A Dangerous Game

by Julia Templeton

  “And? Do you want him?”

  “This is quite awkward, Charlotte. I know the two of you are lovers.”

  Rolling her eyes, Charlotte released a heavy sigh. “We are all adults, my dear. Darian and I made love. That does not make us lovers, and believe me when I say it wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last. There are few people in your life that you will be attracted to in such a way that when they enter the room, all you are aware of is that one person. Everything else fades away, until you can think of nothing but being with him, having him, making love to him until your bones feel like hot butter.”

  “You love him?”

  Charlotte nodded, and her rouged lips curved. “We met when we were both children. Our families were good friends, and we learned early that we enjoyed each other’s company.” She winked. “We are attracted to each other, but we are far too alike to be together, and I knew that loving him would be folly for me. I always knew he would marry someone younger than myself, a virgin from a good family. My father had lost our fortune by the time I had come of age. Thank goodness Charles did not care about money and asked for my hand because he loved me.”

  Nicolette sat down and motioned for her friend to do likewise. “And, did you love him?”

  “I cared for Charles, and in time I grew to love him, but in a different way than conventional love. He was more than twice my age, and in truth, he treated me more like a pet than a wife. We rarely made love, and he never guessed that I kept lovers. I would never openly hurt him, and I was always discreet. That is until Darian came along.” She ran a finger along the embroidered edge of a pillow. “It was the night of the countess’s fiftieth birthday and Darian had been off to travel the globe after university.” Charlotte’s smile was melancholy. “When I saw him, I swear to you, Nicolette, that my heart literally slammed to a stop. He caught my gaze from across the room, and I felt that wicked grin all the way to my soul.”

  Nicolette knew exactly how she felt—for that’s how she felt when she saw Salvatore.

  “Within an hour we were in the drawing room making love. The intensity of that moment still makes my heart leap.”

  Nicolette could very well imagine. Just as her heart had leapt this afternoon when Salvatore had touched her....

  “It was the first time we had made love, and I knew that once would never be enough. We were so young...and so wild.” Charlotte took on a faraway look. “Charles walked in on us, and I shall never forget the expression on his face. He was so hurt I could do nothing, laying there, my gown up around my waist, my lover between my thighs.”

  “What did you do?”

  “As horrible as it sounds, the minute the door closed we continued, making love with an intensity I have since never experienced. In truth, I think it made Darian even more aroused to have Charles catch us.” She sighed. “That night I knew that Darian would always have a piece of my heart. No one else can make my blood stir the way that man can.”

  “What did your husband do?”

  “When Darian and I finished, I walked directly to my husband’s side, and he behaved like he had not witnessed his adoring wife making love to another man.” Charlotte shook her head. “I swear to you, Nicolette, Charles did not treat me any differently. He still treated me with open adoration and doted on me. Not once, even on his deathbed, did he bring up my infidelity. I love him even more for having done so.”

  Nicolette thought Charlotte’s husband a saint. She did not know of any man of her acquaintance who would be so forgiving, particularly walking in on the act itself. Darian should have been called out in a second.

  “Would you marry Darian now if he asked you?”

  Charlotte’s brows furrowed. “Nic, you are daft. Darian would never marry me.”

  “Perhaps if it were his choice, he would.”

  Charlotte laughed, but for all the humor in her eyes, Nicolette also sensed an infinite sadness. Nicolette herself knew what it was to love a man who would never truly be hers. Darian loved her, that much was true, but he would not, for whatever reason, give his heart to Charlotte—much like Salvatore would never give her his heart. He thought love a fickle notion, left for poets and novelists.

  Standing, Charlotte shook her head. “What I don’t understand is why I am telling you all this, especially about the man who was hiding in your room.”

  “I don’t want him, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “You want Salvatore, am I right?”

  Nicolette nodded. “You know I do.”

  Charlotte extended her hand to Nicolette. “Then you shall have him. I shall help you into bed, and then I will get Salvatore to come check on you in a little while. Tell him you do not feel well and that you would like him to lay down beside you and keep watch over you.”

  “He will know that you lie.”

  Chuckling under her breath, Charlotte smiled wickedly. “You forget, my friend, that I know men well. We women are devious creatures when we want to be. A man needs to know that a woman depends on him for his strength and security.”

  “He does?”

  She nodded. “Salvatore knows that you need him—that goes without saying. He watches you constantly, making sure that you are all right. I swear during dinner he paid more attention to your conversation than his own.”

  “He does it out of habit. I’ve depended on him my entire life. When my mother died, I had no family. The madam wanted to send me to a nunnery, but Salvatore and his mother refused.”

  “Was his mother kind?”

  Nicolette smiled, remembering the gypsy woman with olive skin and gorgeous silky hair—much the same color as Salvatore’s. “She was kind, but rarely there when we needed her. Salvatore and I had our own room, up in an old attic space that had one time been used as a closet. We were glad to have it, and each other.”

  Charlotte began unbuttoning Nicolette’s gown. “No wonder you love him like you do.”

