To Romance a Charming Rogue tcw-4

by Nicole Jordan

  Damon shook his head as he drawled in a wry tone, “I may not have the opportunity to grow any older after tonight. My valet will have my head if I have ruined my new coat. Cornby sets great store in turning me out as a gentleman of fashion.”

  He looked little the worse for wear, she thought, other than his sable hair was more tousled than usual.

  “Then again,” Damon continued more affably, “you might rejoice at my demise.”

  “Of course I would not rejoice.” Her desire to smile vanished. She certainly did not wish for Damon's demise. She just didn't want him anywhere near her, especially when she was at such a disadvantage.

  “Seriously, Damon, you must leave. You said you didn't want to put me at risk, and your simply being in my bedchamber could cause a scandal.”

  “True, it could.” Yet instead of acceding to her request, Damon shifted his weight so he was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking as if he intended to stay put. “But I believe you owe me an apology first for accusing me so unjustly.”

  “Very well, I apologize. Now, will you please go?”

  “I fancy I deserve a better one than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you need to kiss me.”

  Eleanor's heart missed a beat. He was demanding a kiss as an apology?

  “Come here, Elle,” he murmured when she stood rooted to the floor.

  At the husky note in his voice, her mouth went dry. She absently licked her lips, and when his gaze instantly fixed on her mouth, Eleanor recalled the particular advice in Fanny's book about licking her lips to appear kissable.

  She most certainly did not want to appear kissable to Damon!

  “I am not about to kiss you,” she stated emphatically.

  “If not, you should be prepared for the consequences. I am willing to wait all night if need be.” Damon cocked his head. “What will your aunt say in the morning if she discovers I have spent the entire night with you?”

  “You are a complete and utter rake,” Eleanor said feelingly.

  “I won't deny it,” Damon replied, unchastened.

  Her exasperation rose. She should have known that getting rid of him would be difficult. Damon was the very definition of “trouble”-and the most provoking man alive.

  “I believe I have changed my mind,” she muttered. “Your demise might indeed be welcome after all.”

  “Now that is the Elle I know and love.”

  The amusement in his voice made her ball her hands into fists. “You do not love me! You never have!”

  Strangely, his expression sobered… softened even. Yet he didn't relent. “A kiss, Eleanor. That is my price for leaving.”

  Still resisting, she refused to budge. “You do realize how shameless it is to insist on kissing a woman against her will?”

  Damon's features softened even further. “It isn't shameless of me, merely tactical. I mean to remind you again of the sparks that are missing between you and your prince.”

  So that was his purpose, Eleanor thought, torn between frustration and understanding. Damon was still determined to prove how weak her attraction was for her royal suitor. And again, he was giving her no choice but to comply.

  What vexed her more, though, was how tempting she found the prospect of kissing him.

  Even worse, Damon seemed to know how she felt.

  He was watching her, his eyes bright with purpose, while the silence between them suddenly felt charged with magnetic currents.

  A tremor ran down Eleanor's spine as she felt the dizzying pull of him.

  “I am waiting, Elle,” he murmured.

  Hearing that low, sensual, velvet-edged voice only weakened her resistance further.

  Eleanor dragged in a breath. When she reluctantly moved forward, Damon took her hand and drew her between his spread legs, flush against his upper body.

  She was quiveringly aware of him… the heat of his powerful torso, the feel of her breasts pressed against his hard chest. Her nipples were pebbled and sensitive, and she had difficulty catching her breath as her heart began lurching against her ribs.

  Then he cupped her derriere, drawing her even closer, so close that his breath caressed her mouth, brushing sparks across the surface.

  But there he stopped. “Well?” Damon asked.

  “Well, what?”

  “You are to kiss me, remember?”

  He tugged her arm with enough pressure to bring her down into his lap so that she sat sideways on his hard thigh.

  Knowing he wouldn't give up until she capitulated, Eleanor pressed her lips to Damon's quickly. Even that brief contact fluttered her insides, but he frowned in disappointment.

  “As an apology, that tiny peck is hardly adequate. My wounded vanity needs soothing. It still stings something fierce.”

  “Then it will continue to sting. I wouldn't have the faintest notion how to soothe your oversized vanity.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Allow me to show you how it is properly done…”

  His hands closing on her shoulders, Damon laid Eleanor back so that she was sprawled on the bed with her lower legs still draped over his thigh.

  Caught by the mesmerizing intensity of his gaze, her pulse beating wildly in her throat, Eleanor held her breath as he slowly bent down to her and bestowed a probing kiss against her lips. When his tongue slid inside her mouth in a slow and thorough invasion, she very nearly moaned.

  Breaking off eventually, Damon lifted his head enough that he could see her face.

  “Just as I said… sparks,” he murmured, his voice decidedly more husky.

  She felt them, too… the embers exploding wildly inside her.

  Then he stopped speaking altogether and bent his head again to resume his delectable attentions.

