I love to hate you

by Keysian, Elizabeth

  A heavy sigh escaped her. Should she ask him what to do, or go with her instincts?

  On the landing outside, the longcase clock struck the half hour. Harry and Kat were primed to burst into her bedchamber—which she wasn’t in—at any moment. How long would it take them to work out where she’d gone and burst into Rushbourne’s room instead? Assuming they knew which one it was.

  Perhaps if she peeped out the door, she could alert them and signal she needed more time.

  “One moment.” She slipped off the bed and hurried to the door. But when she lifted the latch, it refused to open. There was a keyhole beneath, but no key. When had he locked the door?

  She turned to glare at Rushbourne and saw him grinning impishly at her.

  “Where’s the key?”

  “I couldn’t possibly say.”

  “Curse you, Rushbourne,” she exclaimed, stomping back to stand over him. “What have you done with it?”

  “You can either hunt for it while I get cold and bored, or you can see the game you have begun through to its natural conclusion. Then, and only then, will I tell you where to find the key.”

  The blackguard had her trapped.

  Her plan had completely misfired.

  Chapter 12

  “Why did you lock us in?” Athene’s hands were on her hips, anger and desire battling for precedence. She couldn’t help being excited by the fact she had a naked young Hercules sprawled out on the bed before her. Nor could she help being furious at herself for failing to wreak the revenge she’d longed for all these years.

  “I meant to propose to you, as I said. I didn’t want anyone to disturb us. If your guardian has any worth as a chaperone, she’ll be hunting for you even now. But I don’t mean for her to find you until you’ve agreed to be mine.”

  He wanted to marry her. She wouldn’t marry him were he the last man alive. Would a blunt refusal be as good a revenge as the one she’d hoped to enact tonight? She wouldn’t need any ribbons or physical humiliation—not that the stunning example of manhood on the bed appeared in the least bit humiliated. He probably wouldn’t even look humbled with a pink ribbon tied around his private parts—he’d look like a gift to Womankind.

  “Oh, Lord.” She returned to the bed and gazed down at him. Then, “Oh, God,” again. For the miracle had occurred. He was fully, magnificently erect, his member throbbing with life.

  An answering throb, painful in its intensity, started up in her womb, and the folds of flesh between her legs felt suddenly bruised.

  “I’m ready for you.” His lush voice washed over her. “Do what you will. I am your prisoner.”

  Perhaps, if she could distract him by seeming interested in his body, she might learn the whereabouts of the key.

  She perched on the edge of the bed again and laid her hand over his breastbone. Her fingers absorbed the pulsing rhythm of his heart, its speed matching the elevated rate of her own. The blood sang in her ears as she moved her hand slowly over the muscles of his chest, and halted by the darkened areola of his small male nipple. She rubbed her finger across it, and it beaded instantly, exactly like her own.

  Her breathing became more expansive, her corset far too tight, her gown much too hot.

  “Take it off.”

  Their gazes locked and she felt the potency of his need, and it excited her. She shifted her hand to his erection, and he groaned and twisted on the bed, his eyes closing. Was she hurting him? The firmness beneath her palm didn’t feel delicate.

  Fascinated, she allowed herself to explore a little, running her fingers along the silken shaft, smoothing her thumb across the softer tip, eliciting a series of groans from her so-called slave. Not pain. Pleasure. She could control his body, control his will, with a single touch.

  “Untie me. I want to touch you.”

  “No.”

  “You want to torment me. I understand. Some kind of revenge, I take it? But you are depriving yourself even as you goad me. Let me touch you. Or at least take off your gown. You’ll enjoy torturing me so much better if you’re comfortable.”

  How strong had that claret been? Her mind was clouded, the demands of her body clamouring above the quiet voices of conscience and common sense.

  No one was going to come to her rescue. She didn’t have the key. Perhaps, if she did as he bid, he’d let her have it.

