Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 03]

by Duke Most Wanted

  Her borrowed shirt lay pooled on the floor at her feet. She knelt, awkward in her haste, to pull desperately at the wad of linen. It tangled instantly in her hands, of course, then blurred completely. She stopped pawing at it and let her head drop to her bent knees, her eyes burning in defeat and humiliation.

  Sophie Blake had done it again.

  God, she hated Sophie Blake.

  “Ah . . . Sophie . . .”

  She flinched at Graham’s voice. “Never speak of this. Ever.”

  “Sophie—”

  She flung up a hand, her head still bowed. “I’m serious, Graham.”

  “God damn it, Sophie, untie me this instant!”

  It was a rasping whisper, not a bellow, but it had much the same effect. Startled, Sophie overbalanced completely, sprawling on the carpet in a tangle of coverlet and nudity.

  From where he lay on the bed, Graham saw a stunning flash of long elegant limbs leading up to a deliciously pert bottom, all bound in porcelain skin and amber silk. The momentary glimpse of sinuous waist and small, high perfect breasts came as a delightful second course as she scrambled to cover herself with the shimmering curtain of her ginger hair. The erotic jolt to his already taxed self-control made his eyes glassy and his breath come short.

  Then he clenched his eyes shut against the sight of Sophie—his Sophie!—naked on the carpet of his bedchamber.

  When he felt cold fingers fumbling at his bonds, he dared to crack one eye open—no, no good. She’d bound herself so tightly in the coverlet that her bosom pressed high, right into his vision as she leaned over him to reach the bedpost opposite. Praying that God would have mercy on him and dilute his raging erection sometime in the next several seconds, he kept his eyes dutifully shut against all the things he should not be seeing.

  That didn’t help against all the things he should not be feeling, like the way she pressed one knee between his in order to reach across, spreading his thighs apart and ensuring that the dragging silk of the coverlet swept across his swollen cock with her slightest movement.

  Or the way her skin smelled of plain soap and water—practical, no nonsense Sophie—and how that crisp scent did absolutely nothing to hide the darker perfume of heated, aroused woman.

  Would he ever be able to smell soap again without an immediate rush of heat to his groin?

  Would he ever be able to look at Sophie in her demurely sweeping skirts and not remember how long and lean her thighs were, or how her small breasts were topped with the most delicious ruby pink nipples he’d ever have the pleasure to dream fruitlessly about for the rest of his life?

  And what about that age-old question, the one pondered by men the world over, the one he’d shut his eyes before answering to his satisfaction—were the silken curls between those lovely thighs composed of the same ginger gold as on her head?

  It might not be too late to find out.

  Lecher.

  Oy! I’m the one tied up here. It wouldn’t be my fault if I had to open my eyes, just for a second, and the silk slipped again, just for a second—do you think she’d drop it again if I startle her?

  Reprobate. This was Sophie.

  Yeah, I know. Naked, damp, stunningly assembled Sophie . . . in my bedchamber in the middle of the night of her own volition. Who’d know?

  He would.

  Well, there’s that. And I suppose Sophie might remember it as well. I suppose I’ll just have to list this one under “Opportunity Missed.”

  Bloody right.

  It’s a pretty short list. I’m not actually all that honorable, you know.

  He was now.

  Am I going to keep this inner argument up for long?

  Only until she finished untying him and was safely off the bed.

  Good, because the old pistol is pretty close to firing.

  Don’t remind me.

  Then he felt the loss of her heat and scent and felt her slight weight leave the mattress, mere seconds from causing him to embarrass himself rather thoroughly. His hands, now unbound, were still clenched in fists of sheer will not to touch her. He kept them that way as he slitted his eyes to make sure she was safely away.

  She was across the room with her back pressed to the door and her bundle of shirt and coverlet clutched protectively before her. Her head was turned, her face hidden by shadow, her hair reflecting the coals with copper glints. She looked both fierce and captive, furious and demoralized.

  Sweet stubborn Sophie.

