"Ah, muire ..." His hand trembled in her grip, his voice dry, scratchy. "You don't know what you're asking."
She lifted her head in that haughty way she had, although her smile was pure mischief. He thought he liked this smile of hers the best, for it hinted at all the parts of herself she normally worked so hard to keep hidden. "On the contrary, I know precisely what I am asking. I have received an excellent scientific education, and Genevieve has never believed that young girls should be sheltered from the realities of life and love." The smile faded, her eyes becoming wide and serious as she searched his face. "You think that because I am a virgin it would be wrong of you to lie with me."
He tried to smile, but couldn't. His whole body was trembling now, with the need to touch her face, her body, to take her in his arms, to lay her down in this sweet, sun- warmed grass. "There are few who wouldn't see it that way."
Her nostrils flared with a quick intake of air. "Don't treat me as a child, as someone who doesn't know her own mind or isn't responsible for her own choices, simply because she's a woman."
He couldn't not touch her anymore. Reaching out, he brushed the back of his fingers against her soft cheek. "I have nothing but respect for you, lass. It's not that."
"Then what is it?"
He let his hand fall back to his lap. "You don't know me."
"I know you."
He shook his head. "You don't. There's too much I haven't told you."
"Don't you see? It doesn't matter. Not the whip scars on your back, or the man you killed, or any other dark terrible secret you can't bring yourself to tell me. None of it matters." She leaned forward, her features pinched in earnestness. "I love you, Lucas Gallagher." She put her splayed hand on his chest, just above where his heart beat. "The man in here."
He felt his throat tighten with an upswell of emotion he didn't want and couldn't afford. He'd known she desired him, but he'd never allowed himself to imagine that she actually cared for him, that what he saw shining in her eyes went beyond a deep wanting, to love. It humbled him, this knowledge of her love, and troubled him. He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, his eyes squeezing shut as he pressed his open mouth against her palm. "If I could have met you four years ago, in Dublin, when I was still a man with a future ahead of me, and a heart to give..."
She eased her hand from his grasp to raise her arms and remove her hat, the movement lifting her breasts against the bodice of her riding habit in a way that made him ache. "What do you think?" she said, setting the hat aside. "That you would have been worthy of me then? That you're not worthy of me now?" She leaned forward to rest her hands on his knees, her beautiful eyes wide and earnest. "Don't you understand? I love you. You. The person you are now, today."
He made one last, half-hearted attempt to stave off what was about to happen. "There can never be anything between us. Nothing except danger and heartache; you know that."
"I know." She pulled off her gauntlet-style gloves and set them aside with her hat, like a lady come for tea. A shy smile curled her lips in a way that made him want to kiss them, to feel that smile. "Will you say my name?" she asked, her head tilting.
"Jessie," he said, and smiled at the delight that spread across her face. "Now will you make love to me?" "Dia." He reached for her, his hands coming up to bracket her face. "I don't know how I could not."
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Jessie held herself still, barely even able to breathe as, with exquisite gentleness, he tilted his head and brought his mouth to hers. She knew how badly he wanted her, knew the fire within him burned hot and bright. Yet he was doing his best to control it, deliberately making his kiss sweet and tender, because for all her talk of knowledge and understanding, she was still a virgin, with all of a virgin's uncertainty and fears. They had kissed and touched in the past, but she had only the vaguest idea of what lay beyond that, and he knew it.
His hps were so soft and warm, moving against hers. She let her tongue creep out to find his, her hands curling up around his neck to hold him close. He deepened the kiss, urging her mouth open beneath his, and the kiss slowly turned erotic, carnal, a hot wet symphony of tongues and teeth and soft, sensitive lips.
He tore his mouth from hers and lifted his head, his breath shuddering deep and fast in his chest. "Can 1 take off your clothes?" he asked, his gaze hard on her face.
"Yes." She gave him a deliberately saucy smile that wobbled a bit around the edges. "If I can take off yours."
