Her nape prickled and she sensed him following her.
Just as she reached the door, he deftly slipped in front of her and slammed his back against it, facing her with his body blocking her exit.
She cried out.
He reached down, plunged his hand into her hair. Tightened his hold. She froze, her heart pounding harder than ever.
God, she’d been right to fear testing him! Had been right to fear him!
But his stare pinned her and she remained rooted to the spot like a cornered hare.
He lowered his head. She felt her eyes widening. Her heart beat harder and harder, deafening thunder in her ears.
He put his mouth to hers.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t make a move.
Oh, God. Oh, God save me…
His full lips pressed hers, warm, soft, intense. She’d never known a man’s mouth to be so lushly sensual and yet so deliciously firm. From that touch, pleasure surged through her, tightening her nipples, and sending sparks of fire tingling into her belly and outward, all the way down to her toes. She couldn’t suppress the shudder that wracked her head to foot.
He lifted his head. Then he watched her, closely.
Edginess built inside her, combining with and intensifying the arousal pulsing in her blood. She licked her lips then let her breath out in a ragged sigh.
“Open to me, Rebecca.”
He’d spoken softly, oh so softly—but the steel beneath the gentleness sent shivers all over her. And not a little tingling excitement. Unable to bear the determined heat of his gaze, she stared at the bridge of his elegant straight nose. Dazed, afraid of him, yes, holy heavens yes, but far more frightened of the feelings that were rapidly leaping to life within her.
No, this couldn’t be happening. She had kept herself safe all these years since Jon. No emotionally dangerous entanglements. She was past all of this. He should be out chasing some young opera dancer tonight. She should be home, fast asleep in her chaste bed. Safe.
He put his hand to the corner of her jaw and applied slight yet steady pressure. “Open for me.”
No, no, she would stay closed. Stay safe, always safe from now on. She was too old for this and far too wise. She tried to jerk her face to the side.
He tightened his grip on her hair and held her in place.
She balled her fists and raised them to beat against his shoulders and chest. God, for all his leanness, his muscles were like iron.
Only the slightest shake of his head betrayed that he was even aware of her blows pelting him.
She opened her mouth to deny him.
He brought his mouth down on hers, cutting off her protest. He thrust into her mouth, the taste of his hot, wet tongue more fiery than the best Scotch whisky. She shook, not with fear but with anticipation for the next stroke of his tongue against hers.
It came and delicious shudders quaked through her. Another stroke and another. Ruthlessly, he gripped her head and angled it, thrusting deeper. Taking her breath. Sucking her very soul and taking everything.
She didn’t care.
Every inch of his long, lean body pressed hers. She could feel the whipcord strength of his powerful muscles. Could feel his trembling as though he were holding back his ardour. His erection throbbed against her stomach, huge and hard. Heated.
A feeling of letting go, as though a tremendous weight had suddenly lifted from her. As though she’d been waiting forever for this moment. Tenderness burst within her. Her limbs went weak. Her fists unfurled and she grasped his shoulders, learning his feel, breathing in his scent, glorying in his taste, his strength, his forcefulness.
Stephen.
Her Stephen.
If she could, she would simply melt into him. She clung desperately to his hard body, surrendering herself wholly.
He tore his mouth from hers.
She cried out in protest.
He swept her up into his arms then lowered her. Her backside touched the table and the rickety wooden frame groaned and creaked.
He swooped down on her then gripped her chin in his large hand, gently yet firmly holding her in place. His eyes bore into hers, predatory, determined. “Now, tell me that you don’t know me.”
She couldn’t speak, she could only pant, trying to catch her breath.
“Tell me that you don’t trust me.”
Her tongue was still paralysed.
“Not ready to concede?” He bent closer.
He kissed her, his lips moving on hers gently, such a contrast with his earlier ferocity. But his breathing rasped, coming quicker and quicker. His body was shaking above hers as though his restraint were hard-won.
Quivers of anticipation vibrated through her, followed by shafts of desire stabbing her, deep, deep in her belly. Making her core clench, making wetness flow over the swelling lips of her cleft. Oh God. Her legs parted. She arched her whole body, trying to press into him as much as she could.
His powerful thigh pressed between hers, pure steel muscle pressing against her soft, needy flesh.
Pleasure flamed through her sex, up into her stomach and down her limbs. A moan forced itself up her throat. She clamped her mouth and the sound became muffled.
Stephen lifted his head and gazed down at her. “Are you wet for me?”
She panted softly and closed her eyes. Tightly.
“Still not ready to concede?” He rolled partway off of her.
She let her eyes open a fraction, peeking at him through her lashes, watching the play of candlelight on the elegant lines of his cheekbones and long jaw as he bent and hooked his hand around the hem of her skirts.
“Oh, no.” The words escaped with her next breath, barely audible
“No?” His tone was impatient, incredulous. He put his hand under her skirts and slid it up her leg. He brushed his fingertips over her knee, and the tickling sensation sent sparks of fire upwards along her flesh.
