That admission hit like a blow to the stomach. Nobody had touched him for months? Cyrus was very affectionate, despite the fact that their relationship was not physically intimate. Rare was the occasion they met one another in a room and did not share a passing touch or glance. She couldn’t imagine Lucien’s isolation in having no one.
“Why? You’re very handsome.” She cast a shy glance to the floor. “Certainly any woman you desire would fall into your arms.”
She looked up to see a raw desperation in his green eyes that displayed the depth of his pain. One that tugged on her heartstrings.
With an anguished frown, he shook his head. “No. But please say you’re falling into mine, sweetheart. Do not make me release you. Not yet.”
Her heart flip-flopped. Everything within her wanted to comfort and reassure him; she was simply that type of person. She knew this situation, indeed this man, was dangerous. But he clearly needed her, and she realized how much she craved that.
To soothe him, she placed her hand against his cheek. He turned his face a fraction to kiss her tender palm.
Sending him a shaky smile, she whispered, “I . . . I’ll stay.”
He pulled her forward, clutching her against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly about her. For long moments, he did not move, but simply held her. Moved by his unexpected show of emotion, she cautiously wound her arms about his neck.
She fingered the dark hair that had grown over his collar. At her touch, he arched his neck, sending her fingers through the soft mass of his hair and a whirl of awareness through her body.
“Are you as beautiful inside as you are outside?” His voice was a whisper, but Serena heard it.
Serena swallowed. “I’m human, like everyone. I have faults.”
Lucien stroked her cheek, his eyes so bleak and unshielded, Serena swore she could see into his soul. And what a sad soul it was. “Not to me. Not tonight.”
He claimed her mouth in another kiss, this one more tender—and desperate—than the others had been. The thorough, gentle contact, accompanied by the caress of his fingers down her spine, made her soften against him in acquiescence.
After the kiss, he reached for her hand, then he led her out of the library, down the shadowy hall. At the end of the corridor, he pushed open the last portal and stepped aside. She brushed him as she passed. The light contact tantalized her as she entered his fire-lit bedroom.
The large, high-ceilinged room had wide floor-to-ceiling windows. The room’s sparse but striking decor was done in rich hues of burgundy, deep blue, and cream, but seemed inconsequential surrounding his bed. The gleaming old piece was giant, covered with intricate hand carvings up its massive, cylindrical posters. A powerful mahogany tester, also exquisite in its etching, lay like a ceiling atop those posters.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, staring at his bed.
“It was my parents’. They collected antiquities. This was constructed around 1580 and brought from a castle in Shropshire.”
Unable to resist, Serena wrapped her palm around one of the posters, her fingers stroking its carvings.
Lucien walked to an adjoining sitting room and poured liquid into a glass. He returned with a measure of the same wine they had sipped in the library and dipped one finger into the alcoholic liquid before skimming it across her lip. A drop beaded, threatening to run down her chin. Reflexively, her tongue peeked out to catch it. She tasted the wine as it mixed with the intimate tang of his skin. Another ribbon of desire wound through her.
Her gaze caught his an instant before he bent to devour her mouth again. As his tongue penetrated and engaged hers in an impossible-to-resist dance, her emotions whirled within her like autumn leaves on a windy day. Her breath caught in her throat. She clutched his shoulders, hanging on so that her weak knees did not sink to the carpet.
He bent down, his arm reaching behind her legs. In a single sweep, he lifted her and turned, then set her on the massive bed. She felt the soft coverlet beneath her fingertips—and incredulity rushing throughout her. Sweet mercy, whatever he was doing to her, the sensations he roused felt heavenly.
Her resistance to stop him dissolved.
With expectant eyes, she watched him remove her shoes one at a time, kissing each instep as he exposed it. She shivered as he caressed her ankles, fingertips teasing her calves. Up the length of her stockinged leg, his mouth followed his hands. Closing her eyes, Serena opened herself to the tingling sensations he aroused.
“How perfect,” he whispered. “The blush of your stockings matches the blush on your cheeks.”
