Adele Ashworth

by Stolen Charms

  She sighed and inched her body up so close to his he felt the heat of it. “That’s the correct response, Jonathan, and naturally what I’d thought you’d say.”

  He touched her cheek with his palm, and she quickly covered it with her hand, turning her face into it, kissing him. She stood before him like a goddess from his deepest fantasy—skin gleaming like pearls, body sensual and soft, hair curling thickly over her breasts, eyes dark in shadows.

  “I missed you,” she whispered.

  And he was lost.

  Jonathan seized her elbow and pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her waist, drawing her into him so she could feel the evidence of his desire, dropping his lips to brush hers.

  “Madeleine told me—”

  “I don’t want to talk about Madeleine,” he murmured against her mouth. “I want you to tell me what’s in your heart, Natalie.”

  She reached up and placed her palms on his cheeks. “I’m furious with you.”

  “I know that already.”

  She touched his lips with delicate kisses. “I need you.”

  “I know that, too.”

  She shivered as he glided his fingertips up her waist until his hand found her breast. He cupped it, stroked it, feeling hot skin beneath rising gooseflesh, making her gasp when he gently squeezed her nipple to a peak.

  “Tell me what I need to hear,” he begged in a whisper.

  In a silky, passion-filled voice, she pleaded, “Love me, Jonathan. . . .”

  From that small demand, urgency overpowered him. He took her mouth completely with his in blatant hunger, drawing the breath from her with a harsh kiss of strength against softness, passion and longing against sweetness and forgiveness and acceptance. She parted her lips without insistence, eagerly welcomed his tongue with a sweep of hers, and his blood began to boil.

  Gently he pushed her toward the bed with one hand while working through the remaining buttons on his shirt with the other. She grasped his shoulders as he led her, tasting him with a growing impatience to feel.

  The back of her knees touched his quilt, and with that she pulled away from the kiss. He stared down at her face hidden in darkness, features unreadable, and yet he sensed every feeling for him she possessed. They emanated from her, shrouding him in warmth and comfort like summer sunshine on skin.

  She lowered her body onto the bed as he swiftly discarded his clothes, and then he was beside her, touching her, kissing her mouth and neck, cheeks and brows and eyelashes. She moaned softly as his hand found her breast again, running his fingers along the base of it, cupping it, kneading it tenderly.

  His shaft, hard and hot and ready, grazed her hip. But instead of shying away from it as she had their first time, she pushed herself into it, closing her leg over his to mold him to her tightly. He groaned from the contact, encircling her waist with his arm as they now lay nearly side by side, kissing deeply, breathing rapidly, wanting.

  She put her hands flat on his chest, massaging his muscles with vigor, then lowering them between their bodies until she found the coarse curls below his navel.

  He drew back, releasing her mouth and sucking in a sharp inhale at a boldness in her he hadn’t expected. Then she touched the hot, smooth length of him, her expression of uncertainty only vaguely discernible through filtered moonlight.

  “Yes,” he assured her in a gravelly whisper, caressing the softness of her breast.

  Cautiously she explored him with her fingers, moving them up and down his demanding erection, teasing the curls at the base, grazing her nails along the outside. Then she took him fully in her hand, her thumb finding an emerging satiny drop on the surface that she smoothed across the top in one slow circle.

  Jonathan had trouble breathing, holding back. He ached to join with her, to embed himself in her heated softness, but wanted more desperately at that moment for her to discover the hard angles and strength of his body, the physical differences between them. He reached down with his hand and covered hers, staring gravely into her eyes, showing her how to stroke him, moving her hand slowly up and down the length of him until she grew confident in the movement herself.

  He placed his hand back on her breast, rubbing the rosy, hardened tip with his fingers. The other he laid flat across her forehead, smoothing her hair back from her beautiful face, taking in every feature with only a faint stream of light.

  “Tell me how you feel,” he urged again quietly, his voice thick with longing.