Her heart was beating frantically. Her sex clenched and clenched. She was getting wetter and wetter. Yet, still she attempted to press her knees together, squeezing his hand between them.
She couldn’t help trying to protect herself. It had been too long since she had allowed a man near her.
Near enough to be this dangerous.
He met her gaze, his pupils so dilated that his eyes appeared almost black.
Desire throbbed in the little erect nub at the crest of her cleft.
She wanted him. Desperately.
No, no, I want to be safe. I must be safe. I won’t survive being hurt again.
She shook her head. “No, no…” Her voice rasped softly.
“We wanted each other, those days and nights at Eastwood Place. Do you remember how it was?”
Of course she remembered… And he was just as handsome and carnally appealing as he had been then. She wasn’t getting any younger. This might be her last chance to engage in a fling. Thrills shot through her just at the thought. God, it had been so long. So very long.
And hadn’t she felt so tired, so weary…so numb for quite a while now.
As though she were dying inside from lack of excitement in her life.
But she didn’t want to make an impassioned decision. Couldn’t bear to make a mistake. Not after going so long without this. Without any man. Yet, he wasn’t just any man. His appeal was too dangerous.
For all she knew, he was dangerous.
He leant down and put his mouth close to her ear, his breath blowing heatedly against her neck. “After all these years, are you really going to deny me?”
Even with her eyes closed, she saw the handsome face. The gorgeous, strong male body. And those things made her body sing with arousal and ache with longing. However, she could be strong against temptation. She would be strong…
She opened her eyes and tensed her muscles, steeling herself to give his chest a stout push, to tell him no.
But then, in the depths of his dark blue eyes, she caught sight of that quiet, serious-minded young man
she had known. She felt the warmth of his compassion and remembered the joy of their companionship.
He had given her so much then. A weight seemed to lift from the centre of her chest, replaced by such warmth there…she felt her face contract with a sense of compassion for him. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him. She had hurt him without meaning to, all those years ago when she had left with Donald.
She touched Stephen’s face and traced her fingers over the prickliness of the slight, dark stubble there.
“No,” she said softly. “I’ll not deny you.”
Stephen ventured farther beneath her skirts. Rebecca was too set in her ways to wear anything as useless and confining as those newfangled drawers for women. He slid his hand along her stocking until he reached the garter. A plain garter and woollen stockings! Inwardly, she cringed. Oh, how she wished she had worn something silken with lace and rosettes. Something wickedly enticing such as she would have worn years before.
He brushed the bare skin of her inner thigh and sent tingling sparks upwards. She caught her breath. His eyes glowed warmly. She smiled at him.
“Are you wet for me, sweeting?”
The deep timbre of his voice seemed to pulsate deep into her bones, and another wave of those tingling sparks shot through her belly and lower. A gush of wetness spilled out over the inner lips of her cleft. Her inner muscles clenched and almost unbearable desire flashed through her loins. She bit her lip and nodded.
His fingertips glided slowly upwards.
She caught her breath again and her heart’s beat came so hard, so fast, it seemed it must burst. A moan tore itself up her throat and she arched her hips.
And still he moved slowly, holding her gaze.
With his other hand, he cupped her face. “You have always been so dear to me.”
But he leant closer. His eyes intoxicated her.
His mouth touched hers. Warm. Gentle yet firm.
Her mouth trembled beneath his but she clung to his body. And clung.
His scent, woodsy, spicy. She remembered. Oh God, she remembered…
He opened his mouth and flicked his tongue over her lower lip. Sensual, oh so wickedly sensual.
Fire scorched through her sex, her belly. She bucked her hips and screamed with the intensity. Or rather she would have, had the sound not been immediately swallowed by his kiss. With her next breath, she realized that the exact moment he had licked her lip, he had also brushed her straining nub with his fingertip.
Her heated blood throbbed mightily in that little button but he had moved on to explore her intimate folds. “Yes, very wet,” he said breathily.
She arched her hips, unable to keep herself from beginning to writhe. Oh dear, sweet heaven. She wanted to come. Now.
It would only take a few additional brushes of his fingers directly on her nub. But he didn’t seem in a hurry to do that again. Instead he withdrew his hand.
She whimpered and implored him with her gaze. “Please…”
Her voice carried, soft as goose down.
He grasped her hem. His expression hardened, became cold, forbidding.
Thrills raced through her body. Oh, oh, oh, she couldn’t bear it. Just couldn’t.
He jerked her skirts up to her waist.
His sudden action and the shock of cool air made her gasp. Stephen rolled away from her again, partway. His stare riveted on her.
She drew her knees together whilst hugging her arms across her breasts, gripping her shoulders. She was no shrinking virgin to feel overly bashful about her nakedness. But then, it had been a long time since she’d been with a man. Did he see the differences in her body compared to a younger woman’s? The increased softness of her breasts and belly? The faint marks that carrying Edwin had placed there?
When the time came, would he find her breasts too small?
A small, hollow pang of hurt swelled in her chest. She bit her lip and drew her lashes down, trying to hide the desperate way she searched his features for some sign of his thoughts.