  Delicious Sophie.

  This was, indeed, a pickle.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Graham threw back the remaining covers and swung one leg over the edge of the bed, putting one foot to the floor. At his sudden motion, she startled like a deer.

  And like a deer, long-legged in its fright, she scrambled suddenly for escape.

  He tackled her, catching her in mid-flight and swinging her around to trap her against the door, his hands pinning her wrists over her head. He didn’t wish to hurt her but he knew that if she made it out of the room, her imagined rejection would harden to stone and become permanent in that stubborn mind of hers.

  She struggled fiercely, writhing against him. She wasn’t weak but he merely used his big body to capture her resistance. Pressing her to the door, he laughed. “Play nice, Sophie. Don’t force me to tie you up!”

  She went perfectly still but her heart began to race next to his. He felt her nipples harden in a blink, poking into his pectorals like faceted rubies. An image filled his mind of Sophie, clad in something skimpy and trimmed in lace, her long, elegant limbs tied spread-eagle on his giant bed, blindfolded and submissive while he had his wicked way with her over and over again. His cock hardened, pressing to her belly with only the silk of the tenuously lingering coverlet between them.

  Would she like that? The faint sound that came from her throat made him think perhaps she might.

  I am surely going to hell.

  Then enjoy the ride. Grab the reins and race into the night. Stop stalling and fidgeting and pretending there is anyone else in the world you could spend your life with. Mount and ride, lad.

  Could it be that easy?

  Why . . . yes, it could.

  His conflict melted away like snow in the sunlight. He had no choice. She had, with one act, quite efficiently decided the matter for him, hadn’t she?

  Thank God.

  With nothing more than a slight movement away from her, he let the meager obstacle of the coverlet slip from between them, leaving her bare and shivering and completely in his power.

  Or perhaps it was the other way around.

  Without setting her free, he took another step back and gazed at her nakedness frankly. Even in the firelight he could tell she was blushing furiously.

  Sophie shut her eyes tightly and waited. She’d humiliated herself and assaulted him and now she must pay the price. As the moment lengthened and nothing else happened, she couldn’t help but twitch impatiently. She felt the gust of Graham’s laughter warm against her cheek.

  “Open your eyes, you rapist.”

  Shocked, she opened her eyes to glare at him, her mouth open to defend herself—

  He was naked. Golden and muscled, he stood mere inches from her, his chest flexed from pinning her hands, his rippling belly tight with tension, and lower still, his thick organ jutting proudly, aimed at her like an arrow in the bow.

  Oh, yes. Skewer me. Please.

  She didn’t say it out loud. She had a little self-control, at least. Only the slightest hungry whimper betrayed her.

  “What are you thinking?” His voice was low and husky.

  She tore her eyes away from that magnificent stallion part and met his gaze somberly. “I’m thinking it might not fit,” she said seriously.

  He dropped his head but not before she saw the white flash of his smile in the fire-glow. After a moment of helpless laughter, a moment she spent steaming silently, he lifted his head and gazed at her with something entirely new in his eyes.

&
nbsp; Her heart nearly stopped. The light she saw there . . . it wasn’t affection or friendship or even lust. Her lonely soul rose to expand in pure joy. She knew that light.

  She’d seen it in the mirror.

  She felt the smile grow, the one she kept mostly to herself, the one that made everyone blink so oddly and stare at her. With Graham she could show herself. With Graham she needn’t fear anything at all.

  Graham felt his breath leave him at the glory of her smile. She glowed, pinned there naked in his hands, her splendid hair adorning her nudity like a benediction. His stunning, magnificent Sophie.

  His.

  Slowly, as if he feared to break a spell, he moved closer. Knee touched knee. Thigh pressed to thigh. His rigid cock nestled in the trim softness of her belly as if coming home at last. Her high breasts pressed to his hard chest, softly giving yet firm. At last, his lips met hers.

  It was less a kiss than a promise.

  Always.

