“Yes. No. Damn these cold fingers.”
“Do you need help?” He should have bitten his tongue off.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He gave her a moment and when her litany of curses continued, he opened his eyes and lifted his head. Big mistake. Huge mistake.
Sophie stood before the fire, her back to the warming flames, her fingers at the tiny buttons that ran from the valley of her breasts almost to where he imagined her navel. It would have been marginally bearable but for the fact that the wet fabric was so sheer that he could see the tiny mole to the left of one dusky nipple.
She must have felt his stare. When she looked up, her blue eyes deepened and her hands moved to cover her chest. This just presented more problems. Only one of a good many. Now she cupped her breasts—her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled, her skin glistened. She looked every part the siren.
“I think you do require assistance.”
As she shook her head, wet hair slid over her bare shoulders and left tiny droplets on her pale skin. “I don’t. You need to sit...and...and...close your eyes.”
If there had been any strength behind the command he would have sat back down and tore his gaze from her form. But there wasn’t. Thank God.
He stepped toward her, waited for her to say no, to put a stop to what they both knew was the inevitable next step. Because he laid some claim to manners still, he gave her one more chance. “Will you let me help you?”
“It’s not a good idea,” she whispered.
“Please?” He took another step. Here he could breathe her in. Fresh rain and the soap she used to wash her hair heightened his awareness. Not that it needed it. It was almost as if the world outside this room ceased to exist the moment he’d closed the door. “Sophie?”
Slowly, so slowly that he nearly swallowed his tongue, her hands dropped to her sides, her chin rose and she nodded.
“You have to be sure,” he said as he took that final step.
“I’m sure.”
Chapter Fifteen
Truth be told, Sophie shivered less from the cold than the anticipation. It ran from her neck, down her spine, into her legs, so she felt it clear to her feet. She had to resist the urge to curl her toes against the smooth timber boards.
Right here, right now, she wanted Blake and no other man would do. She’d had to endure his close proximity for a week, touch his skin to check his wounds, tolerate his eyes on her every move. The flex and shift of his muscles fascinated her and she wanted to know how his body would react when he leaned over her, pressed her into the mattress and drove her to oblivion.
It was a bad idea. He didn’t even like her. But none of that mattered when he placed both of his huge warm hands against her flushed cheeks, tipped her head back and touched his lips to hers. At first his kiss was gentle, protective, caring; he didn’t crowd or push her.
She sighed again and leaned into him. He treated her with such reverence and she wanted to let him, but when she touched her tongue to his, the fire grew in her belly to a raging inferno and she did something no courtesan should ever do. She lost control.
Wrapping her arms around his neck and threading her fingers into his hair she pressed her body to his.
Blake tasted of brandy and rain and all things good, but kissing wasn’t enough. She’d dreamed of being in his arms ever since the morning they’d woken on the road. As much as she’d been shocked and then angry, she couldn’t help but think how far it could have gone if their angry words hadn’t ruined everything. The possibilities had kept her up night after night until she’d had to pace in the cold to dampen her desires.
“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” she finally admitted.
His hands paused on the curve of her lower back. “How many?”
She let go of him and stepped back a half pace. She took the ends of the robe’s tie in her fingers and gave them a pull until the knot unraveled. “I lost count.”
“That many?” Blake’s eyes glazed over and his intent stare shifted from her mouth to her hands. The vagueness in his question said she had his full attention.
“Hmm. Have you thought about it?” She slid the material over an inch, teasing, taunting, tempting.
“That and more.”
“How did it go in your dreams?”
“I think even you are a little too innocent to hear about my dreams, Sophie.”
She laughed. “Why, Blake, I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He pushed her hands aside. “And I do believe the time for speaking has come and gone.”
Before Sophie could fill the space with more nervous chatter, Blake pressed his mouth to hers and she forgot every moment that had come before the perfectness of this one. It was almost as if he poured his very heart into the kiss.
Together they stepped back, little tiny steps so as not to break contact. Her hands were everywhere as she traced the contours of his shoulders, his back, his neck. His hands moved over her hips, over her buttocks to tighten on her thighs, to lift her so she straddled his sex where they stood. God, he was strong. “Wait,” she managed between drugging kisses. “I want to see...”
“You’ve seen it all before,” he groaned.
Sophie pushed against his chest until she was back on her feet. “Humor me.”
With fast jerky movements, Blake ripped the robe from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor. “There, happy now?” he teased, his tone impatient.
“Not yet.” She stepped forward again, her gaze low as her hands skimmed the muscles of his stomach until they reached their goal. As lightly as she could with her fingers still numb with cold, she stroked and then cupped him. Her other hand, she wrapped around his length and tightened her grip.
“Wait,” he murmured, his voice tight with tension. “It’s not fair for me to be naked and not you.”
“I would never want to be accused of unfair play.”