Perhaps the wine had made her bold. After all, she had consumed the whole glass in minutes. But she didn’t care. This stranger, her rescuer with devilish good looks, seemed straight out of a young girl’s dreams, dreams she had put away when she married Cyrus.
Yet more than his appearance drew her. He possessed magnetism and need, a combination that made him nearly impossible to turn away. As his fingertips toyed with the sensitive skin behind her knee, arcing pleasure up her thighs, she acknowledged part of her attraction to him might be the wondrous new desire he had roused within her from the first moment in his arms.
“You are incorrigible.” The chastising tone she had planned manifested as a husky whisper instead.
His head snapped up, his gaze zeroing in on her face. “Is that your polite way of saying I’m a cad?”
Serena was charting unfamiliar territory, flirting with a man, playing games that involved both mind and body. She bit her lip, uncertain if the situation called for honesty.
“Would you admit it if I said yes?” she asked uncertainly.
Again, his palms climbed higher, like twin fires scorching their way up the sides of her thighs to cradle her hips. With a single movement, he unplucked one tie securing her stockings.
“I couldn’t possibly admit to being a cad. A little difficult, perhaps, and very stubborn. But I have never brought a . . . new female acquaintance to my home. I don’t make a habit of seducing strangers.”
Lucien could be lying. But as another of the ties holding her stockings gave way beneath his knowing hands, she refused to believe his words were anything but the truth for the sake of her sanity.
“Why, then, did you make an exception for me?” She swallowed hard as his fingers drifted across her leg, closer to the ache that was becoming impossible to ignore.
A roguish smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Now that question is an easy one to answer,” he replied, slowly rolling one stocking down her thigh. When it came free, he held it up before her gaze then let it drift to the floor. “I only intended to overindulge in strong drink and music tonight,” he confided, his speech a bit slurred again. “But when I heard your screams, saw the terror on your face . . . all I could think of was protecting you. You should not have been alone, prey to criminals like that.”
His hands ceased exploring her thighs. Serena’s breath quickened as Lucien leaned closer, his mouth nearly brushing hers.
“You shouldn’t be alone at all. Ever. I know what being alone is like.” His usually smooth voice turned raspy. “It’s damned awful.”
He kissed her, his hand winding around to her nape, caressing the sensitive curve before his palm smoothed down her back to the first hook of her dress. Between his dexterous fingers, it came undone, as did several others below.
He pushed the sleeve of her gown down, baring the curve of her shoulder. His fingertips whispered down the joining of her neck and shoulder, and a flurry of tingles tumbled over her flesh. “My God, you have beautiful skin.”
His voice held something akin to worship. Serena melted into his embrace, his words making her certain, for once, that she was indeed desirable. “Th-thank you.”
“You mustn’t thank me. I had nothing to do with it. I was merely observing the fact your skin is soft and perfect, so fair, but with a hint of honey that tells me it will taste delicious.”
As if to make his point, he planted kisses across h
er collarbone and drifted across to the top swells of her breasts. He moaned, a deep guttural sound, as his tongue laved her skin.
Serena gasped, thinking his kisses were more intoxicating than the wine she had consumed. Throwing her arms about his neck, she pressed her lips to his, knowing the move was a bold one—and no longer caring. She felt so feminine, so desired, surrounded by Lucien’s broad chest and steely arms.
He responded to her kiss with frenzy, his fingers working the remaining fastenings at the back of her gown. Within seconds, he opened them all and wasted no time in freeing her arms from the sleeves. With impatient hands, he pushed her silk bodice around her waist and fixed his gaze below her neck.
Serena followed his stare, and discovered the swells of her breasts, pushed up by the boning of her stays, barely within the confines of her chemise. Did he find such a display vulgar? She wiggled self-consciously, crossing her arms across her chest.
“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was hoarse as he grasped her wrists and drew her stiff arms from her body. “Never hide. You are far too beautiful for that.”