  Turning her back, she unhooked the flap at the front of her gown, then eased it over her shoulders and onto the floor. The cool air on her chest was delicious, and her nipples peaked, pressing against their constraint. How marvellous it would be to be out of her corset. It did up at the back, but she should be able to reach the trailing ends of the lace and pull the bow undone.

  “Don’t watch me.” It took some undignified wriggling and straining to loosen the laces, but eventually, she was down to only her shift, shoes and stockings. She was about to kick off her shoes when there was a splintering sound from behind her and the next instant, a hard male body was warming her back, and Rushbourne’s hands had circled to grasp her breasts.

  “Sorry.” His breath scorched her neck. “I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I’ll give Burley the price of a new bed. This one was rotten with woodworm anyway. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  She turned in his arms. “You’ve set yourself free. You’re supposed to be doing as you’re told. I knew you weren’t to be trusted.”

  “You were taking too long undressing, so I decided to help.”

  He applied his teeth to the ribbon on one wrist and the decorative knob of the bedpost to which he’d been tied dropped to the floor. He made short work of the other wrist, then sat on the bed to free his ankles from their restraints while Athene watched, transfixed by a mixture of horror and admiration.

  Before she could gather her thoughts, he stood before her again, and without asking permission, he bent down, gathered up the hem of her shift, and pulled it over her head.

  Her nipples had no time to react to the touch of chill air as they were caught up between his fingers, his palms covering her breasts. Something lurched inside her, a fundamental response to his touch, a profound, hungry yearning for the man and all he had to offer.

  She’d barely registered the pressure of his erection between her legs when he stooped, and suckled at one nipple while his fingers teased the other.

  Unbelievably, his mouth was on her breast, her hands were fisted in his hair, and her head was thrown back in surrender to all the vivid sensations pulsating through her. It all felt so impossibly, so improbably, perfect.

  He lifted her then, his mouth drinking eagerly from her as he laid her on the bed, before covering her with his body.

  “I don’t want you to get cold.” He rubbed his hips and his splendid erection against her, creating a fabulous friction across her stomach, making her lift her own hips to increase the pressure.

  It was too late to hunt for the key now—he had her in his thrall, his firm, determined masculinity conquering her open, yearning, vulnerability. She squeezed her legs together and a spurt of delicious heat shafted up her body, and she knew exactly which part of her anatomy needed consummation with his.

  “Oliver—”

  “My lady. My love.” He nipped at her breasts again, tugging the taut peaks with his teeth, then smoothed his tongue over the sensitised tips of each, a hot benediction which speared her entire body with lust. She moaned and writhed and reached for him, forcing his head down so she could taste his kiss, thrusting her tongue into his mouth to tangle with his, while her breathing grew ever faster, her body increasingly frantic for release.

  He pulled away from the kiss, his dark hair grazing her cheeks, his heated, earnest gaze never leaving her face.

  “I don’t know if I deserve it, but if you say you’ll be mine, it would make me the happiest man on this earth. No, indeed, the happiest throughout the entire multitude of stars. I’m sorry—I’m rambling. I hardly know what I’m saying. All I know is what I want, and the absolute certainty you want th
e same thing.”

  Need and longing had picked her up and dashed her against a rocky shore. If she didn’t assuage the need, the pain of it might never ebb.

  “Yes,” she said on a breath, not even sure to what she was agreeing—becoming his lover, his mistress, his wife?

  She felt him relax against her, and he showered her face with kisses so tender it melted her heart. Then his hand found the place she’d silently been begging him to touch, and massaged the swollen folds between her legs, picking up moisture and allowing his finger to glide in and mimic the rhythmic thrusting of his hips.

  It felt…staggering.

  Sharp cries escaped her—she couldn’t control them.

  “Do you want me?” His voice was a low growl.

  “Yes.” Would she be letting him do this if she didn’t? “Yes!”

  He sucked in a breath and eased back, taking his weight on his elbows.

  “You wanted to be in charge. You wanted to be the one in command, Athene. I promised you could. And I mean to keep my promise.”

