"Natalie…"
His voice sounded pained, intense as he traced her lips with his thumb. She focused on his eyes so close to her own and gave in to the force between them at last, exposing her feelings to him through her soft expression, showing him exactly what she knew he'd wanted to see for so long, what he'd always hoped was there.
"I know, Jonathan," she said passionately.
That startled him; she saw it in the widening of his eyes, heard it in the quick rush of breath from his lips. Comprehension filled him, and in a choked voice, he whispered, "Wrap your legs around me."
She moved them up and down the outside of his thighs just once and then encircled him tightly, placing her free hand on the back of his neck, caressing the curls on his chest with the other.
He poised himself for a second time at the hot, slick center of her, then gazed through her eyes to touch the warmth of her soul. "I swear to you, my darling Natalie, that I will never hurt your heart for giving me everything you are."
Tears overcame her, and with that he covered her mouth with his, tensed his body, and drove himself deeply inside of her.
She felt a half second of pressure. Then sharp pain gripped her from the inside, causing her to arch against him as she dug her nails into his skin. He clung to her tightly, his hands firmly holding her face, his mouth on hers, blocking the cry from her lips. He didn't move his body at all but remained perfectly still, encased in her.
Natalie tried to breathe deeply, to concentrate on the gentleness of his mouth and the heat of his hard, masculine form covering hers. Within seconds the pain began to lessen, and she once again became conscious of her surroundings—of the soft quilt beneath her, the fragrance of roses in the air, of Jonathan's warm body joined intimately with hers, the familiar feel and scent of his skin.
A tear trickled down to her temple, and he wiped it away with his thumb. Then as he felt her gradually relax, he began to intensify the kiss again, massaging her scalp with his fingers in her hair, prying her lips apart with his tongue and a flourishing eagerness to invade.
Natalie caressed his neck and chest with her fingers, kissing him back at last as she moved her mouth in time with his. Within moments his breathing grew shallow again, and very slowly he attempted to pull out of her.
She winced, stiffening beneath him.
He stilled from her response. "Tell me if it hurts," he whispered against her mouth.
She nodded, and he waited, straining from the urge to move, his features taut. He reached for her breast, running one hand down her shoulder until he covered the waiting peak with his palm, rotating his hand over it, teasing the nipple with his fingers.
Natalie succumbed to the touch, her body coming alive again as desire sparked anew. She ran her tongue along his lips, savoring the feel of him inside of her as his hands and mouth coaxed her body toward a delicious crest of a marvelous satisfaction. Sensing her need, feeling her respond, he gently attempted to glide out of her once more. And as before she cringed from another stab of acute discomfort.
"Jonathan…"
He paused for her again, and Natalie recognized, perhaps only dimly, how incredibly difficult it was for him to do this. His breathing was labored, his muscles tense, his body hot. He kneaded her breast with one hand, brushed her cheek with the fingers of the other, kissed her mouth with an aching determination. He was so gentle and giving and patient, and she wanted so badly to please him.
She began stroking his neck and shoulders, raking her fingers through the curls on his chest, caressing his legs with her feet and toes. She kissed him back fully at last, flicking her tongue across his top lip and then opening for him as he searched for hers. Finally, through the strength of their passion, she felt her own instinctive urge to move.
She rotated her hips beneath him, and he moaned low in his throat, reacting with an eagerness as heavy as her own. Slowly he slid out of her and then back in once, and she stiffened again from the tightness.
Natalie felt her first real flicker of failure. He sensed this in her, too, for he released her mouth and lowered his forehead to rest against hers.
"You move," he said huskily.
She licked her lips, unsure if she'd heard him correctly, trying to grasp coherently what he was telling her. Then he rubbed her nipple between his forefinger and thumb, fanning the fire, and she instinctively lifted her hips against him again.
"Yes…" he whispered. "Move any way it feels good for you."
"Will that work?" she asked through a hesitant breath.
He dropped small kisses on her eyebrows and cheeks, her temple. "It will work perfectly."
Unsureness caused her to pause, and then he started a trail of delicate kisses down her throat and chest—soft touches from warm lips to hot skin. He raised himself up slightly, brushed his lips back and forth across her nipple, then circled it slowly with his tongue, and failure was forgotten.
She gave a small sigh of raw desire, closing her eyes, tilting her head back, her hands flat on his shoulders. And without thought of perfection, she pushed against his body with her hips—first once, then again, gently enough not to provoke any movement from him. He made no sound, but his muscles flexed beneath her fingers, and she knew she affected him by even that small action.
He took her nipple into his mouth once more—to taste and suck and flick with his tongue, his free hand stroking the other, and the instinct within her finally took over. She widened her knees, pushed herself into him, and slowly started circling her hips against his.
She felt pressure at first, but he didn't move, and gradually she picked up the pace as the ache between her legs diminished.
He continued to tease her breasts with his hand and mouth—stroking, caressing, holding back his own impulse to proceed to the height of satisfaction with driving force.
She pulled her fingers up his cheek, her skin tingling from the marvelous sting of his day-old beard, moving her hips faster, pushing harder against him, keeping her eyes closed and imagining Jonathan inside of her, taking her to a wondrous peak of fulfillment.