Smiling with his eyes, he reached to flick open the top button of her bodice, then the next. "I get to go first," he said softly. He kept his gaze on her face as he worked his way down the line of gleaming brass. Then they both watched as he spread open the edges of her bodice to reveal the delicate white of the satin and lace and batiste she wore beneath, and the swell of her upper breasts, rising and falling with her rapid breathing.
"Ah, lass," he murmured, easing the stiff cloth off her shoulders, baring her arms to the warmth of the sun and the softness of his touch. "You're so beautiful."
She caught her breath as he ran his hands down her arms and up again, his thumbs sweeping beneath the fine batiste of her chemise to caress the flesh of her upper breasts. Her head fell back, her fingers spreading in his warm hair, her eyes half closing as a delicious languor spread over her. "You're only saying that because you want to get me out of my clothes. My mother warned me about men like you."
"Huh." He moved to the fastening of her skirt, jerked it loose. "I doubt your mother ever envisioned this." Hooking his fingers in the waistband of the heavy skirt, he pushed it down so that he could reach the riding trousers she wore beneath. "Besides, I don't need to flatter you to get under your skirts; 1 already have permission, remember?"
"That's what comes of inexperience." Her elbows on his shoulders for balance, she lifted her hips so that he could draw away skirt and trousers in one sweep. "I see now that I should have made you flatter me first, before I agreed to let you at my buttons."
"Buttons and ties and hooks," he said with a hoarse laugh. He rubbed his open mouth against her neck, kissed her ears, buried his face in her loosening mass of hair as he unhooked her corset, then went at the ties of her chemise. "All these layers. Most people think they're to give the English gentlewoman her rigid, properly molded silhouette. But the truth is, they're here to discourage a man's wandering fingers. And other body parts."
She gave a soft laugh that ended on a caught breath when he gently brushed her bared nipples with the backs of his hands, then quickly stripped away corset and chemise to leave her sitting bare-breasted before him. She felt shy and bold, frightened and excited all at once. She was a wonder to herself, this shy-bold Jessie, reaching for the woman she was meant to be.
"Lie down," he whispered and pressed her into the soft pile of her discarded clothing.
She lay on her back, naked from the waist up, one pantalet- clad leg bent at the knee, her hair coming loose to spill around her bare shoulders and breasts as she stared up at him. He loomed over her, a dark-haired man with heavy-lidded, brooding eyes and a taut, almost cruel look of desire sharpening his features.
Reaching up, she traced the jutting line of his cheekbone with one finger. "I like it when you look at me like that."
"Like what?" he asked, easing off his coat so he could lay down on his side next to her, his rough canvas-clad leg settling in close beside her embroidery and lace.
"You look so fierce and frightening, and yet..."
"And yet?" Raising himself on one elbow, he laid his other arm possessively across her, a smooth, sun-darkened swath of hard male flesh and bone standing out in sensual contrast to her pale softness.
She turned into him, her hand coming to rest on his scarred forearm as she smiled up at him. "And yet, it makes me feel all warm and trembly inside."
He drew his hand in a feather-soft caress between her breasts, to her stomach. Her bare flesh quivered beneath his touch, her entire body shuddering beneath a wash of liquid f
ire. "Good. That's the way I want you—warm and trembling."
He reached for the ties of her drawers, then stilled when her hand closed convulsively over his fingers. He looked up at her, his dark, straight brows drawing together. "Do you want me to stop?"
She shook her head, her throat working as she swallowed, her fingers sliding away from his. She felt confused and ashamed of herself, for asking him to do this and then stopping him without any conscious thought. "No. I'm sorry. I don't even know why I did that."
"Shh," he whispered, ducking his head to nuzzle her neck. "'Don't be sorry. It's all right. We'll just take it slower."
He kissed her nose, her eyelids, her neck, his breath moist and warm against her skin, his hands sliding up her sides to close with familiar delight over her breasts. She clutched at his shoulders, her back arching to bring her body closer to the sweet agony of his touch, the fire of his wandering kisses. His head dipped lower and she sucked in a quick breath, filling her head with the scent of him, warm and pleasant in the afternoon sun. She closed her eyes, lost in a tumult of glorious sensations. The wet roughness of his tongue, flicking her nipple. The deep, erotic tug that clenched low in her belly when he closed his mouth over the tip of her breast and sucked. The rough kneading pressure of his hands, cupping her breasts, whirling her away on a dark tide of desire.