  Always was. Always would be. Love without end. His fingers relaxed from her wrists. He slid his palms down over her arms, down to her shoulders to her neck, then cupped the delicate edge of her jaw as he kissed her more deeply.

  Had any kiss ever filled him so? Had another woman’s mouth ever satisfied anything more than superficial lust?

  He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t even remember being that man who totted up the women he’d seduced in a year to determine if it had been a good one. That fellow was nothing but a watery reflection, distorted and blurred, washed away by the love of the truest, most honest woman he had ever known.

  Then she slid her cool fingers over him, from his shoulders, down his back, to cup his hard buttocks in urgent hands.

  Desire, which had never cooled but only simmered, flared once more.

  That’s when Graham realized the difference.

  Passion was about the body, the senses and the skin and the pounding blood. Love was about something much less easy, much less simple. Love was seeing someone for exactly who they were—the strong and the weak, the fearless and the vulnerable, and knowing that the sum of it all, the total of the person, was worth more than all the passion in the world. To see the truth of someone, and have them see the truth of you—that was something more rare and beautiful than any simple affair.

  Passion simply made the entire matter more exciting.

  With a single motion, he swept her up into his arms and spun them both to land on the bed, naked and tangled and laughing out loud.

  He went up on one elbow and found her face beneath all that hair, sweeping it back with one hand as he gazed into those infinite smoky eyes. “I’m marrying you tomorrow.”

  She quirked a brow. “Why not tonight?”

  He shook his head in wonder. “You’re always going to have the last word, aren’t you?”

  She grinned. “Not always. I promise, once a year I shall let you have it.”

  Ducking his head to nuzzle her into laughter, he breathed her in. “That’s all right. As long as I get the last kiss.”

  She wrapped her fingers into his hair. “I find those terms acceptable, Your Grace.”

  Then the giddiness turned golden and languid. He kissed slowly down that long exquisite neck, following the arch of it to her breastbone, pressing his lips against the heart that thudded so close. Her breasts were small but ripe, her nipples straining upward in excitement as he brushed his lips over each of them once, twice, thrice.

  She squirmed, so helplessly responsive that he resorted to pinning those writhing hips down with his hands cupped over each hipbone as he let his mouth travel onward, tasting the hollow between the arches of her ribcage, dipping his tongue into her navel, nibbling his way over the feminine swell of her taut belly until her legs churned restlessly.

  He solved that by sliding between them and tossing her calves over his shoulders. The scent of her arousal rose sweet and exciting. He dipped his head and took a taste.

  She yelped in surprise. “Graham!”

  “I’m a shocking fellow, I know,” he said soothingly. “Now, let a man work.”

  Sophie clapped her hands over her eyes in embarrassment. She knew a bit about mating from her life in the country, but she was certain this was not normal!

  Then he slid his nimble tongue into the parting of her flesh and she forgot all about her shyness. He played her like a flute. His mouth was always in motion, always with skill and control. The wet slickness of his tongue, the sharp but gentle nip of his teeth, the soothing warmth of his lips and the rough abrasion of his beard combined to tease her damp, sensitive flesh to a heated, swollen throbbing she’d never known before, not even in her own tentative exploration.

  She dropped her hands from her face to drive her fingers into his thick hair, mindlessly urging him onward with animal whimpers of excitement. Hot dark pleasure swallowed her whole. Then he slid his hands from her hips and used his thumbs to part her lower lips. This time she didn’t quiver in mortification but only obliged by opening her thighs wider in willing surrender. Please.

  His tongue found her most sensitive nub and gently rolled it, hot, wet and swollen, into his mouth. Oh yes. He sucked it softly, tenderly, flicking his tongue over the unprotected tip until she jolted in unison, shocking pleasure firing off more and more quickly until her body shook with huge tremors of unnerved ecstasy. She strained upward, tossing her head, crying out for something hot and bright and aching—

  He slid one long finger deep into her, his sudden violation swift and perfect and please, please, yes—!