  Her body trembled as her breathing became a pant from his steady caresses. “Don’t ever leave me, Jonathan.”

  Those barely audible words came from deep within, through an ache of something she couldn’t yet define for him. He forced himself to stay calm, to hold back his release as she continued to stroke him with her hand, swallowing harshly at the wonder of having her beside him, desiring him, wanting him always. “I love you, Natalie. . . .”

  She drew a shaky breath from the power of her own feelings, and he could wait no longer.

  He covered her mouth with his, kissing her delicately at first, then spreading her lips with his tongue, invading the warmth of her with thriving need. He reached down with his own hand and touched hers again as she stroked him intimately, grazing her fingers with the tips of his. Finally necessity invaded, and his heart pounded and he knew he was close to losing himself. He closed his palm over her knuckles to stop the movement, and she responded. He kissed her deeply, brushing her brow with his thumb as he pulled her hand from him and placed it to her side.

  He released her mouth and began a line of gentle kisses down her neck and chest, circling the tip of her breast with his tongue, then taking the nipple in his mouth, kissing and sucking until she whimpered. He lowered his hand to the curls between her legs, skimming his fingertips along the soft flesh of her inner thighs before finding the slick, wet folds and parting them to stroke her slowly, deliberately.

  She gasped and curved into his hand, moving her fingers to his hair as the anticipation in her grew. He quickened the pace, sucking her nipples, one after the other, increasing the pressure of his fingers, then finally pushing one inside of her as he found the hidden nub of her pleasure and began circling it with his thumb.

  She pressed into him, lifting her hips in rhythm, setting her own pace, closing her eyes once more to the feel of his rousing invasion.

  He drew his lips down her belly, pausing to rub his cheek in the curls between her legs, inhaling the scent of her, marveling in the beauty of her as he brought her closer to her glorious crest. He touched his lips to her thigh, and she stiffened a little, confused through the haze of desire, unsure of his intentions.

  “Just feel me,” he whispered before pulling his hand away and quickly replacing it with his mouth, tasting her, penetrating her with his tongue.

  “Jonathan—”

  He ignored her momentary shock, sliding his palms beneath her to hold her still, licking her within until she accepted the intrusion and began to burn once more in a craving fever.

  She clutched him to her, her fingers through his hair, breath quick and uneven as she started pushing her hips against his mouth. Expertly he flicked the center of her in steady measure, taking her to the edge of satisfaction and then withdrawing the pressure, again, and then again.

  Finally she moaned his name in delicious torment, and he stopped the teasing and carried her there. Her thighs tightened. She pressed into him. Then the pleasure shattered within her, and she cried out, rotating her hips while he flicked and stroked and licked her with his tongue.

  He felt the quivers within her subside, and quickly he moved up to cover her with his body, lowering himself between her legs, adjusting her hips beneath his. He hesitated for a few seconds, hearing her fast breathing, feeling the dampness of it on his skin, and at last she opened her eyes to his.

  He watched her face in near darkness, tracing her lips with his fingertips as he entered her, deeply, resisting further motion while she adjusted to the pressure and fullness
of him.

  She welcomed him, encasing him in hot, tight softness, expressing no pain this time, only desire of completion and the hope of pleasing him. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, her arms around his neck, pulling him as close as she could.

  Everything about her bewitched him, as it always had—her glossy hair spreading out in a silvery sheen across his pillows, her magnificent eyes now circles of black satin, caressing him, hypnotizing him, the soft feel of her, the tempting scent of her, and now the sweet feminine taste of her as her honeyed moisture lingered on his lips.

  “I will never leave you,” he whispered with an intensity that staggered even him.

  She inhaled a deep, shaky breath, feeling the radiant power between them, comprehending it. “I know.”

  He placed his forehead on hers, wove his fingers through her hair, and steadily began to glide out and then back into her, keeping the action slow and small until he felt her relax from the tightness and grow accustomed to the sensation.

