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Adele Ashworth

Page 24

by Stolen Charms


  Still, he did nothing, waiting for the affection she unveiled to end, though hoping desperately that it wouldn’t. She had never reached for him before, had always denied the strength of the attraction between them, so perceptible to him even the night they had met five long years ago. Then at last, as if gradually coming to terms with an internal struggle she could no longer avoid, she ceased all movement of her lips and fingers, and lifted her head to look up into his face.

  His heart began to pound. The glow from the inn cast only a dim light on her features, but even in the shadow of dusk he read her thoughts, comprehended the ache she felt for an experience she had never known, witnessed the charge of emotion to escape her eyes and sear through his own.

  Jonathan would always count this as one of the most powerfully touching moments of his life. She stared into his eyes conveying only a trace of apprehension, but more clearly an overwhelming marvel of something discovered, something new and wonderful.

  Gingerly she raised her fingers to his lips, skimming them in slow form, her gaze never moving as she attempted to assess his response to the contact. And from that he could hold back no longer. He kissed them delicately, first one, then another, then all of them, one at a time, as he reached for her face with his own hand, placing his palm on her cheek and stroking it with his thumb.

  They remained like that, caught in time, until finally, in a deep, choked voice, he whispered her name and she gave in, closing her eyes and turning her head just enough to kiss his palm, to rub her cheek in his hand.

  His heart melted from wonder; his body weakened from incredulity at the change in her he had never anticipated.

  Eyes shut, she leaned up to his face again, placing tiny kisses on his cheek and jaw, his chin and lips.

  He responded in kind by at last pulling his arm free of her grasp, turning slightly and cupping her face in his hands, returning with kisses of his own, brushing his lips against her cheeks and forehead and lashes. She placed her palms on his shoulders, her fingers caressing him through the layers of his jacket and shirt.

  Jonathan realized where she would take him in only the deepest corner of his mind, but he couldn’t allow himself to believe she would take him there tonight. Not yet. Dreams became a painful thing when hoped for too much and never fulfilled. He wanted what she would give but he would only guide, never push her toward it.

  Sometimes, though, the best of dreams became breathtaking reality, as this one did when at last, after only the briefest hesitation, she reached forward through a sigh of surrender and placed her mouth directly on his.

  Jonathan knew this was the final yielding of her innocence to him. Perhaps she had yet to acknowledge the loss tonight of what would be her greatest gift, but he knew, and he would give her so much more in return for it. He would give her all that he was.

  Taking the directive, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into him, molding his lips to hers, relishing in her softness, her tenderness, in the warmth of the breeze and the smell of flowers lingering in quiet nightfall. She kissed him back fully, pressing her breasts against his chest, moving her mouth in rhythm with his, opening for him should he decide to invade. And he did, tasting the sweetness, his breath quickening, hunger mounting, one hand splayed across her back, the other through her hair.

  She pulled him tighter still, her own needs rising to surface as she resigned herself to the passion, a tiny whimper escaping her as he flicked his tongue across her top lip. She ran her fingers through his hair, teased his lips with urgency from hers, unconsciously rubbed her thigh against his.

  But it wasn’t until she turned into him and crossed her leg over his in an attempt to move closer that Jonathan knew he’d had enough of the prelude. They were still in the rose garden, behind an inn full of people, and in only moments they would lose themselves to each other and forget that.

  Reluctantly he stilled, placed both palms on her cheeks, and gently lifted his mouth from hers. He pulled back just enough to gaze at her beautifully flushed face, her closed eyes and parted lips, moist from contact with his. Her breath came fast and unevenly, and within seconds she raised her lashes to look at him.

  She knew. He could see it in her eyes.

  Managing only a hint of a smile, Jonathan slowly traced her bottom lip with his thumb, then whispered huskily, “Come with me.”

  She blinked, her thoughts unsteady, and then she nodded.

  He released her cheeks, took her hand in his, and stood, helping her rise and stand beside him. Quickly she reached for her shoes and slipped them onto her feet, then he turned and led her along the narrow gravel path toward the back of the inn.

  Neither spoke as she followed him through opened French doors. He strode with purpose past the salon now coming to life with mingling visitors taking hors d’oeuvres as they awaited dinner, then up the central oak staircase. On the landing he turned left and headed to their room—the last on that floor. Still clinging to him with her left hand, she passed him the key she’d kept hidden in one of the pockets of her skirt and he swiftly unlocked the door, entering the darkened room without delay. Just as rapidly she stepped in behind him before he closed it and once again bolted it for the night. Silently, in near blackness, he released her hand and walked three feet to the bedside table, lighting the small lamp sitting upon it. That done, he pivoted back to her, eyeing her at last with penetrating confidence.

  She stood uncertain but not fearful, and still aroused enough to want to continue where they’d left off—he could see it in her shining cheeks and full, rosy lips, her glazed eyes. Quickly he removed his jacket and waistcoat and tossed them on a nearby chair, then reached up and untied his neckcloth, dropping it on the table behind him.

  “Are—are we going to kiss some more, Jonathan?”

