“You’re beautiful.” His eyes gleamed in the firelight.
Trying to ignore that, she sucked in a deep breath to steady herself. “We shouldn’t be alone like this.”
“Very beautiful.”
Exasperated, she sagged her shoulders at his attempt to charm away her frustrations. “Quinton—”
He stepped slowly to her, then took her chin and tipped her face up to tenderly kiss her lips.
Belle closed her eyes, overcome by the nearness of him, his masculinity filling her senses.
She shifted closer. The heat of his hard body against her soft one made her tingle everywhere they touched, and his lips kissed hers so thoroughly that already she craved more. That secret space between her legs throbbed for him, with a need only he could satisfy. Why Quinton Carlisle, of all men, created this desperate longing inside her, she simply couldn’t fathom. But he did just that.
He didn’t love her, but he did desire her. And tonight, their only night together, that would have to be enough.
His mouth left hers to dance light kisses along her jaw to her ear, then down to the bare stretch of flesh where her neck curved into her shoulder. He ran his hand over the scooped neck of her night rail, stealing a caress of his fingers across the top swells of her breasts.
“You truly are beautiful tonight, Annabelle,” he murmured.
That was a lie if ever she heard one. Her cheeks flushed at being caught wearing this old nightgown, which covered her in a formless tent of white cotton from wrists to ankles. “I am not, not in this frumpy old thing.” And certainly not with a red nose and eyes from crying.
“I think,” he murmured as his fingers untied the bow at her neckline and let the gown fall open around her shoulders, “that you look delectable.”
With a soft laugh at his flattery, she snaked her arms around his neck. “I’m not delectable.” Her fingers played flirtatiously in his hair at his nape, and excited anticipation grew inside her. Feeling feminine and light, with a nod toward silliness, she teased, “Puddings are delectable, not women.” Feigning insult, she arched a scolding brow. “Am I a cake, then?”
“Of the most delicious kind,” he murmured. He placed a delicate but possessive kiss in the valley between her breasts, and she shivered at the promise behind it.
“Of strawberries and cream?” She arched against him, inviting his mouth on her body. A wanton part of her wanted to tease him to the brink of losing control, to make him crave her intimacy as much as she did his. “All pink and luscious, sweet to the taste…”
He groaned at the image her words conveyed as his hands roamed freely over her body now, stroking the unseen curves beneath the billowing cotton. “You’re killing me, Belle.”
She laughed wickedly. “And so much buttery icing,” she panted out as his hands squeezed her bottom through the cotton, “just waiting to be licked—”
His mouth captured hers, stopping her in mid-temptation and turning the teasing description on her lips into a low moan. She met the hungry passion of his kiss with her own, fisting his silky hair in her hands as the ache pulsed relentlessly between her legs.
“I want to taste every tempting inch of you, Belle,” he murmured against her mouth, not pausing in his kisses. “I want to devour you.”
He grabbed the sleeves of her night rail and yanked, expertly pulling the cotton down over her body in a single tug and letting it fall to the floor around her bare feet.
Belle gasped. She was naked! Completely and utterly bare as she stood in front of him. Her cheeks blushed scarlet.
He stepped back to gaze at her, and she felt the heat of his stare as it seared over each of her breasts, then down her belly to the curls between her legs. His face darkened with raw desire. Suddenly, there was no more charm or teasing in him. He wore a look that told her he would keep his promise—to devour her.
And God help her, she wanted just that.
She huskily murmured her consent, “Yes, Quinton.”
He scooped her into his arms and carried her across the room, then placed her on the bed. When he pulled away to quickly shuck off his shirt and trousers, Belle stared shamelessly. This was the first time she’d seen him without the cover of clothing, and the sight of him was a sweet intoxication. Her eyes swept over the hard muscles of his chest and the ridges of his abdomen, following the faint dusting of golden hair down his chest, over his belly, and brazenly lower to his manhood, which was already hard and thick with his need for her.
She lost her breath.
He was simply magnificent, all golden in the firelight, with long, sinewy muscles in his arms and legs, and blue eyes staring at her so intensely that she shivered. At the warmth of his fingers touching her ankle and trailing along her bare leg to the curve of her hip, a helpless whimper of desire escaped her. What a wanton woman she was to lie here like this, draped naked over the bed while she let him run his hands over her, touching and exploring her body as he desired.
But if this was being wanton, then she welcomed it. Because she would never be embarrassed at the pleasures Quinn brought her.
He knelt beside the bed and placed his hands on her thighs. “Annabelle…please…”
Knowing what he wanted, she spread her legs to welcome this new intimacy between them. She wasn’t ashamed of opening herself to him, not when she heard him murmur how beautiful she was, and not even when she felt the heat of his strong lips as he placed a tender, delicate kiss right there. This was Quinn, and she loved him—hadn’t she always?
Soft and gentle, his lips caressed against her in slow kisses that didn’t flame the ache inside her so much as soothe and relax, and with a contented sigh, she reached her hand down to stroke her fingers through his hair. How could one man be both so passionate that he’d torn cries of desire from her earlier and yet now so gentle that he sent a calming warmth radiating through her?