  To her surprise, he got off the bed, lifted her to her feet, then lay down in the same position he’d been in before, spread-eagled like Leonardo’s Vitruvian Man.

  “Come on top of me.”

  “I’ll crush you.”

  “I doubt it. Sit astride me. Just so.”

  She felt his erection press against her bottom, the firm muscles of his stomach flexing to take her weight. Need still surged through her, but he wasn’t touching her. Leaning down, she nudged at his chin, then ran her tongue over one of his nipples. But aside from a sharp intake of breath, he made no move.

  He wasn’t going to help her. She was going to have to help herself. She lifted her bottom, pushed his erection onto his belly, then eased her crease against it, and rubbed back and forth along his engorged shaft.

  A million tendrils of fiery pleasure coiled through her body, and she quickened her movements as he lifted his hips beneath her, rocking her up and down. His eyes were narrowed, his expression intense as he murmured, “Take me. Ride me.”

  Reaching beneath her, she eased his manhood upright, then positioned herself over the tip. It would hurt like hell, she was sure, but as she manoeuvred it to touch her opening, she found she was wet down there, and moisture had seeped from him too—it would surely make things easier.

  Her heart pounded, but she pushed down, accommodating the very tip of him. He pressed upwards slowly, inexorably, and she felt a taut and painful pressure. Then her maidenhead broke, and her lover was inside her, penetrating her deeply, filling her, fusing with her.

  So glorious, like a climber conquering a peak, she looked down at his face and thought she had never seen anything so beautiful as his rapt, besotted expression.

  “Rest on my shoulders.”

  She leaned forward, and his hands found her waist and lifted her, then pushed her down as his erection surged up to meet her.

  “You said…you wouldn’t…touch.”

  “Only trying to… help a little.” He was finding speech as difficult as she. Accepting his help, she moved back and forth along his shaft, clenching her channel to embrace him, to feel every inch of his length and girth.

  Their shared movements sped up, their rhythm more rapid, and Athene gave voice to further inarticulate sounds as the anticipation ballooned inside her, and they were rocking and rearing as one, moving as one. Each movement brought him closer, deeper, and time and surroundings became meaningless as her body thundered through the rapids of new, all-consuming sensations.

  Then when she feared she could bear the need no longer, all idea of self was obliterated in an explosion of ecstasy, and she became one with the man, her lover, and master of her deepest desires.

  She collapsed and lay on his chest, and he enfolded her in his embrace, their bodies still interlocked, the heat between them more incandescent than the flames in the hearth. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her ear, and the rise and fall of his breathing. A sense of wonder enveloped her.

  Revenge had never tasted so sweet. All she needed to do now was ensure the magic they’d created between them never happened again. He had sipped her nectar and found it intoxicating. How he would suffer when he wanted her again, and she repudiated him.

  Only now, lying in his arms, feeling protected and more precious than she ever had in her life before, she didn’t know how she would ever find the strength to leave him.

  Chapter 13

  Had she agreed to marry him or not? Oliver tried to clear his head and search his memory, but his body still thrummed from their love-making, and all he could think of was whether or not in a moment or two they might be able to do it again.

  Ah, she was his angel. He’d always thought her pretty, but as a grown woman, she was beautiful, and now he knew her body too, there was no doubt of her perfection.

  The perfect fit physically, the perfect foil for his character, the perfect companion until the end of his days. He stroked her hair, now hanging down her shoulders in disarray, and hugged her to him, unable to wipe the smile from his face.

  “Athene, are you in there?”

  A woman’s voice, right outside his door. Athene shivered in alarm, but before either of them could answer, the door burst open and Harry and Miss Dunstable tumbled into the room. Much to his surprise, they both had huge grins on their faces, but these faded the instant they took in the scene before them.

  “Athene, what have you done?” Miss Dunstable’s mouth was an ‘O’ of horror. “This wasn’t the plan at all.”

  Plan? What plan?