  Nicolette smiled, and allowed the older woman to undress her until she stood in nothing save her chemise.

  Charlotte motioned toward the vanity. “Sit and let me brush out your glorious hair.”

  Nicolette felt a bit odd having her new friend fawn over her. She had never had a relationship with a woman, even her mother had been distant. In truth, she had starved for such affection, but instead had received pats on the head by the whores of the boarding house, where she had been looked upon as more of a hindrance than anything.

  When finished, Charlotte set the brush down and pinched Nicolette’s cheeks.

  “That hurt,” Nicolette said, frowning at her friend in the mirror.

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Beauty takes work, my dear. Men think it comes naturally. If only they knew how we toiled before the mirror. Look at you, Nicolette. There is not a man in all of England who would not want you.” She dabbed rose oil behind her ears.

  Nicolette looked at herself in the mirror and saw a stranger. Her hair, which she usually plaited before sleep, shone silky and bright, and her eyes looked enormous in her face. Her cheeks were pink, her lips as well. Charlotte leaned forward and yanked on the chemise, bringing the neckline down and exposing the tops of the firm globes of her breasts. Her nipples nearly rose above the lace collar.

  “Now lay down. I shall go inform Salvatore that you are not well, and that I had been sitting with you but must be off to bed myself.”

  “But what if Darian comes back?”

  Charlotte lifted a brow. “I will make sure he is kept busy.” She smiled. “Now remember, you are the temptress. Let him believe you need him, and then weave your spell over him. I guarantee it works every time.”

  The door closed behind Charlotte, and Nicolette immediately blew out the candle.

  The door across the hall had no more closed when suddenly there was a tap at the door, and
it opened.

  With heart pumping loudly, Nicolette feigned sleep.

  The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and suddenly she felt a hand on her forehead. She slowly opened her eyes. “Salvatore, what are you doing here?”

  “Shh,” he said, his brows furrowed in concern. Through the window, the light from the moon shone upon his features, and her heart gave a jolt. His cheekbones jutted out as he pursed his lips, a habit when he concentrated. Still dressed as he was earlier, save for his jacket, she realized he had been on the alert, waiting for midnight.

  “Charlotte said you were not well? I wondered at the duck that had been served. It did not taste right. Perhaps that is what makes you ill?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Your cheeks look flushed, though it is hard to tell with no light.”

  “Lay beside me.”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  Thankfully, he did not ask about Darian, and instead kicked off his boots and lay down beside her. He lay flat on his back, and she inched closer to him, nuzzling against him, laying her head on his shoulder, and a hand on his chest. She could feel the unsteady beating of his heart against her palm, and wondered if she was the cause of it.

  He ran his hand through her hair, and her eyes closed. “Tell me if you feel like you will be sick.” He sat up a little. “Perhaps I should get a basin—”

  “No, do not leave me.”

  He lay back down and she closed her eyes, relaxing.

  For long minutes she lay still, not daring to move, taking in the feel and scent of him. How comforting it was to have him near. How many times had they lain like this? Hundreds, yet now it seemed so different. He seemed so different.

  It wasn’t until she heard his even breathing did she dare open her eyes. Expecting him to be asleep, she instead found him watching her.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, his eyes searching hers.

  “You didn’t.”

  “Do you need the basin?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  He nodded. “Close your eyes. Sleep.”

  She could not sleep if she wanted to. Not with him near. If she could have her way, she would stay like this for eternity. She reached up and ran her finger along his jaw. The muscles in his shoulder contracted beneath her cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

  The sides of his lips curved in a soft smile. “You do not need to thank me.”

  “I know I don’t need to, but I want to.”

  He swallowed hard, his gold eyes unwavering.

  Nicolette turned her face and kissed his neck. He tasted salty, yet sweet, and she kissed at the pulse that beat wildly in his throat, then further up by his ear.

  “Nicolette?” The word was questioning, yet warning her at the same time.

  “Shh,” she said, kissing his clenched jaw and high cheekbone. Her hand wandered from his chest, to his stomach, splaying there against the hard planes of muscle. His stomach tightened beneath her fingertips and his breath left him in a rush.

  “Nicolette—”

  She kissed him, her lips opening, her tongue seeking entrance. He did not disappoint, and with a moan, pulled her on top of him, his hands moving down over her back, her buttocks, a hand weaving through her hair, anchoring her there.

  Her heart soared to the heavens, feeling the hard evidence of his desire against her stomach. His hand pulled the chemise up, his fingers stroking a path up her bare hip. With a growl he sat up, bringing her with him. He wrenched the chemise up and over her head, and tossed it aside. She sat astride him, naked as the day she’d been born, and his hot gaze swept over her possessively.

  He opened his mouth as though to say something, but she shook her head, and instead ripped the shirt from his pants and brought it up and over his head, to join her chemise on the floor. With a deep-throated moan, he reached up and pulled her face down to his.

  The feel of his chest against her breasts was nothing short of heaven, and as he kissed her hard, she shifted her hips. She wanted him inside her.

  He immediately stilled her hips with his hands. “Not yet.”

