by Denise Eagan
She took a step toward him.
His eyes widened and he straightened. “Sonuvabitch,” he swore. “If you aren’t the stupidest woman on the planet. I’m drunk and you’re barely clothed and it’s the middle of the night. I don’t have a whole lotta self-control right now, woman, and I’m past the point where I give a damn about findin’ it. If you’ve got a lick of sense you’ll high-tail it outta here,” he said, motioning to the door with his glass, “because you got just about two minutes before I cross this room, drag you to that couch and take what you’re offering with that gown.”
Her heart fluttered as desire turned into a sweet ache in her most private regions.
She took three more paces into the room.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tempt not a desperate man.
Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
This is the very ecstacy of love.
Shakespeare, Hamlet
The booze hadn’t done a thing to dull Nick’s hunger. Three hours of drinking made his brain foggy, but his eyes were working just fine. As soon as Star entered the room, his body started working, too. Ah hell, any man’s would, seein’ a woman dressed that way. Her nightgown was so sheer that he could see her nipples tighten in arousal as his gaze ranged over her body. And she wore nothing, not a stitch underneath. Anticipation flashed across his skin, and his blood galloped through his veins, turning that hunger to hard, driving lust. All the booze did was drown his conscience.
His didn’t miss her three steps into the room, either.
She wanted him, even after the misery on the beach, and why shouldn’t she? She wanted all men. She’d proven so these last weeks. First, she seduced him into taking her virginity. Afterward, bored with him—he’d never been more than a plaything to her—she sought out other toys. Back to her Society beaus, who now took what she offered without guilt about ruinin’ her, cuz he’d done it for ’em.
As his brain overflowed with visions of her in other men’s arms, he slammed his glass down on the table, careless of the fifty-year-old brandy sloshing ever the sides. He crossed the room to seize her shoulders in a crushing grip. She winced but stood her ground, cuz Star never backed down to anything, even when she ought to. In fact, her lips parted in invitation, while she stared up at him with those wildcat eyes, burning with desire, rimmed by fear. Fear of him.
Star liked fear.
He bent his head to take her mouth in a fierce kiss, his lips unyielding as his tongue plundered those recesses, leaving nothing untasted, untouched. He wanted what she’d given to those men, everything, all of her. Wanted to erase every trace of those bastards from her body and mind, wanted to hear her protest his treatment and beg forgiveness for her treachery. But mostly he wanted her response—savage, wanton, untamed.
He got it. She threaded her fingers through his hair and kissed him back, meeting every challenge with one of her own. For a time they battled for control of the kiss. Then he slid his hands down to her hips to press her against his erection, glorying in the feel of her muscle under her woman’s curves. She was hard and soft, tough yet yielding, always ready for a new contest, determined to win and win big.
In this, though, they could both win, the prize being mind-melting ecstasy. Blood pounded in his ears, and he ground against her, his body instinctively hunting for the wet cave to sheathe himself, hidden under that gown.
Gasping, she pulled her head back. It was the only movement she could make; he’d locked his arms around her waist. “Nicholas. . . .” she rasped.
“No, damn it,” he snarled. He captured her mouth again to silence any objection and forced her lips apart for a second battle. She struggled. Then he slid one hand up to caress her breast, thumbing the peak. Moaning, she relented, granting access for another desperate rape of a kiss. She leaned into him, surrendering to his strength, yielding to his will. Holding tight, he moved her backward, toward the couch, as a small voice in the back of his mind whispered wrong. This is wrong.
But he was still enraged and rock hard and determined to have her. He’d show her how a real man felt inside her, instead of the pomaded and perfumed dandies she’d opened her legs for.
He pushed her onto the couch. With one knee between her thighs and one on the floor, he continued kissing her, forcing her backward until she lay stretched out on the sofa. Her breasts flattened out, and her nipples, pebbled with excitement, pressed against the flimsy fabric of her gown. She stared up at him with big round eyes, panting.