But each delicate kiss grew stronger, his mouth more insistent against her. When he licked deep—
“Quinton!” she gasped, squirming beneath his mouth.
“Shh.” He stroked his hands along her inner thighs to still her, as if petting a kitten. Each breathy word pulsed hot against her wet folds. “You are so delicious, Belle…Let me have this taste of you.”
She took a deep breath, then exhaled in a long sigh. Closing her eyes, she gave over to the decadent sensation of his mouth against her, to the wonderfully wicked licks of his tongue delving deep into her, to the soft sounds of his lips enjoying her most secret place. The fluttering ache inside her began to blossom again, throbbing so shamelessly right there against his mouth that she was certain he could feel the pulsation of her need against his lips and taste her readiness for him on his tongue.
“Quinn.” His name was a plaintive whimper as all of her began to quiver.
“I know, darling.” He placed one last, lingering kiss at the hot heart of her, then slowly slid up her body, his mouth leaving a wet trail of kisses all the way up to her throat.
With his large body now covering hers, he reached a hand between her thighs and gently parted her with his fingers. As if understanding the inexplicable new need inside her, one that was far more than just a physical ache for release, he slowly slid his manhood inside her, pushing gently forward until his hips were seated against hers.
“Slowly this time,” he murmured against her temple as his body began to stroke tenderly inside hers. “I want to savor you.”
His hard chest rubbed against her breasts as he slid up and down over her with each gentle plunge and tantalizing retreat. None of the urgent thrusts of before, none of that desperate need to possess her—this was tenderness and affection. Never had she felt this feminine and powerful before in her life, this transcendent. And it was all because of Quinn.
If any doubts remained inside her that she loved him, this moment vanquished them all.
Murmuring her name, he continued his rocking caresses inside her. She clung to him as he swirled his hips slowly against her before retre
ating, rubbing tantalizingly against her sex and pulsing a soft ache deep within her. Every stroke inside her branded her as his, and she tossed back her head with joy as her body welcomed the intensity of him, filling her completely. She arched herself beneath him and rocked against his hips to bring him as deep as possible inside her. She would have let him crawl beneath her skin, if he could have, and inundate her soul with his essence.
Her hands clutched at his shoulders as the first flames shot through her, and the throbbing ache inside her fanned out to the ends of her fingers and toes. For one desperate moment, she fought against her release, knowing tonight would be the last time she would ever be with him and wanting to make it last as long as she could. But restraint was impossible, and she broke.
Her release came not as a wave of hot pleasure but a gentle, warm lapping at her toes that crept up her body until it engulfed her. He brought her to climax this time not with a cry of passion but a blissful sigh of love.
“Annabelle,” he whispered as he rested his forehead against her bare shoulder and released himself inside her.
At that new sensation, her body shivered with a second, even more intense pleasure. He hadn’t used that clever little sheath this time to separate them, and he had been right—making love was far nicer this way, with no barriers at all between them.
Only then did she realize that she was whispering his name over and over. But she couldn’t stop herself. She knew she would never again feel as perfect and complete as she did when Quinn was holding her in his arms.
* * *
Quinton leaned over to place a kiss in the middle of Belle’s bare back as she lounged on her belly across her bed, all sex-rumpled and relaxed. His lips curled against her warm skin, and he couldn’t resist the urge to chuckle, so happy was he to have Annabelle with him like this.
He hadn’t meant to take her like that, certainly not without using the last of the condoms he still had in his possession. But the surprising little bluestocking had aroused him to the point where all that mattered was being inside her. It was a risk he shouldn’t have taken, but he simply couldn’t help himself. Especially since he fully intended to marry her.
There was no doubt inside him about that now. He belonged right here with Annabelle. If any hesitations had still been lingering inside him, this second intimacy dashed them all. He’d been right about her from the beginning—a man didn’t give himself to her and then walk away.
She turned her head to gaze up at him, with her cheek resting on her folded arms and her caramel hair tumbling around her shoulders. A contented smile played at her lips.
His chest tightened as he stared down at her. Sweet Lucifer, he could certainly get used to nights like this. And once they were married, there would be no reason not to.
He traced a fingertip over her mouth, drawing her smile. When she closed her lips around his finger and sucked suggestively, the sensation pulsed all the way down to the tip of his cock. He groaned softly.
“Keep doing that,” he warned as he pulled his hand away, “and I’ll have you on your back again.”
Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Is that supposed to be a warning or an enticement?”
“Wanton,” he scolded. Yet he grinned at her, unable to resist her infectious happiness tonight. She had every right to be happy. Glenarvon was now secure, and she knew that the viscount had loved her as a true daughter.
The only issue left unresolved was marriage.
She didn’t need to marry at all now, but he fully intended to marry her. The new conditions of her inheritance made not one whit of difference to him. They belonged together; tonight proved that, and she needed him, now more than ever. Being recognized as Ainsley’s illegitimate daughter wouldn’t be easy. Neither would running the estate. He could help her with both, while she helped him become the man he wanted to be. Successful, hardworking, devoted to his family and the village…the kind of man who would make his father proud.
But he had to convince her of that. And if it took repeatedly making love to her to do it, then he was most definitely willing to sacrifice himself to the flames.