He lifted her to her feet. Bending before her, he grasped the hem of her dress and lifted it above her, his hands making tingling contact at her hips, her waist, then a lingering touch on her breasts. He tossed the dress on the floor.
One by one, Lucien tugged on the waist-ties of her petticoats. She trembled as the garments caressed her legs on their way down, before puddling about her feet.
Lucien held out his hand. Serena watched him, his face tense and needy. He clenched his jaw tightly, as if willing self-control. Those green eyes of his, and every emotion within them, were open to her and melted the last of her resistance. They conveyed the hunger of a man too long without sustenance, both physical and emotional.
As she returned his stare, his breathing turned ragged. She swallowed when he reached for her hand, enveloping her palm within his warm, commanding one and urged her to step from the circle of her petticoats.
Silently, he turned her away, and set his fingers to the lacings of her corset. Within seconds, he tossed the stiff-boned garment from her body.
His hands smoothed the wrinkled linen of her chemise, stroking the curve of her waist. The heat of his palms penetrated the thin material, and the pulsating ache thrumming between her thighs throbbed faster, demanding his attention.
As his hand rose to her shoulder, their gazes locked. His hot fingers on her skin flooded her insides with a rush of warmth and anticipation. Using one forefinger, he slid the sleeve of her chemise down to her elbow. Still holding her gaze captive, he did the same with the other.
Serena felt her undergarment cling to the tops of her breasts in a valiant effort to cover them. Lucien hooked his thumb on the tautly-stretched fabric. The chemise fell to her waist, baring her breasts, tight nipples and all, to his rapt gaze.
He swallowed hard as he reached out to caress her. When he took her breast gently in hand, his thumb brushing its beaded center, she closed her eyes for a brief moment and reveled in the cascade of warm pleasure.
Lucien covered her mouth in a hot, urgent kiss. Serena found her arms still pinned to her sides by the sleeves of her chemise. Denied the luxury of clasping her hands around his powerful shoulders and bringing him closer, she returned the kiss with her mouth, using it to communicate the depth of her need.
He pushed her chemise over her hips, down to the floor. Naked, she stood before him, he still fully clothed. She watched his gaze sweep across her breasts, over her abdomen. His eyes stopped at the golden triangle of hair covering her femininity. She shivered. The appreciation in his eyes dissipated her misgiving, replacing it with anticipation that burned like a flame.
She stepped forward, against him. His arms tightened around her, bringing her against the hard crush of his body. At the abrasion of his clothing against her flushed, tingling skin, she shifted restlessly in his arms, seeking some form of relief from the ache he had created.
“Soon, sweetheart,” he promised, then captured her mouth in a blistering kiss. When she responded in kind, his palm cupped the center of her desire, fingers probing within the moist folds.
She felt hot and boneless, like a candle that had melted into a puddle of burning wax. A tiny moan escaped her mouth, and she clutched him for support.
“Take my cape off, sweetheart,” he whispered, coaxing her legs further apart.
With shaking fingers, she unhooked the garment and watched it ripple to his feet, even as his fingers probed her femininity more intimately, testing the swollen bud of her desire. While she gasped at the kaleidoscope of sensation, he tore his cravat away and freed the buttons of his waistcoat with his other hand. With a soft curse of impatience, he turned the attention of both hands to his clothing to strip off his shoes and shirt.
He stood clad only in trousers, the firelight playing over his flesh, creating a vision of shadows and strength. The only naked male body she had ever seen was Cyrus’s, and she was awed by the differences in Lucien’s.
Chest bare, he stood more powerful, more inspiring, than Michelangelo’s David. His flesh was smooth and carved with muscle, his abdomen ribbed. A fine, soft sprinkling of hair extended across the breadth of his chest, ending at the ridge of his muscles. The downy dark hair picked up again just above his waistband, and formed a thin, intriguing line that disappeared into his pants.
Sweet heaven, Lucien was gorgeous. He was a beautifully rugged male, clearly virile enough to satisfy any woman in his bed. She had experienced the touch of his fulfilling hands and would soon know the ecstasy of his lovemaking. She bit her bottom lip nervously.