  She started her own little movements against him, running her inner thighs along the outside of his, and he gradually quickened the pace, driving deeper with each penetration. She arched her body enough for him to realize she wanted more, and he gave, changing the rhythm until she adjusted, circling his hips to help her find fulfillment again.

  She matched the force of each thrust as passion grew, resting her palms on his neck, her breathing shallow once more. He lowered his hand to her breast and clung to it possessively, sliding his fingers across her nipple, then circling it, squeezing it.

  She turned her face into the pillow, and he increased the tempo, rotating his hips against her, kissing her temple and cheek and the curve of her throat.

  He held back for her, concentrating, kissing her face, sucking her earlobe, grazing it with his teeth, kneading her breast with expert fingers. The heat she radiated scorched his skin, her breath caressed his cheek, and his body strained with a fire of its own as he neared his own climax.

  She writhed beneath him frantically, whimpering, and finally he could stand no more. He reached the edge of sanity, raised himself up to see the beauty of her face, and just as quickly she grabbed his hips with tight hands, forcing him to remain inside of her.

  His body tensed. Then he let himself go and exploded within. She continued to move her hips, circling them against him, pushing into him, digging her nails into his skin, until at last she whispered his name and captured the exquisite pleasure for a second time. Her legs jerked wildly, her deep muscles contracted around him, and he watched her, felt everything, savored it all, loved it all.

  Loved her.

  Chapter 19

  Jonathan stirred, squeezing his eyes shut to the brightness of early morning. His body felt stiff beneath the sheets, his mind sluggish, and then the memory of the night before returned, and he knew his face glowed with a smile that would embarrass him in front of anyone.

  He raised one eyelid, squinting, reaching for her with his palm, but she wasn’t beside him. Then he heard her downstairs, in the kitchen below, and the soft hum of her voice was enough to drag him from between the covers.

  Jonathan dressed to his waist, splashed cold water on his face from the full pitcher on the washstand, ran his still-damp fingers through his hair, and left the bedroom.

  He descended the stairs quickly, strode through the hallway, and stopped in the doorway to his kitchen, because the sudden sight of her dazzled him.

  She stood by the stove, facing him, hands behind her back, wearing only a silk wrap in deep red, tied by a sash at the waist, which left it open from the thighs down and in a low plunge between her breasts. She’d pinned her hair loosely atop her head, although strands of it curled wildly down her temples, neck, and back.

  She smiled hesitantly, cheeks flushing a gentle pink when she became aware of his presence, eyeing him through half-raised lashes, and Jonathan was certain he’d never seen anything more alluring in his life.

  God, she was so beautiful, so sweet and soft and feminine, affecting him in ways he’d never imagined. His body tightened, his breath caught, and he wondered what she’d think if he pulled slowly on the sash, ran his tongue across her collarbone until she moaned, and just took her—

  “I’ve made you coffee,” she said timidly.

  “You’ve made me happy and satisfied as I’ve never been before, Natalie,” he corrected in a thick drawl.

  A smile tugged at her lips again, and she glanced to her bare feet to escape his heated gaze. “You’re delusional.”

  He chuckled and sauntered toward her. “I think it’s more accurate to say I’m blessed and I know it.”

  She shook her head and whispered, “Jonathan, last night—”

  “Was perfect,” he finished for her.

  She almost laughed, restraining herself with difficulty. “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

  He took her chin with his fingers and lifted her face so she couldn’t help but look at him. “You were going to say it was less than perfect?” His eyes grew round with innocent hurt. “I’m devastated.”

  The collar of her robe threatened to fall down her arm, and she yanked it up, trying to remain stern even as her eyes crinkled with amusement. “We need to discuss serious issues before we get into anything . . . intimate.”

  “Ahh . . . Of course.” He released her chin and looked over her shoulder. “It’s boiling.”

  She turned awkwardly in the tight space between his bare chest and the stove. “Finally. Go sit at the table.”