“You know,” she commented in a throaty voice as she sat up to bring herself into his arms, unwittingly giving him a perfect view of her full breasts and the sweet curls between her thighs, “if I had known that being naked with you would be so much fun, I think I might have stripped you bare right there beneath St James’s roses six years ago.”
He laughed and nuzzled his face against her shoulder, not wanting to dampen her amusement by telling her that many couples had done just that beneath that same bower, if rumors could be trusted. Of course, that gossip was also entwined with apocryphal stories about leather and bayonets, so he wasn’t certain what to believe. Except that if she had tried, he certainly would have let her.
With a soft growl, he leaned over and kissed her, teasing fresh arousal inside her until he felt her shiver. He smiled against her lips. The fire he so loved to flame inside her now belonged solely to him, and he planned on never letting it go.
He cupped her face in his hands. Her eyes were closed, her lips red and wet from his kisses, and never had she looked more alluring. She tilted her face toward him in invitation to be kissed again, and it took all his strength to keep himself from doing just that. And more.
“Would you like your birthday present now?” he asked, his fingertips stroking her cheek. If he didn’t distract both of them, and quickly, he’d be hard and between her thighs again before she could whisper his name. While the thought was deliciously tempting, he also knew how sore she would be in the morning. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, in any way.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him, puzzled. “My…what?”
He laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. “Did you think that bedding you was your gift?”
“Of course not.” Then she confided in a breathy whisper, staring at him seductively through lowered lashes, “But it was the best present I’ve ever been given.”
Hiding his pleased grin, he lowered his mouth to place an openmouthed kiss against her shoulder. Her comment stirred more pride inside him than he deserved. Still, he liked it. Immensely.
Before he got caught up in her again, he slipped away and crossed the room to his satchel. He pulled out a blue velvet pouch tied with a gold-tasseled cord. He handed her the bag, then reclined across the bed beside her on his elbow.
“Go on.” He leaned over to kiss her bare thigh as she stared down at the weighty velvet sack in her hand. “Open it.”
Belle slid him a suspicious glance as she carefully untied the gold cord, opened the cinched pouch—
She gasped. Her eyes grew wide as she slowly withdrew the four-foot-long rope of white Persian pearls, long enough to loop around her neck and down her front thrice. His great-grandmother’s pearls.
His mother gave them to him when he said good-bye to her a month ago at Chestnut Hill, wanting him to have this heirloom to remind him of who he was and the importance of family, even when he was half a world away. He’d sent all his other belongings ahead to Liverpool in a wagonload of trunks, but these he’d kept with him. At the time, he’d done it only to keep them from being stolen. But now he knew. As if Fate had been guiding him.
They belonged with Belle.
“Oh, Quinton,” she breathed, awestruck. “This is…this is…”
He grinned at her. Even when stunned, she was beautiful. “Do you like them?”
Struck speechless, she only nodded as she draped the rope of pearls across her palm and down her forearm, luminescent white lying luxuriously against her pale skin. Her bright eyes glistened as she stared at them, her lashes wet with tears.
His chest pinched. Good Lord, he hadn’t expected her to cry.
“Mother always said that a lady should be given pearls,” he explained softly.
She arched a dubious brow but couldn’t drag her gaze away from the strand as she let it spill through her fingers and across her
palms. She whispered hoarsely, “To the lady who refuses to marry you?”
“Mother wasn’t specific,” he replied, deadpan, despite the sharp pang in his gut.
She might have refused before, but he planned on changing that. Starting now. He sat up and kissed her, so delicately and tenderly that he drew a soft sigh from her lips.
“You deserve them, Annabelle,” he whispered between gentle nips to her bottom lip. “And many, many more gifts just like them to come.”
Her shoulders sagging, she shook her head and shifted back, breaking the kiss. A sad expression darkened her face. “They’re too much,” she whispered. “I cannot accept them.”
“Of course you can.” He sat up and took the rope from her hands to loop it over her neck, then again to double it down her front. He wanted there to be no mistake that the pearls now belonged to her. And she belonged with him. “And you will.”
“No, Quinton.” She blinked hard with a determined shake of her head and choked out, “Truly, I cannot accept them—I won’t. You need the money for America.”
“Then you can accept them, because I didn’t buy them,” he explained quietly. They were beautiful around her neck, seeming to glow as they rested against her bare skin. “They’re a family heirloom.”
Remorse darkened her face. “Then even more reason to—”
“And they’re staying right in the Carlisle family.” She caught her breath at that firm declaration of his intention to marry her, staring at him with wide eyes glistening with tears. Dear God, he hoped those were tears of happiness. “They’re yours for now, Annabelle,” he pressed on quietly with full resolve. “But someday, you’ll pass them along to our son to give to the woman he marries.”
Our son. He wasn’t prepared for the electric jolt that pierced him when he uttered the words, but he meant every one. Theirs would be a proper marriage.
“You’re going to America,” she breathed out, not moving except for the trembling of her lips.
“I’m staying right here,” he told her, and meant it. Dear God, how could he even contemplate leaving her now? “My future is right here in the borderlands. With you.”
When the Scoundrel Sins Page 25