A soft groan escaped him then, which pleased her because she knew she was doing it right. He pulled his mouth from her breast, kissing her neck and chest as he leaned up to face her once more, skimming her arm with his fingertips before raking them through her hair again to cup her head in his palms.
Her heart pounded; her pulse raced as she moved faster and harder, now rocking her body against his with a building fever.
"Natalie…"
She opened eyes drugged with desire to the darkness of his. He watched her, absorbed in her actions, his breathing shallow, and yet leaving all movement to her. The moment was delicious and sensual and satisfying, and growing in brilliance. And he knew.
"I've dreamed of you for years, Natalie."
She rocked into him, whimpering. He took her hand, lifting it to his lips, brushing each finger against them.
"I've dreamed of this night," he disclosed in a voice urgent with need. "I've dreamed of making love to you, of being inside of you, of taking you to a place you've never been, of watching you discover it with me."
She whispered his name in a daze of wonder. He ran his tongue up her middle finger, taking it into his mouth, sucking it.
And that put her over the edge. She cried out for him as she ignited in a blaze of ecstasy, in a glorious climax made perfect by him, made perfect with him, like their beginning together only infinitely more beautiful because he was taking her with him this time.
He leaned over to kiss her mouth, tensing his body as her spasms inside pulled at him, as she rocked against him and tightened her grip on him with her thighs.
"Oh, God, Natalie, I've dreamed of this," he said in a rough whisper, his lips against hers, holding her head with strong hands. "I've dreamed and dreamed…"
He gave in to the moment and let himself go. Groaning from deep in his chest, his head shot up, and he drove his hips into hers, grinding them, rotating them against her as he m
atched her rhythm, his eyes squeezed shut, fingers tight in her hair.
Natalie watched him find his pleasure in her, mesmerized, feeling the power of him radiating through her, holding him firmly against her as his body shuddered violently from the strength of his release.
Finally he eased in his effort and lowered himself back onto her, his heart thundering next to her own, his breathing erratic and fast. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling fully, touching her skin with tender kisses as she gradually slowed the movement of her hips until she stilled completely.
They lay joined together for minutes as her pulse returned to normal, as she slowly drifted back to reality, to the consideration of where they were and what they'd done. She moved a little, and he felt it, shifting his body to take the weight off.
She kept quite still, placing her palms on his back. He didn't appear to want to leave her immediately, and so she allowed him to caress her, taking comfort in the closeness. At last she felt him move to his left and slowly slide out of her. He turned onto his side and sat up a little as he reached behind them to pull down the quilt.
"Jonathan—"
"Shh…" He touched her lips with his fingertips. "Sleep with me, Natalie. Let me hold you."
She obeyed without argument, partly because she couldn't think of anything comfortable to say to him, but mostly because she realized he was giving her time to adjust to all that had just happened. He reached over to dim the lamp, then lifted his body and pushed the quilt under both of them so that they lay directly on the sheet. Then he encircled her waist, drew her against him, and covered them both, wrapping his arms around her body, clinging to her, his face in her hair, breath on her cheek.
"Everything's changed, Jonathan," she whispered.
He sighed and snuggled into her. "Yes, it has."
She remained silent after that, listening to the slight rumble of voices downstairs until they dissipated as guests retired for the evening. He never moved, and after a while his breathing grew slow and even, and she knew he'd fallen asleep.
Natalie gently rolled over, careful not to wake him. Sleep eluded her as she stared vacantly at the open windows, hearing the rustle of leaves outside, feeling the cool, nighttime breeze on her bare arms and cheeks.
She had become exactly what she despised in her mother. She had fallen victim to her desires and had given Jonathan everything. Yet none of it was his fault. She'd begged him to take her to France, she'd slept in the same bed with him when she should have insisted against it, she'd worn her hair down so indecently. But more than all of that she had started the kissing in the garden that had led to the end of her innocence. This was her fault because she could not control her desires, and he was her weakness.
Choking back tears, she carefully sat up, then stood and walked across the cold floor to her trunks. She felt a slight trickle of fluid between her thighs, and it filled her with a sudden, furious shame. He was a man, and his passions guided him. But she was a properly raised lady. Her upbringing was supposed to protect her from sexual hunger, and yet it only made her feel guilty when she followed her physical instincts. She had wanted him desperately, desired him still, and yet she would never be his mistress.
Quietly Natalie lifted the lid to one of her trunks, reached in for her nightgown and pulled it over her head. Since she had nowhere else to go for the moment, she returned to his side and gazed down at his face only dimly illuminated by a trace of moonlight.
He was beautiful to her and always had been. He was the center of all of her dreams and yet he could never be hers because she would never be able to trust him with her heart. Regardless of what he'd said during the heat of passion, she knew he'd grow bored with her in time. He would move on to another, and she would be left with the pain—the jealousies and the wounds that would never heal.
Natalie eased between the sheets once more, avoiding his touch as she turned away from him to stare at the darkened wall. In the few weeks that she'd been with Jonathan in France, she'd cried more than she had in the last five years. Now she closed her eyes and allowed the tears to slide silently down her face once again, staining the pillow beneath her.