And didn’t say a word.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. The whisper became a chant as he slid down her body to take one clothed nipped in his mouth. It tickled his tongue. He sucked on the peak, while hiking the skirt of her gown up to her waist. Closing her eyes, she moaned again, grasping his shoulders, adding fuel to the fire down below.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
She’s not saying no. . . .
He slid his hand over her belly and through the tight snatch of curls and between her legs. She was wet, damn near dripping. His heart started galloping as he dipped a finger inside, then spread more of that warm honey through her folds, seeking and finding her swollen bud. She cried out, her hips jerking. Her breasts jiggled invitingly, and her cries turned to whimpers. His blood surged, making him almost unbearably hard, desperate to feel her closing around him. Clenching his teeth, he fought for restraint and continued a light, rhythmic stroking. The smell of her woman’s desire rose from her body, enclosing him a sensual embrace, as a beautiful rose flush colored her cheeks and crept down her neck. Her face grew taut and her legs shook, signaling her approaching climax. Watching her, hearing her, pushed him toward the edge, too. Much longer—
She arched slightly and then let out a low keening scream as she came against his hand.
Breathing heavily, he tore at the buttons of his pants and the ties of his drawers, freeing himself. After finding her entrance, he growled his victory and plunged inside.
She jerked. Her eyes flew open.
Damn she was tight. Still.
Another thrust, as deep as he could with one knee on the sofa and one foot on the floor.
Unbelievably tight, a hot, wet grip around his erection.
“Nick . . .” she breathed, staring at him with wide gold eyes. “Oh please . . .” The words turned into a moan and she closed her eyes. Was he hurting her? It must hurt if she was that tight. Another moan and she clutched at his arm, her nails digging into him as her muscles tensed. Damn, damn, not again.
For God’s sake, Nick, withdraw.
He couldn’t. His body demanded release. Then a flush colored her neck, her back arched, and with another low cry, she came. Her face creased in ecstasy and the rolling spasms of her orgasm squeezed him. It was too much. Heat grabbed him at the root, surged upward, and with two more thrusts, it burst forth, rocking him in pleasure. For a moment her eyes widened in wonder, another convulsion gripped him, and with a low, sweet sigh, she fell back. She shut her eyes again.
He closed his, too, and slumped against the couch back, trying to catch his breath. She was still so remarkably tight, hugging his slowly shrinking cock in a wet embrace.
Because, a little voice said in the back of his mind, she wasn’t like Eva or May, loose after servicing many different men . . . because she’d never been with any other men.
The voice rose. Echoed. No other men.
Just him.
Two weeks of heaviness lifted from his chest, leaving it so light it felt like his heart might float away. Until he looked at her. Until his eyes took in her closed lids and her arm flung over her head. Her nightgown was rucked up, exposing her female parts like she was a whore. That was exactly how he’d treated her, cussing at her, ignoring any objections and overcoming her struggles with brute strength to drag her to this couch and all but force himself on her. On her parents’ couch no less, while they slept above him.
Guilt settled like a yoke on his shoulders.
***
Star could barely breathe. Her he
art was flying; her skin tingled. The brandy-taste of Nicholas’s kisses lingered in her mouth, and those areas down below, why she could find no words to describe it. No good words at all events, for the marvelous way it had reacted to Nicholas’s touch, both inside and out. Nothing she’d ever read on the subject came close to describing that wondrous joining of bodies. And hearts? Well at least her heart had been engaged and for now, that was enough.
Night breezes flowed through the open windows and over her body. Ah but she could stay this way forever, somewhere between heaven and reality, reveling in the magic of her lover inside of her, the sound of his harsh breathing, music to her ears.
“Sonovabitch.”
Except that Nicholas was cursing.
Why was he cursing?
He withdrew from her, leaving her empty, and she could not contain a tiny whimper of disappointment. His wool pants brushed against her thighs as he shifted backward. Thoughtfully, he pulled the hem of her gown down to cover her private parts.