She tore at his shirt, opened the ties, tugged it loose from his trousers, bunched it up in a desperate need to run her spread hands over the smooth bare flesh of his chest. "Take it off," she said, her voice a husky gasp against his sun-warmed skin as she buried her face in the curve of his shoulder and neck.
Rearing back, he tore the shirt over his head and flung it aside, his face taut, almost savage now with arousal as he lowered himself over her again. And this time, when he sought the ties at her waist, all she did was make a soft pleading sound and whisper, "Yes. Oh, yes. Please," her hips lifting with a wantonness that surprised her.
She heard him say something harsh under his breath, something lost in his haste to strip away her finely embroidered drawers and expose her to the hot sun and his hotter gaze. He sank back on his heels, his breath hissing out slowly between his clenched teeth as he slid his hands with agonizing softness up her inner thighs, parting her legs for him. He moved subtly, positioning himself between her thighs, nudging them farther apart. It occurred to her that she should have felt shy, to have him looking at her like this, but all she knew was an aching need, deep within her. She was losing her focus, her world narrowing to sunlight and this man and the coiling need so deep within her. And then he touched her, there, and the sensation was so unexpected, so divine that her breath left her in a startled rush, her shoulders curling up, her fingers clenching at the hard curve of his upper arms. "Lucas," she said on a gasp, her eyes wide with wonder and delight.
He stared up at her, his face fiercely intent as he touched her there again. His fingers were magic. She hadn't known her body was so sensitive, that the simple touch of the man she loved could send her soaring. She fell back, her neck arching, her eyes half closing, so that she was only dimly aware of his head dipping, his hair sliding across her naked belly, lower. She hadn't thought that a man might kiss a woman there. He knew things about her body she didn't know herself, knew how to touch her, how to set her afire with a desperate need she barely understood. Yet he must have understood, for his hand was at the flap of his trousers and he was moving, sliding up to take her mouth in a rough kiss of hunger, the unfamiliar weight of his warm, hard body beguiling her as he positioned himself above her. She felt him settle high up between her legs, felt him against her, unexpectedly smooth and hot and hard, seeking, pressing, there, where she wanted him so badly. She dug her fingers into his hips, clutched him to her, arched up against him. She wanted, wanted... And he knew what she wanted, for he was pressing himself inside her, pressing, pushing into her, the pain of it lost in the wondrous delight of knowing that this, this was what she had needed, wanted, burned for.
He thrust again, a cry of mingling pain and pleasure slipping from her, his lips drawing back from his gritted teeth, his nostrils flaring with his ragged breathing as he rose above her, his weight on his braced arms. She stared up at him, at the smooth, sweat-sheened strength of his leanly muscled chest, at his dark shadowed eyes and fine-boned, fallen angel features. He was so beautiful. So beautiful and fierce, and she loved him so much she ached with it.
"Lucas," she whispered.
He lowered himself to his elbows, his hands tangling in her hair, his head dipping as he ran his tongue across her mouth, his hips moving in a slow, even rhythm that had her breath coming in panting little gasps. "I've wanted you since I first saw you," he whispered, his breath a warm rush against her face. "God, how I have wanted you."
She swept her hands up his back, felt the rough ridges and dips of the old scars beneath her fingertips. "I wanted you, too. I just didn't understand it."
He licked her chin, sucked at her neck, smiled into her eyes. "You understand it now, do you?"
"Yes," she said, her breath hissing out of her, her hands tightening again on his hips as he thrust into her harder, deeper, "Oh, yes."
He was moving faster now, a sweetly erotic thrust and drag that stoked the throbbing heat, deep within her. She clung to him, her legs coming up to wrap around him, draw him into her, deeper, deeper, urging him on faster, faster, as she reached, reached for something she didn't understand, knew only that she wanted, needed, or she would die.