  “Rushbourne, what’s going on?” Harry had gone red in the face, his fists balled at his sides.

  Oliver seized the edge of the coverlet and deftly covered himself and Athene. “My future wife and I have been at sport,” he drawled. “But I don’t see what business it is of yours.”

  Athene squirmed, and he held her close, her face couched against his neck. He didn’t want her embarrassed, didn’t want her to feel ashamed. He especially didn’t want her to have to see the aghast expressions on the intruders’ faces.

  “You…you…dastardly lecher. You…despoiler of virgins.”

  Why was Harry so angry? He didn’t want Athene for himself, did he? “I didn’t take her against her will if that’s what you’re implying, brother. Were you anyone else, I’d call you out for such a damned unfounded accusation.”

  He eased himself into a sitting position, ensuring Athene remained well-hidden, and looked her guardian square in the eye. “Please excuse my hot-headed brother, Miss Dunstable. I can assure you, I have Athene’s promise to marry me, and she has mine. I’ll move heaven and earth to expedite the process, so no scandal shall touch her.”

  “You presumptuous, deluded fool,” Harry spat at him. “She has no intention of being your wife. She hates you—she always has. This is part of a scheme to get her revenge on you because you terrorised her when she was a child. You terrorised me too. Lord knows what you learned at that school of yours, but none of the lessons was in human kindness.”

  Oliver could explain about the school, but this was no time for cowardly excuses—he needed to take command, not defend himself.

  “You’ve said enough, Harry. Now get out—you’re distressing Athene. Miss Dunstable, I apologise. I should have come to you first—but perhaps you yourself understand the lure of the forbidden. In my defence, I can only say I always intended to do the decent thing.”

  “You don’t understand, do you?” Harry shoved past Miss Dunstable. “Athene doesn’t want you. She’s going to refuse you. This was all part of a ploy to humiliate you.”

  Fury gnawed at his gut, but he fought to master it. “Harry, you’ve said enough. Athene and I will discuss this. But not right now. And certainly not in front of an audience. Have a bit of decency and take yourself off. I’m sorry, Miss Dunstable, but I need you to leave as well.”

  Athene’s guardian was assessing him in a brazen fashion he found insulting. He folded his a
rms across his chest and raised an eyebrow at her, staring her down. Eventually, she flushed and looked away, muttered something he didn’t catch, and backed out of the room.

  Harry stood his ground, glaring at him. Was he going to have to leap naked out of bed and physically eject his brother? “Now listen—”

  “No, you listen. Athene won’t marry you, despite her dire financial situation. Yes, she’d rather face a life of poverty than be shackled to you.”

  “Dire financial situation?” He hadn’t realised things had become that desperate, or he’d have stepped in.

  “Indeed.” Harry’s head darted forwards, like a snake striking. “Her guardian has run out of money and is after a protector, and Athene needs to find a husband. But not you. Never you. Damn it—I’d marry her myself, if you would only persuade Papa to increase my paltry allowance.”

  “Are you saying Athene has deliberately trapped me into marriage, because she needs my money? Yet, you say she hates me. You’re not making any sense.” He didn’t like the icy breath of unease stealing down his spine. Had he been hideously duped by a gold digger? But her response to him had appeared so genuine.

  “Ask her, then.” Harry pointed a trembling finger at Athene, who was now sitting up as well, the sheet pulled up to her chin. “Ask her if she didn’t lure you deliberately, to make a fool of you. We were to bring some of Burley’s guests in once we were sure you were tied to the bed. Maybe even Burley himself, to see you humbled and humiliated, tricked by a woman.”

  All the breath was knocked out of him. How could he not have seen he was being played? It was obvious now; Athene had known exactly what she was doing. All those ribbons in her reticule…her unwillingness to go to his room instead of remaining in her own. But surely, she’d never intended to go quite this far.

  He stared at her, shock stealing his speech. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her cheeks heated as if she had a fever. She refused to meet his gaze.