Not Quite A Gentleman

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  “There you go, answering a question with a question again.”

  “Which I normally never do. It is all your fault. You make me-” She pressed her lips together to stem the flow of words.

  He took a step toward her and her heart stuttered. “I make you what?”

  Tremble. Ache. Want things I shouldn’t. “Say things I normally wouldn’t say. Do things I normally wouldn’t do.”

  “Perhaps that is good. Perhaps you’re discovering new aspects of your nature. Or freeing traits you’ve kept hidden, knowingly or unknowingly.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Any number of reasons. The constraints of Society. Because your past experiences haven’t allowed you enough freedom to know your true nature. Therefore you just do what’s expected of you rather than what your heart desires. Speaking your mind, acting on your impulses, they can be very liberating.”

  “One can’t simply say or do whatever they want.”

  “Not very often,” he agreed, “and not with all people. But sometimes… sometimes you can.” He took another step closer. “Feel free to say anything you want to me.” Another step. “Or do anything you want.”

  A half-dozen things she wanted to do to him instantly crowded into her mind, firing more heat into her face. His gaze drifted over her flaming cheeks and a wicked gleam glittered in his eyes. “Any chance you’d make a similar offer to me, my lady?”

  Yes, please. “No, thank you.”

  “That is… disappointing. But my offer stands.” He took three more steps forward. Now less than an arm’s length separated them. “One of the things I’ve come to admire about you is your courage. There’s nothing to be afraid of. This place is completely private. So tell me, Victoria… what do you want?”

  Dear God, he made her want so many things. But really, it all came down to just one. “I want to touch you.”

  The words came out in a rush. Without hesitation he plucked from her grasp the forgotten bundle of his clothes she still clutched to her chest then tossed the items aside. Before she had a chance to even draw a breath, he clasped her wrists and settled her hands in the center of his chest. “Then touch me.”

  The fire burning in his eyes dissolved her thoughts. Melted her modesty. And ignited her courage. Heat seeped into her palms and her gaze dropped to her hands, pale against the golden tan of his skin. He released her wrists, lowering his hands to his sides, and she experimentally splayed her fingers. Warm. He was so warm. And firm. Smooth. Like toasted satin over iron.

  She slowly dragged her palms outward, flattening the beads of water that still clung to his skin, his silky rough chest hair curling between her fingers.

  “Your heart is pounding,” she whispered. Nearly as hard and fast as mine.

  “Surely that doesn’t surprise you.”

  She shook her head. At least she thought she did. She meant to, but every ounce of her attention was focused on watching her hands again glide across his chest. His quickened breathing left no doubt that he liked that, encouraging her to grow bolder. Smoothing her hands upward, she followed the line of his broad shoulders, then down over his powerful arms to his elbows.

  “You’re very strong,” she murmured.

  He emitted a rough, humorless sound. “Normally I’d agree,” he said in a deep rasp. “Right now, however, my armor is feeling decidedly… aahhhh. …” Her fingertips brushed over his nipples. “… dented.”

  His muscles jumped beneath her gentle touch, and a wave of feminine satisfaction such as she’d never known rushed through her. Emboldened, fascinated, transfixed, she dragged her hands slowly downward, absorbing the texture of his flat, ribbed abdomen, and the shudder that ran through him. Shifting her hands outward, she skimmed down the vee of his waist, then over his hips until she couldn’t reach any lower without bending her locked knees, and rested her palms on his hair-roughened thighs. His manhood rose between them. Fascinating. Beckoning. He seemed to have stopped breathing, and she looked up.

  The raw intensity in his gaze shook her. Any doubts she may have harbored that she affected him as profoundly as he did her vanished with that single look. Keeping her gaze locked on his, she brushed the back of her fingers over his arousal.