  She exuded a certain nervousness, but her voice was thick and saturated with desire, and it took everything in him not to yank her against his chest, to draw the breath from her with a bruising kiss, to pull her harshly against his aching erection, to force her to feel—to know—what she did to him. But her inexperience also gave him pause as he considered just how slowly the night was going to move for them.

  Softly, eyes transfixed on hers, he started by stating the obvious to the naive woman he was about to seduce. “I’m going to make love to you, Natalie.”

  The muffled sound of roaring laughter filtered through the floorboards from the dining room below but did nothing to quell the sudden charge in the air between them. It was final now, he’d made his intentions clear, and after only seconds of absorbing exactly what he’d said, she faltered from the words, bringing her hand up to clutch her throat.

  Faintly she replied, “I think I’d rather just kiss.”

  Her timid sweetness liquefied him. She fought the passion because she was so raised, but he was also quick to note that she hadn’t denied what was about to take place, hadn’t protested the impending occurrence. She knew it was going to happen. She’d accepted it, too, and this realization made the blood rush through his veins.

  “Kissing is part of making love,” he said quite seriously, moving his fingers to the buttons on his cuffs, “and I intend to do a great deal of it with you.”

  “Kissing?” she asked hopefully.

  He smiled into her eyes. “Everything.”

  Hugging herself, she glanced to the bed—downy soft and covered with an embroidered quilt of pale yellow daffodils and plum roses—so inviting. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Jonathan.”

  She was losing her nerve, or perhaps just becoming aware of the immediate complications to arise from their actions, and he refused to allow anything to invade the pleasure about to be realized by both of them. They were ready for each other, and now was the time.

  Jonathan took a step toward her and reached for the hand she still held at the base of her throat. She looked up at him again as he raised it to his lips and delicately kissed her knuckles.

  “I need you,” he said softly, gazing into luscio
us green eyes spilling over with trepidation.

  “You’ll ruin me for my husband,” she pressed with fading resolve.

  His lips drew back in mild amusement. “A legitimate argument, but in your case I sincerely doubt it.”

  That both confused and startled her. She swallowed and attempted a general negation. “This isn’t right.”

  “It’s romantic and secluded,” he whispered decisively, turning her hand over and grazing his lips back and forth along her wrist. “It’s perfect.”

  She shivered, and for a moment she just watched him, mesmerized. Then she shook her head in tiny movements; her last attempt to save herself. Voice quavering, she insisted, “I won’t be your lover, Jonathan.”

  That staggered him. “Oh, God, Natalie, why do you keep thinking that, saying that?” He dropped her hand and abruptly cupped her cheeks, forcefully lifting her face to within inches of his. “Can’t you see what’s happening between us? There’s no barrier left but the physical. You already are my lover. You already are.”

  She blinked quickly, astonished by the intensity of his assertion. Then her eyes filled with tears, and she closed them to his gaze.

  Jonathan hesitated. He was so certain she was willing, brimming with desire for all he could give. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against hers. “I want you to be a part of me, Natalie. I want our feelings for each other to be real—something experienced and shared—not just vaguely sensed.”

  She shook her head again as tears streamed down her cheeks and onto his thumbs. “It’s not supposed to be this way,” she whispered.

  He touched his lips to her forehead and brow, the bridge of her nose, her wet, salty lashes. And with comprehension of his own acceptance, he whispered against her temple, “It was always supposed to be this way.”

  She calmed from his words, so gently shattering and full of meaning. And finally, as his mouth moved down the side of her face to brush hers once again, she relented in a delicate breath of anguish. “I can’t resist you anymore. . . .”

  The world opened for him, and with a surge of sublime satisfaction, he kissed the tears from her cheeks tenderly, pushed his fingers through her hair to grasp her head more fully, then took her mouth with his to begin the act that would change the course of their lives.

  Natalie surrendered to him as honesty conquered her at last. She could fight the power no more as she willingly gave in to the consummation of something started nearly five years ago in a flower garden. She knew then only of innocent longings and romantic dreams. Now she understood hot, raging desire between a man and woman that could never be satiated by denial or good intentions, just as she knew that same desire was soon to carry her someplace new and thrilling, to an exotic and gratifying place of discovery.

  He started slowly with her, kissing her lips delicately, standing inches away, touching her only with his hands in her hair. She allowed herself to respond, to enjoy the moment for everything it was, attempting to shove the consequences of their forthcoming actions from her mind. She placed her palms on his shirt—not to keep him at a distance, but because she suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to touch him.

  He sighed heavily with that, deepening the kiss as his mouth began to move in a slight, pressured rhythm with hers. She was only vaguely aware of her surroundings, of the dim lamplight shining upon them and the rich fragrance of flowers drifting through the open windows, of the people downstairs and the world outside. Her life was here in this room; their time was now. Everything faded but Jonathan.

  With a dissolving anxiety she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself into him, tasting him, kissing him back with a delightfully building tension. Through no intention of her own, her senses came alive, reacting as they did the day they’d kissed on the Mediterranean shore—seemingly ages ago, yet remembered like yesterday.