The only hint of expression on his face was the tightness of his skin drawn over his cheekbones, the hardness of his jaw. What did that tell her? It could mean a good many things. Her throat grew taut and dry.
He released his breath in a long, low whistle. “You’re even more beautiful than I had imagined. Your legs, your long—“ he slid his hand along her thigh. “—gorgeous legs.”
She swallowed tightly. God, did he really mean that? Or had he simply found the one thing he could say something kind about? She swallowed again.
He was so handsome, he could have any woman. Young women. They would all throw themselves at his feet and beg, plead, debase themselves for his least attention.
What did he need with a woman like her?
“Spread your beautiful legs for me.”
Chapter Four
Rebecca’s gasp echoed in Stephen’s ears. Soft, sultry, eminently feminine.
He couldn’t stop staring at her nakedness.
Lust throbbed in his cock and he suppressed a groan.
Who would have guessed such a petite woman would have such long, shapely legs?
He let his gaze linger at the apex of those limbs. At the triangle of hair a shade or two darker than the hair on her head. He traced his fingertips over it and found the texture soft and fine. He found himself becoming transfixed by her incredible beauty.
He shook his head to clear it.
This was not good.
At the start of this evening, he had never intended to be so forceful with her. But her continued belief that the Earl of Ruel was the solution to her problems, her continued denial about the seriousness of the night’s events, had pushed him into a decision to dominate her and drive her into submissive acquiescence.
Yes, he’d done this many times before, it was part of what made him so good at what he did. He knew how to target people without them suspecting it, and how to exploit their every weakness.
Domination worked very well with some people and it was usually a dispassionate experience for him. A way of accomplishing a set objective and part of his duty.
Yet the lines were blurred here. He was enjoying this sense of power over a woman he had long desired to make his own. Enjoying it far too much. He had already lost his control several times in the course of the seduction.
Now he wanted, more than he’d ever wanted anything, to dive between her legs and taste her.
All right, a little self-indulgence wouldn’t spoil things.
A little.
But he wanted more than that. He wanted to lick her over and over until she clutched his head and screamed her release. However, he also knew once she’d come to climax, he’d have a great deal less power over her.
He’d already risked undoing everything when he’d lost control and vented his spleen over the bitterness he’d held inside all these years. No matter how irrational it was, he had carried that anger since when she had left with Howland.
Even more than that, he had resented how easily she had found a lover, an officer, an earl’s grandson no less, at Howland’s new regiment.
Stephen had disliked Ruel on sight. Intensely.
A burning pain stabbed his guts. A warning.
He took a deep breath then asked, “How long since you were with a man?”
”Since Ruel.”
At her prompt answer, his sense of vexation eased. It was very flattering how quickly and completely she had surrendered to him, once he had shown her he wouldn’t be denied. But then coldness threatened to edge its way in again. He knew full well who had trained Rebecca so thoroughly. Another pain stabbed his guts. An ache grew between his eyes and he forced his expression to relax.
“Ruel? And when was that precisely?”
“A couple of months before his marriage.”
“Really?“ As a resurgence of desire heated his blood, he caressed her leg. “That long, sweeting?”
The idea that she’d been celibate all this time was a little intox
icating. Business aside, he was still flesh and blood, a man like any other without his duties. And he was also amused at his reaction, as though he were some sort of common rutting stag.
But the whole time, earlier, as they had drunk wine and she had flirted with him, he had sensed a mask falling over her again and again.
The mask of an experienced, world-weary courtesan.
And he saw Rebecca slipping away from him, running away to hide, offering a jaded creature in her place.
He wanted Rebecca, no one but Rebecca. He wanted her honesty, her sweetness, her softness. And so he had become stern with her, using the skills of manipulation he’d honed over the years to strip that unwanted temptress’ mask from her visage.
And then Rebecca had returned to him, but she’d been scared of him. And that had hurt.
He’d never felt jealousy or a need to possess about anyone but her. He did vastly enjoy the novelty, the headiness of such feelings.
But he was also losing focus.
Tonight’s goal mattered. He must stay on task.
He brushed his fingertips across her mons and paused at the little bud that strained firmly against his touch.
Her intake of breath was followed by the arching of her hips.
And she looked up at him, still Rebecca and not the false courtesan.
He bent then took her legs and pulled her until her bottom rested right near the table’s edge. And then he held her arse, her surprisingly lush arse, in his hands, balancing her.
He could feel the tension in her body. She was holding her breath. He put his lips to the inside of her thigh.
Her gasp filled him with satisfaction. The light scent of her sweat, her fear this night, mingled with the muskier scent of her arousal and filled his senses. He placed a series of slow, soft kisses upon her inner thigh, making a line towards her cleft.
She released her breath and arched her hips.
That she didn’t demur, or even pretend to demur, pleased him. He couldn’t have expressed how well that pleased him so he groaned and had to force himself not to speed his pace.
He blew warm air over the soft, brown curls. A reactive shudder made her body quiver and she gripped his head. He wished he’d had the foresight to bind her hands. To make her feel more powerless and vulnerable.
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