  He considered moving away from the distracting warmth of her body and the smell of lilacs in her hair, but doing so was difficult. And was it lilacs? He couldn’t remember what lilacs smelled like exactly, but lilacs were supposed to smell heavenly, and of course her hair smelled clean and flowery and felt heavenly against his—

  “Jonathan, sit,” she ordered, cringing and lifting her shoulder against his intrusive face. “You’re breathing down my neck.”

  He sighed loudly and mumbled, “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  He glided his tongue along the smooth rim of her ear. She shuddered but ignored him, and at last he withdrew from the sensuous feel of her silk robe rubbing his chest and stepped toward the oak table where they’d had their first coffee together more than two months ago.

  This morning, however, she’d already set two places with saucers, spoons, and a bowl of sugar and a pitcher of cream between them. In the center of the table were chocolates, laid out on a plate in the shape of a heart.

  He stared at them nonplussed, head cocked to one side, a crooked grin on his mouth. “Chocolates for breakfast?”

  She said nothing, and after a second or two he turned to her. She carried their cups in her hands as she walked in his direction, careful not to look at him.

  “What is it?” he asked suspiciously, pulling a chair out for her.

  She glanced at him mischievously, then placed the full cups of coffee on the saucers. “It’s symbolic, but I’ll get to that in a moment.”

  Withholding comment on the symbolism of chocolate at half past seven in the morning, he sat after she did, beside her, studying her and the pearly cleavage exposed between crimson silk, her long, lowered lashes, the way her forehead creased into two fine lines of concentration as she added half a cup of cream and at least three teaspoons of sugar.

  Entranced, he lifted his cup to his lips and suddenly wished he’d added the same. The coffee was bitterly strong, nearly undrinkable, but she had made it, and he pretended not to notice.

  “You’re staring at me again, Jonathan,” she scolded in a low voice.

  He smirked. “A naughty habit that I imagine will haunt me for the next fifty years.”

  She smiled, gaze lowered as she sat back in her chair. “I hope so.”

  It was her first verbal concession to her own acceptance of a lifetime spent with him, and the thought, the idea, made his heart start to beat hard and fast. He took another drink of the incr
edibly awful coffee to hide his elated expression should she decide to look up.

  “How did you get in here, Natalie?”

  She stared at the chocolates. “I found a key under a flowerpot sitting on the stone steps that lead to the servants’ entrance.”

  “My housekeeper, Gerty, is rather forgetful,” he explained without surprise.

  “I assumed so.”

  “Did you?”

  She disregarded the implication in his simple question, apparently deciding he didn’t need to say aloud that he wouldn’t leave a key for a mistress to enter through the servants’ door. That was far-fetched, and she knew it.

  Finally she took a sip of coffee, then made a face of disgust. “It’s not very good—”

  “It’s fine,” he countered, bringing his cup to his lips without expression. “How long have you been here?”

  That made her uncomfortable, and she twisted her body just enough in the chair that the silk opened a little more, exposing her right breast nearly all the way to her nipple. She didn’t notice, though, and he wasn’t about to tell her.

  She glanced out the window. “I’ve been here since Tuesday.”

  That jolted him. “You haven’t been home?”

  “No. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  He knew he beamed from that remark. Probably too much.

  She touched a loose strand of her hair and coiled it around her finger absentmindedly. “Your servants will be back soon, won’t they?”

  “I’ll probably request that they return Monday,” he replied. “There are only the two of them, and they’re paid regardless.”

  “So I can stay the weekend.”

  It wasn’t a casual question but a pointed statement full of hope, and suddenly he wanted her sitting in his lap, her mouth lingering on his, her bare bottom rubbing against him.

  “I need to know some things, Jonathan.”

  He raised his cup to his lips. “Hmm?”

  Seconds later she moved inquisitive eyes back to his. “First,” she began thoughtfully, “beyond the fact that I know Louis Philippe is alive and well and still in power, I have no idea what happened in Paris after I left.”