  His eyes snapped closed and his nostrils flared as he pulled in a sharp breath. Again she trailed her fingers over him, stunned at how hot he felt. This time he rewarded her with a low groan. With her own breaths coming in erratic puffs through her parted lips, she looked down and watched herself caress the hard length of him, first with one hand, then with both, his groans growing more guttural with each pass of her fingers over his silky, hot flesh. His hands remained clenched in a white knuckle grip at his sides, and she could see the muscles in his legs, his arms and shoulders, his jaw and neck flexing, straining with the effort he expended to remain still. Spellbound, she wrapped her fingers around him and gently squeezed.

  “Victoria…” Her name ended on a low moan. She squeezed him again, then brushed the pad of her thumb over the velvety engorged head.

  “Done.” The word was a tortured groan that sounded wrenched from his throat. He grasped her wrists and pulled her hands from him. “Damn it, done. Can’t take any more.”

  Before she could so much as draw a breath, he yanked her against him and crushed his mouth to hers. But no breath would have been deep enough, no preparation thorough enough, for the onslaught of this kiss. Where during their picnic he’d barely touched her, now he seemed to touch her everywhere, head to toe, his arms clasping her to him so tightly she could feel his heat, his strength, through her clothing all the way down to her feet. He kissed her as if he wanted to devour her, and she clung to his shoulders, ready, willing, desperate to be devoured, reveling in every nuance of his tongue exploring her mouth with such fevered, passionate perfection.

  With a moan of pure pleasure, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on. He kissed her again and again, drugging meldings of lips, breath, and tongues, reducing her to a tiny boat adrift in a fierce storm, desperately trying to stay afloat in the sea of sensation drowning her.

  Utterly lost, she strained closer to him, plunging her fingers through his still damp hair, pressing her aching breasts against his chest, overheated, burning. Wanting. Needing.

  She squirmed against him and he changed tempo, gentling their wild, frantic exchange to a slow, deep, languid seduction that pulled her deeper into the vortex of dizzying need. His hands roamed freely down her back, up her sides, then between them to caress her breasts. She arched into his palms, a silent plea he instantly answered. One warm hand slipped into her bodice, his fingers, his magical fingers, stroking one aching nipple, then the other, shooting fire straight to her womb.

  Abandoning her lips, he kissed his way down her neck, then also deserted her bodice, skimming his hands down her back. Cool air touched her overheated limbs and she realized he’d lifted her skirt, the material bunched around her waist. With nothing but her linen drawers now between them, he insinuated one knee between hers and she willingly spread her legs wider, seeking to press her aching feminine flesh against him. Cupping her buttocks, the heat of his palms branding her through the thin material, he urged her higher, tighter against him, guiding her hips in slow circles against his hard thigh.

  Victoria’s head fell back and a long moan of pure pleasure vibrated in her throat. She was vaguely aware of him kissing her neck, of her hands gripping his bare shoulders, but all her focus narrowed to the throbbing flesh between her legs. To the incredible sensations jolting through her with each circle of her hips from his guiding hands. He increased the pace, and her breath became ragged, choppy, her hips undulating, pressing harder against him, more desperate, seeking relief, moving closer to the precipice of something… something…

  And then it was as if she soared over the edge and dove into a whirlpool of sensation. Pleasure spasmed through her, dragging a surprised cry from her lips that melted into a low growling sound as the tremors tapered off, then subsided. W
eak with a delightful, boneless languor, she leaned forward, grateful for the support of his strong arms around her. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead in the curve where his neck and shoulder met and drew a deep breath. Her head filled with the scent of his skin-a warm, delicious, heady scent she couldn’t describe other than to know that it intoxicated her. And that she would never forget it.

  When her breathing evened and she felt able to move, she lifted her head. And stared into his serious gold-flecked hazel eyes. Dear God, the way he’d made her feel… she’d read about a woman’s pleasure in the Ladies’ Guide, but the description in no way did justice to what she’d just experienced. And he’d given her that pleasure without even intimately touching her. What on earth would it be like if he had? How much more incredible could it be?

  She felt a pressing need to say something, to acknowledge what had just happened to her, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of any words befitting the occasion. No doubt in a week or two she’d think of something brilliant, but right now all she could find to say was, “Nathan.”