* * *
Chapter 15
« ^ »
Natalie opened her eyes to a direct stream of sunlight sulking her face. She blinked and squinted at the invasion, unsure of where she was. Then memory flooded her as she recognized the soreness between her thighs. She turned her head to the left to find Jonathan staring at her, propped up on one arm, his cheek in his palm.
"I love your hair," he said contemplatively, lacing it through his fingers as it cascaded across the pillow.
She groaned softly, pulling her gaze from the starkness of his to take a sudden interest in the tiny plum rosebuds painted on the ceiling. "I should have worn it up."
He drew his thumb lingeringly across her hairline from her forehead to her temple. "I prefer it down."
"If I had worn it up, nothing indecent would have happened last night," she clarified with a small shake of her head.
His lips curled in faint amusement. "What we did last night would have happened if you were bald, Natalie."
She squirmed a little, peeking at him through her lashes, placing her hands on her stomach and locking her fingers together. His eyes skimmed her nightgown as if he'd just come to wonder why she'd put it on, then he leaned forward to brush his lips back and forth along her cheek.
"Are you all right?" he whispered.
She nodded fractionally.
When she added nothing more, he pressed for detail. "What are you thinking?"
His voice suggested concern over what she was feeling, but she couldn't allow herself to consider his worries. Instead, she glanced back to the ceiling and said dryly, "That we missed dinner, that everyone heard us because the windows were open, and that it was much more work than I was told to expect."
He grasped her chin and turned her head so she had no choice but to look into his smiling eyes. "You were the most scrumptious dinner I've ever had. If anyone heard anything they'd simply assume we were doing what married couples do, and next time I'll do most of the work."
Her cheeks grew hot as she blushed deeply, trying to sit up.
He grabbed her around the waist to hold her against the bed. "Who told you what to expect?"
"Jonathan—"
"Who?"
With a tight throat, she answered, "Amy."
His brows pinched with his now-crooked grin. "Amy, your ever-valuable, sneaky, lying maid informed you of the intimate happenings between men and women?"
"Yes."
"I shall have to thank her for all she's done for us."
That subdued her, although she wasn't sure why exactly. "You'd be thanking her for nothing," she informed flatly. "She told me I wouldn't have to do anything but wait for my husband to finish and that it would never last more than ten minutes."
Now he was thoroughly amused. "I promise, where we are concerned, it will always take longer than ten minutes."
Natalie boldly held his gaze. He was lingering on the assumption that they would be doing this again, and if she allowed that to go on, she'd start believing it herself.
She shook her head with determination, her lips thinning against an impending argument. "We will not be doing this again, Jonathan."
He didn't argue at all. Rather, he mildly offered, "I gather, when describing the activities of the marriage bed, Amy didn't tell you it happens more than once."
She stiffened and he held her tighter. "This is not a marriage bed."
He stared hard at her for a moment, then leaned into her and touched his lips to her cheek, gliding them across her skin in soft, sensual strokes. "I suppose in the most legal sense it's not."
"We're not married," she insisted.
"Not legally, no."
She wanted to say, "How factual you are," but his warm, broad chest pressed against her arm, his rich, male scent filled her senses, his mouth on her skin made her tingle, and this
could only lead to trouble. "Jonathan, behave yourself or you'll not see the emeralds again."
She'd tried to be stern in warning, but it didn't exactly come out that way—more like a tease, although it had the desired effect.
Reluctantly he lifted his head. "Ahh … the emeralds." With great exaggeration he fell back flat against the bed. "I forgot about the emeralds."
Natalie huffed in feigned disgust. "That seems rather stupid for a thief of your caliber."
"You've captivated me, Natalie," he admitted through a sigh, teasing her in return as he gazed to the ceiling. "I've lost all sense of time and constraint."
She didn't know whether to laugh or hit him. Instead, she fidgeted with the quilt, pushing it down to her waist as her body grew warm beneath it. "You've apparently lost all sense of propriety as well."
His eyes shot back to her face, his countenance sobering. "I knew exactly what I was doing last night."
She softened her voice, attempting at once to return to the point. "Then I hope the memory of it is enough to placate your desire and you can at last get to the business of finding my mother's letters for me. That is, in fact, why we're here."
He gaped at her, seemingly bewildered. Then he slowly shook his head. "Natalie, I desire you so badly that I'm in pain this very second. The only reason I'm not ripping off that silly nightgown to take you again is because of the pain it would cause you. I imagine you're quite sore."
She heard birds chirping in the distance, smelled flowers and the lingering fragrance of a midnight rain, and yet suddenly everything washed from her mind but the drowning humiliation of the brazen behavior she'd shown him the previous night. Abruptly she turned to sit up, and this time he released her without question.
Stiffly she dangled her legs over the edge of the bed and stared at the wall in front of her. "Time is short, Jonathan. I need you to find my mother's letters so we can return to England."
Thick tension saturated the air, and for seconds he said nothing. Then she heard him rustle the sheets behind her as he adjusted his body to face her back.
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