  He responded by embracing her fully, lowering his strong arms to encircle her waist, pulling her against his chest as the kiss grew ever more demanding. He teased her lips open, gliding his tongue across them until they parted enough for him to probe her mouth deeply. She gave him access, enjoying the sensation with an ever increasing abandon, flicking her own tongue against his as he was teaching her to do.

  A husky moan escaped his throat, just barely heard, and it gave her encouragement. He was experienced at this, she wasn’t, and somewhere inside she feared disappointing him. She wasn’t at all certain what to do next.

  As if reading her thoughts, keeping his mouth on hers, he began caressing her back, up and down with the palm of one hand, while reaching forward with the other to stroke her face, to massage her neck and shoulder lightly.

  She relaxed her body into his, relishing the feel of his large, muscular form against her smaller one. She loved the hardness of him, the smell of his skin and hair, the strength he possessed both inside and out.

  He pursued, his mouth demanding now as his breathing grew shallow. Natalie knew with satisfaction that she affected him without even attempting to. As he did her. She had never been so forward with a man, had never come so close to giving all, but suddenly she was desperate for everything—for touching, taking, pleasing. She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him even tighter against her, taking the initiative at last by sliding her tongue into his mouth, timidly at first, then with wonder as he groaned and came alive with fire.

  Quickly he broke free of the kiss, moving back at last to look down at her face.

  Time stopped as they stood together, breath raspy between them, eyes fusing with a newfound understanding of wants and needs and feelings. His expression shone vividly of longing and promise, and she knew she was giving him a view of the same. Then he dropped his hand to her breast and softly began kneading it over her blouse.

  She drew a sharp breath from the initial contact but couldn’t move as once again she succumbed to a burning within. He watched her closely for reaction, grazing her nipple back and forth with his thumbnail, causing it to harden to a fine point of exquisite sensation, entrancing her, weakening her. Then he brought his other hand forward for more of the same, staring into her eyes, caressing both breasts and nipples, making her gasp, forcing her to cling to his shirt.

  “Jonathan. . . .”

  It was an arduous pleading from deep in her throat, and he understood it. He dropped his head to her neck, running his mouth over her flesh, attempting to distract her with his tongue as he reached behind her again to unfasten the buttons of her blouse.

  And he distracted her perfectly. She placed her arms around his neck once more, fingers in his hair, drawing him closer, kissing his face, feeling his lips against her ear, his chest rubbing her breasts to a marvelous tingle. Only vaguely was she aware that he’d untucked her blouse and had moved to the buttons of her skirt. She stayed absorbed in him, in his kisses, in his total awareness of her.

  Then at last he leaned back just enough to pull her blouse over her head. But before comprehension of his actions had a chance to permeate her mind, he found her lips once more, capturing them with his own, searing them with charged heat he could barely contain. In seconds her skirts slid down her legs to the floor as well, and she stood before him in only a thin linen chemise.

  His tongue invaded her, searching for hers, not gently this time but with a thrust of expectation, removing all final thoughts of indecency with hot, sweeping need. He placed a hand in her hair, holding her head to him, and with the other he grasped her breast, the contact becoming urgent as he rubbed her nipple back and forth and in small circles as it rose to a peak against his palm and fingers.

  She wore almost nothing now, had never been so exposed to a man, and yet she no longer cared—couldn’t think of her world beyond this room, this man, this feeling of being vibrantly brought to life. All that remained of uncertainty evaporated with an indescribable impatience to experience the unknown pleasures he promised with his mouth and hands. She clutched his shoulders with tight fingers, feeling the scalding heat of his body beneath his shi
rt, only dimly aware that he pushed her back to the edge of the bed.

  Quickly he pulled his mouth from hers, and she raised her lashes to look at his face. He stared down at her, lids heavy over glazed eyes, his hair mussed and hanging loosely over his forehead, his breathing just as rapid and uneven as hers. A spellbinding fever of aching passion radiated from deep within him to envelop her almost violently—a magnificent desire she knew he possessed for her alone. And it absorbed her.

  With renewed immediacy, and an instinct she didn’t clearly understand, she raised trembling hands to his shirt and began to work swiftly through each button, top to bottom, staring starkly into the vivid gray-blue depths of raging physical hunger in his eyes.

  He started helping her, from the bottom, until their hands met in the center of his chest. He seized her fingers, lifted them momentarily to his lips before releasing them, then pulled the shirt from his body. Eyes still locked with hers, he placed his palms on her shoulders and pushed her until she eased down on top of the quilt. Then, standing over her, watching her, he furiously began working through the buttons on his pants.

  Natalie closed her eyes from a trace of renewed embarrassment when she realized what he was doing, her mind beginning to race with the details of what was so soon to transpire in this room, on this bed. In Jonathan’s embrace. Seconds later she heard the rustle of clothes, then felt him lie beside her, not quite touching, although she could feel the heat of his body penetrate hers from ankle to shoulder and she knew he now wore nothing at all.

  His hand raked through her hair, his lips touched her temple in wispy movements, and her heart beat relentlessly in her chest from knowing she was about to give herself immorally to a man who was not her husband, from nervousness, but more than anything from yearning and a desperation to feel and be touched.

 

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