  His expression softened and the ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Victoria.” He gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Are you all right?”

  She briefly closed her eyes and released a long, feminine sigh. “I’m… marvelous. Except for my knees. I seem to have misplaced them.”

  His grin flashed, then he brushed the pad of his thumb over her lips. “I didn’t hurt you?”

  “No.” She rested her palm against his cheek. “You… dazzled me. Stole my breath.”

  “As you stole mine. And dazzled me.” After dropping a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, he said, “I’ll get dressed so we can look for your knees.” He gently released her, and her upraised skirts unfurled like the curtain coming down after the opera. When he bent to retrieve his clothing, Victoria knew she should turn away to afford him some privacy, but she simply couldn’t tear her gaze from him. And surely she should feel some remorse, a flicker of shame, but all she felt was exhilaration. If she felt bad about anything, it was that this interlude was over.

  As she watched him pull on his breeches, she couldn’t help but notice his still aroused state. Clearing her throat, she said, “You allowed me great freedom with your body.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “And mine as well.”

  He shrugged into his shirt and smiled. “I’m glad.”

  “You, um, didn’t take the same degree of liberties with me.”

  “An effort that cost me greatly, I assure you.”

  “May I ask why you… made such an effort?”

  He halted in the act of fastening his shirt, and his gaze sharpened. “Are you asking me why I didn’t make love to you?”

  Warmth flooded her cheeks. “I’m wondering why you didn’t touch me as I touched you.”

  “It’s the same question, because if I had touched you in that way, we absolutely would have made love.”

  “And you didn’t want that.”

  His brows shot up. “On the contrary, I believe it was painfully obvious that I did. Not making love to you was solely a result of me considering you, not myself.” Leaving his shirt flapping open, he erased the distance between them. Lightly clasping her upper arms, his gaze searched hers. “Victoria, surely you realize that if we were to make love, I risk nothing, whereas you risk everything. Regardless of what else you may think of me, I am not a man to simply take pleasure without thought to the consequences. And to be brutally blunt, the time to ponder such decisions is not when one is sexually aroused or basking in the afterglow of pleasure.” His fingers flexed on her arms. “Something happens to me when I touch you…” He shook his head. “… hell, something happens to me when I’m in the same room as you. You impair my control. My good judgment.”

  A thrill ran through her at his admission. “There is no point in me denying that I suffer from the same ‘something’ as you.”

  Any thought that her admission would please him vanished with the troubled look in his eyes. “Then there is much for you to consider. And it’s best that we return to the house now.”

  Releasing her, he stepped away to finish dressing. With a start she realized that it had grown quite late, the shadows of the approaching dusk an obscuring gray under the dense cover of trees. She brushed the wrinkles from her gown and repaired as best she could the havoc his hands had wreaked on her hair. When they both finished, he extended his arm with a courtly flourish, indicating she should precede him on the narrow trail leading back to the main path. As she moved past him, however, he reached out and snagged her hand, raising it to his lips. Although the light kiss he brushed over the backs of her fingers could be described as proper, there was nothing proper about the wicked gleam in his eyes.

  “Just so you know, Victoria,” he said, his warm breath caressing her skin, “regardless of what other decisions might be made, I fully intend to have my revenge for the sweet torture I endured this afternoon at your hands. And I shall have it when you least expect it.”

  Whoosh. Good lord, she needed to carry a bucket of water about so as to douse the flames this man ignited. He started down the narrow path, clearly expecting her to follow, no easy task when he’d reduced both her mind and knees to porridge with his announcement. But the encroaching darkness snapped her from her stupor and she hurried after him. The trail veered, and as soon as she rounded the bend, she saw him standing in the path ahead, clearly waiting for her. Her gaze narrowed on his face and she moved forward. Humph. Obviously he thought he could just toss out provocative statements then saunter away. Well, she’d show him that-

  “Victoria!”

  Nathan’s shouted warning came just as she was grabbed from behind by a muscled arm that trapped her against a hard chest. She saw the silver glint of a knife just as the blade was pressed against her throat.

