that connected him to her in a baffling but undeniable way.
He looked around. Somehow they had made it through the door and into the foyer without his realizing it. She was standing in front of him, looking expectantly at him, her eyes wide, welcoming, hopeful.
He shook his head in defeat. “Heaven help me, but I want you.”
“I want you too, Matt,” she whispered, brushing her lips delicately across his. “What are you afraid of? I’m the one who’s supposed to be nervous.”
That did him in. His masculine pride seized him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him out of inaction. “I’m not afraid!” He glared down at her. “I’m just trying to be a gentleman about this…this mess you’ve gotten us into.”
“Mess?” She pouted at him.
He supposed she was taunting him now, challenging him not to back out of their deal. Even knowing what she was doing, he couldn’t stop himself from reacting to the pretty flush of color in her cheeks and playful sparkle in her eyes. He took a step forward and enfolded her in his arms.
“You’re in for it now, woman,” he growled.
The American Earl (Elbia Series Book 4) Page 9