Blake chuckled as he reached for her hem, the last barrier between them and certain pleasure. It was also the last barrier between friends and lovers. Sophie wanted it gone. She lifted her arms.
Her chemise landed on the floor by the door with a slap, but they both ignored it. Blake’s hands rose to mold her curves from her hips up to her breasts and back to her bottom. His callused palms did scratch, but they only served to heighten the moment, to increase the urgency, her response was instantaneous. She wrapped her arms around his neck again and pulled him until their lips crashed at the same time their bodies did. Furious need drove her as she all but climbed his body until she once again straddled him, his hands on her bottom to hold her up as he walked the last few steps toward the closest wall. Her back slammed into the cold timber and she laughed.
“God, I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Blake went to pull back, but Sophie tightened her legs, linked her ankles and nipped his bottom lip. “I’m not going to break. I can handle anything you throw at me.”
His mouth curved into a smile of challenge. “Anything?”
“Give it your best, I promise I can keep up.”
With a flex of his fingers, he parted her, pulled back and eased in until she felt so filled with him, so complete it was almost scary.
A moan crept from her lips and her head fell back.
“Are you still with me?” he asked, fingers tightening, kneading, stoking the fire, the lust between them.
“Mmm-hmm. I think so.” She gave a wriggle and took him even deeper. “Good God.”
He chuckled, but when she finally met his gaze, the strain was evident. He was holding back, holding still, protecting her.
“Too late to retreat,” she whispered.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Blake shook his head and withdrew a fraction. “But I think we would both be more comfortable on the bed.”
Before she could argue, he swung her around and, as one, they dropped to the warm quilted top. As he leaned on his hands
over her, the fire light glistening over his body, Sophie felt her first hint of panic. He was so big, he blocked out the rest of the room as his muscles corded and bunched beneath her hands as she ran them up and down, from shoulder to wrist and back again. Much the same as he did to her.
When her gaze lifted to his, he watched her, intent, unnerving. He didn’t move at all, not even a twitch. “What is it?”
“Nothing, I...” She shook her head to dispel the awful memories trying to push through the lust.
“I would never hurt you Sophie, if you want to stop, you have only to say the word.”
She linked her ankles tighter. “I don’t want you to stop, it’s just...I...”
“Spit it out, woman.”
She glared up at him. “I am always on top.”
His brows rose in question, but she shook her head. “But I actually quite like it here.”
“Only like?” came his reply. “Perhaps I need to try harder?” He withdrew almost all the way and then eased back in.
Once again he stopped her answering words with his mouth and this time she let him. Slowly, so slowly it almost hurt, he withdrew and then slid back in, the friction causing a slow burn inside her as he repeated the action over and over.
In her hazy mind, she realized he was making love to her. This was no furious coupling such that her body wanted. He was going to take his time and drive her crazy. Tears burned her eyes so she closed them, moved with him, against him. After a few minutes of the sweet torture, her body screamed for release and she needed to take control. Tensing her legs and arms, she pushed until he rolled, taking her with him.
“My methods don’t please you?” he asked with a naughty twinkle in his eye.
She leaned down and kissed him, nipped his jaw, licked the side of his neck, all the while pushing down and grinding her pelvis against his. “You might like things my way.”
She lifted, her inner muscles tensed, and then she sank down. If he could tease her by taking it slow, she could do the same.
He sat up, wrapped his arms around her and took a hardened nipple deep into his mouth, flicking the peak with his tongue until she was sorry she didn’t beg him to finish. Unless that’s what he waited for? She wasn’t ashamed. “Please, Blake.”
“You wanted control, minx.”
“Take it back. Take me.” For once, she didn’t want to be the one in control. When had he wrested that kind of trust from her?
With a growl, his arms locked behind her back and he flipped so he was once again on top, in control. The look of determination on his face sent a thrill through her. This is what she waited for.
“God, but you’re sweet,” he whispered, placing feather-light kisses along her shoulder as he withdrew and then slammed back home.
There was no time to answer, no time to argue about her sweetness, about who had control, no time for thoughts of trust or anything else as pleasure built and built inside her. It was hard enough to breathe let alone form words.
Words were unnecessary anyway. Especially between them.
* * *
Sophie’s head pounded. Her tongue lay heavy in her dry mouth. She swallowed slowly and worked to move the lump in her throat. Liquor and she had never mixed well and it seemed last night was no different. A groan next to her in the bed made her freeze to the spot, her eyes still closed. So it hadn’t been a dream? She was terrified to open her eyelids not just because she knew the light would be blinding, but what would she say to Blake?
What could she say? The only thing she knew was that she ached in places that had never ached before. Ever.
Her cheeks warmed at the memories, but even as her body tingled, her mind rebelled. What did this mean for their future?
She shook her head. They didn’t have a future. Both had been drunk and naked. Neither would have been able to walk away from that. She felt a little better knowing it wasn’t her fault even though she had been the one to instigate it. Sort of.