With a little sigh, Star opened her eyes. Nicholas was sitting at the opposite end of the couch, fully clothed, or at least as much as he had been earlier. Smiling sleepily, she sat up, too, propping herself in the corner of the couch to correct for her still-languid muscles.
Oddly enough, Nicholas’s countenance was not an ear-to-ear grin as she’d have expected, but blank. “Here,” he said handing her a handkerchief, “you’ll need this.”
“Oh,” she said. He was correct. An unfamiliar warmth was spreading between her legs: his seed, leaking out of her. Gracious, but she’d never thought of that. She attended it while he sat mutely, some heavy emotion settling over him like a cloud.
“I’m sorry,” he said when she’d finished.
She frowned, befuddled. “Sorry? For what?”
“For . . .” He waved a hand to indicate her entire person. “For that. I didn’t mean . . . I was angry. I was kinda rough. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“Why, I suppose you were rather, um, fierce,” she replied. Remembering the punishing fervor of those brandy-laced kisses, she ran a finger over her lips. Swollen and tender now, but when he’d been kissing her she could scarcely get enough of him.
“Fierce?” he said with a mirthless laugh. “That’s a nice way of putting it. I just about—” He stopped and rubbed his eyes. “You didn’t say no,” he said defensively.
Had he expected her to? Perhaps another woman would have. Most wished for sweet courtship: poetry and music and pretty words of flattery.
Star preferred danger.
Although poetry from Nicholas might prove to be interesting, she thought with a merry bubbling in her chest. She supposed that poetry from him would be prone more to eroticism than flowers. The thought of him ever being flowery almost made her laugh.
“You’re smiling,” he observed. His lovely blue eyes scanned her face as if attempting to read every line.
“I am. I can scarcely help it, but if you wish, I shall try for gravity.”
He shook his head but continued to peer at her with a confused, critical eye. “No, I like your smile. Just don’t understand it after how I treated you.” He paused a second. “I was angry. I’m not making excuses or anything, just givin’ a reason. I thought—” He stopped and she could see in his eyes an effort to find the right words. “I kinda thought that you’d been with other men since . . . Anyhow, for thinking that I am very sorry.”
Frowning, she tilted her head in question. “With other men? You mean in this way?”
He winced. “Yeah.”
“What makes you think I haven’t?”
“You’re still tight. Like on the beach. I don’t know much about things like that, but I figure if there’d been somebody else. . .” He shrugged.
Which had made him angry and caused him to treat her roughly. Possessiveness? Or jealousy? Or both? At any event, it meant he cared, at least a little, and that brought a loving glow to her chest. “I can’t claim much knowledge either, but it doesn’t matter. There’s been no one else.”
He measured her with that haunted gaze, before a small grin settled on his face. “Guess I was wrong then. Doubly sorry, too.”
It was jealousy—a dreadful, crippling emotion. Happy though she was for the admission, she nevertheless could not bear to see him in pain. “No one,” she repeated. “I can scarcely think of another man, Nicholas. There’s only you.”
He inhaled deeply and the tension melted from his body like hot liquid over ice. The grimness disappeared in his eyes and he gave her a warm, face-splitting smile. “Well then—that’s good.”
“You’re relieved,” she said, amused.
“You’ve been kinda distant lately. You sure looked interested in those other fellas.”
“You may recall telling me to look elsewhere.”
“Yeah,” he said with a grimace. “Guess I did. Didn’t count on you doin’ it, though.”
“I didn’t. Not actually.”
“Guess not.” He sat there, just looking at her for a minute, the brightness of his eyes sending little rays of sunshine into her chest. At length a light frown touched his brow. “Did I hurt you?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Hurt me?”
He nodded slowly. “I should’ve been gentler, being only the second time. Should’ve been gentler the first time, too.” He shook his head disgustedly and rubbed his neck. “Fact is, I’ve been a regular brute. I bet you’re regretting your choice now, huh?”
Laughing a little, she shook her head. “No, in truth I’m exceedingly satisfied with my choice. Yes, this time was a trifle rough,” she said, flashing him a wicked smile, “but rather enjoyable all the same.”