  Fifteen

  In her pursuit of intimate fulfillment and adventure, Today’s Modern Woman may find herself in a situation that could be deemed dangerous. In that case, she must remain calm and stay focused on her objective: extricating herself from said situation. If all attempts at diplomacy fail, a well-placed kick will usually do the trick.

  A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

  Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

  by Charles Brightmore

  “One sound, one movement out of you,” the man growled next to Victoria’s ear, “and you’ll seal your own fate.”

  Terrified, she clamped her lips shut and ceased struggling, her gaze searching out Nathan.

  Nathan started forward but skidded to a halt when the man jammed the knife tighter against her throat. His gaze flicked to hers and he shot her a look that clearly indicated she should listen to the madman with the knife.

  “One more step and I’ll slit her ear to ear,” the man threatened in a tone that slithered dread down her spine.

  “Let her go,” Nathan said in a frigid, steel-edged voice Victoria had never heard from him before.

  “Happy to oblige ye, after I get what I want.”

  “I’ll give whatever you want. After you let her go.”

  “‘Fraid it don’t work like that, seein’ as how I’m the one holdin‘ the blade to her throat. Now, speakin’ of blades, I want ye to slip yours out of yer boot, real nice and slow, then toss it in the bushes. You make any fast moves, Doctor, and the lady’ll suffer.”

  “You know who I am,” Nathan stated in a deadly voice.

  “Who ye are and who ye were.” He jerked Victoria tighter against him. “Do as I said.”

  Scarcely able to breathe with the blade pressed so tight against her throat, she watched Nathan, his gaze never shifting from the man’s face, slowly slip a knife from his boot, then toss it lightly toward the bushes. “Now let her go.”

  “As soon as ye hand over the letter.”

  “What letter?”

  With the flick of his wrist the man nicked the skin beneath Victoria’s jaw and she gasped. Warm
wetness trickled down her neck and black spots danced before her eyes at the realization that it was her own blood.

  “Yer stupid question just gave the lady a scar. If ye ask another, it’ll cost her an ear. If ye claim ye don’t have what I want, she’ll lose her life. Understand?”

  A brief pause, then Nathan said, “Yes.”

  “I want the letter that was in the lady’s bag. Now. Hand it over, nice and slow, and I’ll be on my way.”

  Dear God. She was going to die. Nathan didn’t have the letter here. She knew he’d try to save her, but what could he possibly do with no weapon and no letter? Her life was going to end. Here. Now. At the hands of this horrible man. Who would probably kill Nathan, too. Stark terror at the realization edged black around her vision.

  “How do I know you’ll let her go once I give you what you want?”

  “Guess ye’ll just have to take my word for it.” The evil chuckle next to her ear raised prickles all over her clammy skin. “Don’t worry, Doctor. My word’s as good as yours. Honor among thieves, you know.”

  Drawing what was surely her last breath, she watched Nathan slowly reach down again, this time pulling a folded piece of ivory vellum from his boot. Shock trembled through her. The letter. He had it. Hope flooded her, pushing aside the fear that had momentarily crippled her.

  But surely Nathan wouldn’t really give the letter, the map, to this brigand. Surely any second he would utilize some ingenious spy tactic to disarm and capture this thief. Instead, he slowly straightened and extended his arm, holding the note between his thumb and index fingers.

  “Toss it,” her captor growled. “So it lands right nice near my feet. If it don’t, the lady will pay.”

  The note sailed through the air. With her chin pointing nearly toward the sky, Victoria couldn’t see where the letter landed, but since her throat remained uncut, she assumed Nathan’s aim had been true.

  “Now, on the ground, facedown,” the man ordered Nathan.

  All right, any second now Nathan would employ one of his spy tricks to save them and disarm the man. She kept her gaze trained on his face, waiting for some sort of signal, some indication of what he wanted her to do, but his gaze never wavered from the man holding her. She watched, every nerve alert. Nathan lowered himself to the dirt path as instructed.