And then she was dying, her world dissolving in a liquid rush of wild, weightless, mindless pleasure that swept over her in endless spasms of delight. She was only dimly aware of him, tensing above her, his head thrown back, his eyes squeezing shut, his face contorting as if in pain. He gave one last, fierce thrust, plunging deep. Then he jerked out of her with an abruptness that made her cry out at the loss, her hands digging into his sweat-slicked shoulders to hold him as he shuddered above her, his warm seed spilling high on her quivering, empty belly.
She lay in the curving shelter of his arm, the sun warm on her naked body, one hand resting on his chest.
"I never got to take off all your clothes," she said, her hand running in light circles over his bare skin. She wanted to touch him all over. Touch him and hold him, forever and ever.
He smiled and brought his leg up to slide it down her stockinged calf, to her riding boot. "I missed a few bits of yours."
She rolled forward, half onto his chest, so that she could look down into his sunlit face. She had never seen him looking so relaxed, so at ease, and she thought this must have been what he looked like before—before his life dissolved in pain and murder and the slowly grinding retribution of British justice. "We could do it again," she suggested naughtily, her fingers walking down to the open waistband of his convict trousers.
Laughing, he swept his hands to cup her buttocks and pull her completely on top of him. "Why, Miss Corbett, what an excellent suggestion."
She felt the ridge of his erection hard against her, her own laugh a breathy sigh of wonder and expectation as he cradled her face between his hands, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that ended all too quickly.
"What is it?" she asked, seeing the shadows that shifted deep in his eyes.
" 'Tis dangerous, what we do. You know that, don't you?"
She sat back, straddling him, her knees on either side of his hips. "You're afraid we'll be caught."
"Aye. That, too. I'm also sore afraid of giving you a babe." He spread his dark workman's hand against her naked belly. "Here."
Her head jerked once, in denial and swift consternation. "You pulled out."
"Aye. But it doesn't always work."
"So what does?"
The ease and contentment she'd seen earlier in his face was gone now, his eyes narrowed, his mouth set in a hard line. "There are things men can wear, but I've no way of getting any. Women know tricks—or rather, some women do. I don't."
"Genevieve might."
She
stared down at him, a heavy lock of her hair sliding forward over her shoulder. He reached up to catch it and wrap it thoughtfully around his fist. "Would it be wise, you think, to ask her?"
"She wouldn't betray me, if that's what you mean."
He raised his dark eyebrows. "Not even if she thought it was for your own good?"
Jessie shook her head. "She's always considered it a form of arrogance for someone to think she knows what's better for another person than the person herself."
He opened his fist to release her hair. It fell against her breast, his hand following, her breath hitching as his palm closed around her breast. He smiled, both hands now gently stroking her breasts with a deceptive laziness that turned her insides into fire. Her gaze locked with his, she brought her own hands up to cup his and hold them to her breasts, increasing the pressure of his touch. "I'll ride over to the Point tomorrow and talk to her."
"Ah, lass." He let his hands slide around her back to urge her down to him, his lips moving against hers in a kiss as languidly purposeful as his touch. "I shouldn't be talking to you about preventing babies. I should be telling you we're mad, the both of us, to risk doing this again. We keep this up, and we're bound to get caught."
She followed the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheek with her eyes. It came to her that she could look at him forever... only, they didn't have forever. "I can't stay away from you," she said softly. "Not anymore. I'm not that strong."
"Neither am I." His head came up, his lips finding hers again as he caught her to him and rolled her onto her back, trapping her naked and beneath him.
She stared up into his shadowed face, saw the shadows lift, his mouth curling into a smile that made her feel weak and warm with expectation. "Now, about these clothes ..."
That night, after she finished dressing for dinner, Jessie dismissed her convict woman and went to stand in front of her dressing table mirror. A wind had come up outside, rustling the leaves and branches of the trees in the park and making the flames of the candles in their wall sconces leap and dance.
Whispers of Heaven Page 28