He reached for her. His palms, warm and reassuring, rested on the top curve of her hips. “Don’t bite your lip. Bring it to me so I can kiss it.”
She swallowed. Did he have any concept of the havoc he was playing with both her logic and emotions?
He closed the distance between their mouths, claiming hers in a soft, searching kiss.
“You feel wonderful,” he whispered against her skin.
She closed her eyes against the pleasure of his voice washing over her. The feel of his flesh, hard where hers was soft, aroused her. “You do, too,” she said hesitantly.
“God, sweetheart, you don’t know how much I needed to know that.”
Serena never had the opportunity to reply. Instead, Lucien lifted her onto the sheets. He didn’t wait an instant before bending to worship her breast with his tongue.
Stunned by the unexpected sensation, she grasped his shoulders. She withheld a groan, the admission of her pleasure, until his lips caressed her nipple to an aching point while his tongue paid it swirling homage.
He lifted his head and smiled at her pleasure, not the cocky smile she would have expected, but a smile of sharing. Gently, he reached up and pulled the remaining pins from her hair. The mass cascaded around her face and across her shoulders, faintly golden against the crisp white linen. She knew it was a wet, tangled mess. But Lucien’s expression said otherwise. His fingers slid through the strands with reverence.
“You are . . . beautiful,” he breathed. “That word seems so inadequate. I have never seen hair your color. At first, in the dark and the rain, I thought it merely blond. But it I see now it is more like white gold.”
She shrugged shyly. Cyrus had never said a word about her hair color, good or otherwise. “Nothing so spectacular as that. It is simply what I was born with.”
“I think it is spectacular, and on you it is perfect.”
Casting her gaze away, she smiled. “Thank you.”
Shaking his head, he lay on the bed and urged her to lie beside him, face to face. Wrapping his arms around her, his hands swept down her back and took her buttocks in his palms. He squeezed her, shifting closer, before drawing her leg over his hip. He caressed her thigh, while his lips conducted a leisurely sweep up her neck, then across her jawline and cheeks. When his mouth finally touched hers, a welcome succor pervaded her, mixing with a charge of desire.
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br /> He slowly ravished her with his kiss. As he did, he exposed emotions and passions trapped under the daily facade of logic. Thoughts no longer ruled her actions. Instead, when Lucien rolled her to her back, fitting his hips intimately between hers, she welcomed him with a soft gasp of pleasure. He pressed against her, the silk of his trousers rubbing her neediest spot to higher arousal. Instinctively, she lifted her hips to him.
Wordlessly, he rose. Serena watched through heavy lids as Lucien removed his trousers and drawers. Firelight played over him. The natural tone of his skin was many shades darker than her own. And Serena’s curious eyes followed that trail of dark hair she had noticed earlier. As she had suspected, the line continued downward, over his navel and lower, spreading around his stiff sex to frame it.
Her first sight of the aroused male body appeared to be what Cyrus had told her to expect, only different. This male specimen was more compelling, not only because the man himself was exceedingly well formed, but because he wanted her—and made no attempt to hide that fact.
“You’re staring,” he commented almost curiously.
With a blush Serena felt from head to toe, she said, “You’re . . . beautiful.”
Walking back toward her, he smiled. “No, only the company I’m keeping is, sweetheart.”
The mattress creaked, then sagged beneath his weight once again. Before she could breathe or speak, he kissed her once more, positioning himself on top of her. Of their own will, her legs opened for him, and with a groan, he accepted her invitation.
Awareness flooded her with pleasure. The heat of his hard chest against the softness of her breasts; the rasp of the downy hair on his legs teasing her tender inner thighs; the cadence of his breath against her neck.
Briefly, she felt his hard shaft probing the folds of her femininity. He found his mark and surged forward in one powerful thrust.
Serena gasped as a jagged bolt of pain tore through her. Gasping, she tensed as he sank deeper into her body. She cried out as the sharp pain cut her again.
One Wicked Night Page 5