  Not yet? He would not deny her this time.

  She nodded in agreement and with a wicked smile he rolled over, until he had her pinned beneath him. His long hair felt like silk on her breasts and shoulders, his lips tasting sweeter than any candy. The feel of his hard shaft pulsing against her heated center felt almost too good to be true.

  Salvatore ignored the warning bells going off in his head. He knew he should not be here, doing this, with her. Yet he could not force himself to walk away again. Earlier today he had almost taken her, and she would have let him. Tonight she had planned to make love to his brother, but fate had intervened. When Charlotte had knocked on his door, his heart had dropped to his toes thinking that it might be Nicolette, and that he had been too late. Instead, the widow had told him Nicolette had fallen ill and aside from the sudden flash of concern, he felt vast relief.

  With his knees, he nudged Nicolette’s thighs apart. His cock pressed against her woman’s center—the only thing between them was the fabric of his pants.

  She lifted her hips, seeking, needing. Her hands stroked his back, up and down, over his shoulders, her fingers splaying, holding onto him like she was drowning, only to move down over his back to his waist, and then to his buttocks.

  Sweat beaded his brow as she spread her thighs wider, cradling him, seeking his hard length.

  “Make love to me,” she whispered against his lips.

  With heart pounding nearly out of his chest, Salvatore rolled off her long enough to divest himself of his pants and drawers. It gave him a few seconds to bring some semblance of calm to the heated frenzy he had started. Nicolette watched him, and as he moved over her again, he could see the relief in her eyes, the heated passion, the desire.

  His cock, already thick and long, grew painfully hard. How he wanted to bury himself deep inside her, but he wanted her to remember this. To be ready for him. He kissed her lips, then trailed a path down her jaw, near her ear, down her long, swan-like neck.

  The pulse there beat in triple time, her back arching off the mattress, offering her firm breasts to him. He lowered his head and flicked his tongue against one rose-colored nipple. Nicolette inhaled sharply and he hid a smile while his hand splayed upon the other breast. Her fingers wove through his hair, anchoring him there, her silent panting spurring him on, causing his need to reach a fever-pitch.

  His hand slid from her breast, over her quivering stomach, down to the patch of downy hair between her thighs. His fingers stroked the dewy folds, teasing the sensitive pearl with his thumb, while inserting a finger into her tight, hot channel.

  Her honeyed walls hugged him snugly, and as he moved his finger in and out of her, her hips undulated, questing his touch.

  He kissed her hard, his other hand finding hers, bringing it to their sides, splaying her fingers with his own until they entwined. He looked down into her face, into her trusting eyes. “We cannot go back once we do this.”

  “I want you,” she whispered, her eyes searching his face. He nodded, kissed her, then guided his cock into her.

  Sweat beaded his brow. Her tight channel squeezing his length, her hips lifting, questing, wanting more of him.

  “This will hurt only for a moment.”

  She nodded, and with a single thrust, he broke her maidenhead and filled her to the womb.

  She bit down on his shoulder and he welcomed the pain. He did not dare move. Instead, he savored the feel of her heat surrounding him, adjusting to the intrusion. God she was so tight, hugging him like a hot, clenched fist.

  Her hands had clasped his back, and now her fingernails dug into his shoulders. She slightly shifted her hips, and he needed no more encouragement. Wit
h slow, steady strokes he began to move, watching her face as he increased the tempo.

  Her hands on his shoulders relaxed, her eyes widened and her lips parted.

  Kissing her, his tongue mirrored the movement of his body, and he could feel her smile against his lips, could feel her body quickening as her fingernails dug into his shoulders. “Oh,” she said, her breath leaving her in a rush, her heels digging into the mattress as she lifted her hips.

  Her sheath tightened and throbbed around him, squeezing him until he followed behind, with an orgasm that left him reeling.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nicolette made her way downstairs, only to find the dining room empty, save for the servants clearing away dishes. “Where are the others?” she asked a passing footman.

  “The majority of the guests have gone afield. An archery contest of sorts, my lady. If I may be so bold as to say that the majority of the women are taking this quiet time to handle correspondence or catch up on their reading.”

  Having no desire to do either of those things, Nicolette thanked the man and rushed outdoors. Following the boisterous voices toward the back of the manor, Nicolette’s gaze swept the fifty guests, looking for one man in particular.

  Her heart gave a wild jolt seeing Salvatore, standing not ten feet from Darian, both men standing with feet askance, bow pulled back, their target in the far distance.

  Salvatore loved archery. He came naturally to it, since he excelled at darts, a game he played to while away the long hours in their attic room.

  At the signal, both men released, and Nicolette clapped with delight seeing Salvatore the winner, his arrow hitting directly in the giant red center.

  He smiled graciously to the crowd, and then accepted his brother’s handshake. How similar the two men were. Very strange for having been brought up in such different surroundings.

  Nicolette approached the gathering, her breath lodging in her throat when Salvatore looked up and caught her gaze. His golden eyes roved over every inch of her before settling on her face again. He smiled softly.