  Her hands flew out to grip the sheets, clenching them, holding on for dear life as the crashing wave of rapture overwhelmed her, tossing her high into the stars to fall madly, helplessly, wildly. She dimly heard her own keening but didn’t care. She was nothing but white-hot sensation—burning alive—the combustion of her willing, obedient flesh the only possible outcome.

  So be it. She would gladly die at the hands of her lover, her love . . .

  Yet her heart continued to pound and at last the breath returned to her lungs. Her body still trembled, damp and quivering as she panted in confusion.

  Graham returned to her and took her into his arms, holding her gently while the tremors racked her still. Suddenly shy, she buried her face in his chest and fought to catch her breath.

  “What . . . was that?”

  She felt rather than heard his understanding chuckle. “That was your first orgasm, I think.”

  Rubbing her face into his hot skin, she moaned in embarrassment. “I think I made noise.”

  “No, not at all,” he reassured her. “Not a peep. Silent as a mouse.”

  She laughed at that. “A very large mouse. With friends. And all their tails caught in a trap!”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t worry. There’s no one here but us. You can trap as many mice as you like.”

  “Do you—”

  “Do I what?”

  She rolled her forehead against the hard muscles of his chest. “Do you trap mice, as well?”

  “Hmm.” He caught her chin in warm fingers and tipped her chin up to gaze into her eyes. “Not quite in the same way. Are you frightened?”

  She blew out a breath, stirring the strands of hair that refused to stay out of her face. “I am not. You might recall whose idea this was.”

  He smiled, but his eyes remained on hers. “I recall, dimly.” Then he sobered. “I want you desperately, but only if you’re ready.”

  She traced the chiseled edge of his cheekbone with her fingertips. “I’m ready. No matter what.”

  His eyes crinkled. “It isn’t a firing squad, Soph. It will only hurt for a moment, I promise.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, for goodness’ sake, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” She flung her arms above her head, offering herself. “Go on. Deflower me already.”

  He laughed and moved to lie above her, his long legs between hers. “Your pillow talk could use some work.”

  “What would you pref
er? ‘Oh, pray be gentle with me, manly knight! I am but a simple country maid, pure and chaste, my limbs tied shut at the knees’—”

  His brows rose. “That’s not precisely the attitude I would wish.”

  She blushed, ashamed. “I’m nervous,” she whispered. “I sometimes wax sarcastic when I’m nervous. Or break things.”

  He bent to kiss her softly, sweetly. “My darling, I want you to put your arms around me.”

  She did so, slipping them over his broad shoulders, stroking the hard muscles there. Heat stirred within her.

  He breathed warm into her ear. “Now wrap your lovely thighs around my hips.”

  Trembling now in mingled anxiety and anticipation, she did so, gripping him with her ankles crossed behind his buttocks.

  “Now kiss me,” he whispered. “Kiss me like you did against the door.”

  That she could do, eagerly. She slid her hands into his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers. She threw everything in her heart into that kiss, releasing all fear, trusting him fully.

  When his thick organ slowly began to press into her wet softness, she closed her eyes and forced back the instinct to fight the pain. Instead, she concentrated on welcoming him, loving him inside her, granting him the entry to her body she’d already given him to her heart.

  Rigid and solid and relentless, his erection pierced her slowly until she couldn’t bear it. She tossed her head from side to side, lost in gasping pleasure-pain, the moment endless, his length and width devastating her even as it stretched and defined her.

  At last he stopped, holding himself above her on his elbows, his head down, his breath coming fast as he held on, waiting for her. She began to fight the stretching pain that wouldn’t end, writhing beneath him, trying to ease the sensation that she might tear in two and die, impaled upon his massive fleshy spear.

  “Oh, hell,” he groaned. “Oh, Sophie, be still, please—”

  She couldn’t. It was too much, too thick, too deep. She clung to him with her arms and legs tight and squirmed, panting in pain and aching pleasure, unable to take him, unable to let him go.