“Rather?” he said darkly. “I’m flattered.”
“Why, I think you ought to be, although I haven’t got many experiences to compare it to, you know!”
“Yeah,” he said, studying her. A short battle waged in his eyes before he rose and offered her his hand. “Reckon I’m not happy leaving it at ‘rather’. Here, come with me.”
Lifting an eyebrow, she obeyed him. His touch and the fire in his eyes sent delicious little thrills along her skin once again. He tucked her hand under his arm and led her toward the door. “Why, where ever are you taking me, Nicholas?”
“To bed.”
“But I’m not tired.”
“You’re not sleeping. We’re going to do this again, and this time we’re going to get it right.”
“Oh,” she said in a high whispery voice that barely sounded like her own. “I thought we’d done it fairly well this last time.”
“Star, honey, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
***
Star had left two lamps burning low in her room, which spread soft shadows over the mahogany and peach-upholstered furniture. Fresh air from the storms had cooled the room, and the sound of a light rain on the windowsill greeted them as Nicholas kicked the door shut. The blankets on her four-poster bed were thrown back, erotic invitation trimmed in gold and white.
Nicholas released her elbow. He took hold of her waist and turned her to face him. In the dim lighting his blue eyes were black, but gleaming with passion. His gaze roamed her body, as if savoring the sight of her, from her breasts to her belly to the juncture between her legs, and back again. “Damn,” he said, huskily, “but you’re beautiful.”
“Too tall,” she felt compelled to remind him, “and too muscular, and perhaps a bit fat—”
“Perfect,” he interrupted, his eyes glowing. “It’s all perfect, you’re perfect, prettier than I even imagined, and I imagined a lot.”
“I’m just pointing out—”
He kissed her.
His lips were hard, his tongue plunging inside to whisk away her words, vanquishing all protest. Her heart beat chaotically. She was not too tall, nor too muscular, nor too masculine. In his eyes, she was irresistible feminine temptation, proven downstairs, proven now by the feel of him rising against her. The hard touch of his erection brought memories o
f him moving inside of her, each thrust building bright, heady pleasure.
As he deepened the kiss, he moved her backward, forcing her to step across her peach and aqua carpet until the bed met her backside. His calloused palms coasted upward to pull at the buttons of her gown. “You won’t need this,” he said, pulling it open. He pushed it off her shoulders, leaving her fully naked in front of him.
She blushed under the fire in his gaze. Her lips were suddenly dry, and she licked them. His eyes flashed to her mouth like metal drawn to a magnet and her pulses flew. Her nerves grew taut in the lengthening silence. Why wasn’t he doing something? Touch her, kiss her. . .
She couldn’t wait any longer. Itching for the feel of his muscles flexing under her fingertips, she reached for the hem of his shirt.
His hands closed around her wrists. Another breath and he flashed her his thought-destroying smile. “Not yet.”
“You don’t need it either . . . Nicholas, let me go. I want to touch you.”
“Me too, but not yet. Your naked body against mine and it’ll be over quick.”
“I thought,” she said, taking a deep breath, “that’s what we wanted.”
With a rusty chuckle, he scooped her up as if she were as light as a feather. He took the few steps toward the bed, brushed aside the mosquito netting and then deposited her on it. The beautiful flexing of his exposed forearms made her breathless.
“We had it quick already.” He sat down to kick off his shoes before lying down next to her. “Now we’re taking it slow.” While running his hands down her waist, he kissed her again. Gradually he moved his mouth sideways to the sensitive skin of her neck, sending delightful little tingles over her nerves. “I want to touch you, everywhere,” he whispered, running the palm of his hand so lightly over her breast it was somewhere between a taunt and a tickle. “And kiss you, everywhere, too.” His lips moved along the column of her neck toward her breast. “And taste you, all of you, and drive you as wild as you’ve driven me for months.” He kissed her breast, then circled her nipple with his tongue. Ripples of excitement coursed downward, over her belly and into that divine juncture between her legs.