“I know you’re awake.” Despite the gravity of what they’d done, his husky morning voice sent shivers through her body.
“No I’m not,” she replied, her eyes still closed and her own voice pitched lower than she’d intended. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go away. Her dignity needed it in that moment.
“You’ll have to face me eventually, Sophie. I’m not going anywhere.”
That’s what she was afraid of. She sighed and opened her eyes, squinting for a moment against the harshness of the bright sunshine streaming in through the open curtains. “Good morning.” It seemed the only appropriate response.
He seemed to assess her, but for what she had no idea. And when had he dressed? She was normally such a light sleeper. It was scary that she hadn’t woken. Scarier still that she could almost imagine the past fourteen years had been a nightmare and she’d finally woken to the life she was meant to lead. With him.
“Are you all right?” Blake asked, his gaze full of concern as he leaned over her, his hair falling over his brow. She longed to reach up and run her fingers through it.
“I’m quite fine, thank you. And you? Your ribs seem to be recovering well.” She injected just a touch of wry accusation into her tone when she remembered how miraculously he’d healed last night. They’d left for the dance with him limping a little and favoring his right arm still, but when he’d thrust into her body, held himself poised above her, held her tight, it was evident his injuries weren’t as bad as he’d made them seem. “Why didn’t you tell me you were better?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t want to do too much too soon.”
He lied, but she let him. That grin that was so ingrained in him stretched his lips and she wanted him to lean down and press his mouth to hers. But that was a bad idea. A terrible idea. “What do we do now?”
“Now?”
She pulled the bed coverings tighter over her chest and sat up, forcing him to do the same. “Where do we go from here?”
“I’m going to the kitchen to get started on breakfast. I’m due at a town meeting about the bridge at midday.”
“We aren’t going to discuss what happened here?”
“I think we both know what happened here.”
Sophie wasn’t sure if he was being deliberately obtuse or stubbornly pigheaded. Maybe both. “And I think we need to talk about it. About last night as well.”
“Are they two different events?”
Sophie would have slammed her hands down on her hips if she hadn’t held the sheets in a death grip. His flippancy fueled her anger as she recalled more and more of the night before. “You know what I’m talking about. The villagers are miserable under Blakiston’s poor excuse for a rule.”
“Oh, that.” His gaze dropped and he stood, giving her his broad back.
“Yes that. What are you doing about the high taxes and levies?”
“What can I do? If you think he’ll listen to me, then you have rocks in your head.”
“So you’ll stand by and let your people be bullied?” She climbed from the bed and stood, only a blanket and sheet to hide behind.
He spun to face her, fury glittered in his eyes. “They aren’t my people, Sophie.”
“You may not be the legal duke, but they look to you. They respect your opinion and treasure your advice. You could go to Blakiston, you could get him to act.”
“You are too romantic in your observations. They ask me because I know this area better than most. They ask me because they fear my temper, not because they see me as a bastard duke.”
“You could have been a real duke.”
“I am a bastard, not a duke. Is that what this is about? Do you wish me a duke, Sophie? Do you feel as though you lowered yourself by sleeping with a commoner and a farmer at that? Should I pay you or was that one free?”
Deep inside her chest, Sophie’s heart gave one thump and then an eternity later, another, and then split in two. “That’s not fair. Not fair to me or to you.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“I didn’t mean it like that. Jesus, Sophie, you bring out the worst in me every time I’m near you.”
Her eyes pricked and burned and it was hard to push the words out. “I want you to go.”
“I will but before I do, will you tell me what is so special about your duke?”
“You won’t understand. You don’t understand anything I try to tell you.”
“So now I’m ignorant, too?” He stalked toward her.
She stepped back but not far enough, she couldn’t get away from his fury, the pain in his eyes and the rigidity of his body. They’d had this conversation already. She doubted he would listen any better now than he had then.
“Will any title do or does it have to be a duke? Is a deep purse enough? A hunting lodge and mansion on Mayfair too? What is it that makes your callers so much better than me?”
“That’s the part you’ll never understand.” Sophie tried to remain calm, tried to leash her temper and not enter yet another fray with him. But it was too late. It was inevitable. “It has nothing to do with titles, purses, hounds or horseflesh. Daemon treats me like a lady even though I’m as far from it as any woman can get. When he looks at me, he sees only me. He doesn’t see my occupation, he doesn’t see the men who have gone before him, he doesn’t even care about the dress I wear or the house I live in. He cares about me. Sophia Martin. Not the courtesan, but the woman. That is the part you will never understand.
“You’ve been so caught up on the ways in which I have changed that you haven’t actually seen the changes. This is who I am, Blake Vale. This is the woman I have become and this is the woman I want to be. St. Ives accepted that and never tried to change me. He never made me feel filthy. That is the difference between a duke and a tavern owner, between Daemon and you. He is a gentleman down to his very soul. You are a bastard through and through.”
Behind the Courtesan Page 15