  It was sheer madness to respond, Eleanor knew, yet she opened to him fully. How could she resist the aching need he aroused in her? How could she fight the dizzying rush she only knew with Damon? He was kissing her into submission, succeeding with each caress of his warm mouth, inciting all her yearnings all over again.

  This was every woman's fantasy, being kissed so passionately by a lover, with such devastating thoroughness. And being kissed by Damon was her own personal heaven. His lips stroked hers, playing, seducing, enticing as his tongue danced in her mouth.

  When he shifted their positions on the bed and pulled her closer against his body, she could feel him-his power and strength, the sinewed length of his legs, the breadth of his chest, the hardness of him-and she had to fight the urge to melt into a liquid puddle. Her breasts felt heavy and sensitive, while a sweet, foreign ache blossomed between her thighs.

  Then Damon deepened the pressure, kissing her as if he was determined to know every secret she held. Her pulse throbbed even harder at the feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of him.

  At the same time, he reached between their bodies and curved his long fingers over her breast, sending sensation streaking through her.

  Eleanor inhaled a sharp breath and pulled back from his magical kiss. His hand was warm and possessive on her breast, and she grasped his wrist in order to stay him.

  “Damon, that is far enough,” she said unevenly.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Is it? You like having me touch you, Elle.”

  “No, I do not.”

  “Then why can I see the points of your nipples through the lawn of your nightdress? Methinks your body is betraying you, darling.”

  She glanced down at herself. In the spill of lamplight pouring across the bed, her nipples were clearly, visibly aroused. A flush of heat rose in her cheeks. “You shouldn't be seeing me in my nightdress.”

  His mouth curved at one corner. “I would rather see you wearing nothing at all.”

  He reached for the small buttons on the front of her bodice and undid them one by one. Eleanor deplored her excitement at his brazenness, yet she couldn't make herself stop him. Not even when he moved his hand to the neckline. It was rash, it was reckless, it was thrilli
ng, to have Damon free her breasts to his heated gaze.

  His dark eyes caressed the pale swells as his fingers captured one pouting crest, teasing the furled bud with expert skill. Her eyelids drifted shut as a low moan escaped her… which only seemed to encourage him. He stroked and fondled her until she was aching. Yet apparently, that was not enough for him.

  “I want to taste you,” he murmured, his voice a husky rasp as he bent down to her.

  Eleanor made a last valiant effort to regain control of her dazed senses. “To taste me?”

  His soft breath whispered against her skin. “I am hungry for you, Elle. I'll wager nothing tastes as good as you do.”

  She pressed her palms against his shoulders to hold him away. “I cannot credit that, since you have a highly skilled chef.”

  Damon left off his seductive ministrations to glance up at her. “How do you know what kind of chef I have?”

  “Gossip.”

  “You listen to the wags gossip about me?”

  Avidly, Eleanor thought to herself. “I can scarcely help hearing when all London has been talking about you.”

  A faint smile wreathed his mouth. “Are you truly interested in discussing my chef just now?”

  “I told you I don't want to discuss anything with you.”

  “Good, then be quiet for now, love…”

  He filled both his hands with her naked breasts and lowered his head. Eleanor suddenly forgot to breathe. Damon had never taken such liberties before…

  His warm lips sent a sweep of sensation surging over her skin, but when he grazed her nipples with his tongue, the sweet shock made her gasp.

  Then he closed his lips over one taut bud and drew it into his mouth. Her back arched off the mattress at the delicious spasm that arrowed down to her loins.

  “Damon… you have to stop,” she rasped.

  “In another moment…”

  She didn't think she could bear another moment of his delicious torment. But he went on laving her nipple with his tongue, drawing the swollen flesh between his teeth, pulling at it with a hard sucking motion.

  Eleanor gave up trying to fight him. He was seducing her, and she didn't care. Urgent longing had gathered inside her, pulsing to vibrant life in that secret place between her thighs.

  She found herself clutching his head to her breast, trying to draw his tantalizing, relentless mouth closer. Desire rose even higher when she felt his leg move so that his knee rode intimately between her thighs.

  She shifted helplessly at the erotic pressure, but when slowly he drew up the hem of her nightdress, she was startled enough to summon the will to pro test. “Damon… you cannot…”

  With one last kiss to her breast, he raised his head. His eyes dark with heat, he gazed down at her.

  “Aren't you curious about the pleasure I could show you?”

  “Yes, no… I don't know.”

  “I don't intend to take your virtue if that worries you.”

  She winced. “I pray not. It is scandalous enough, what you are doing now.”

  His slow smile warmed her even more than his eyes. “What is the saying? I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb?”

  “I am most certainly not a lamb, and you are a wolf.”

  Quiet laughter was his only answer as he slid his fingers downward, between her thighs, to lightly rest on her woman's mound.

  Eleanor's breath faltered.

  Those eyes held her spellbound. Those intense, beautiful, dark-fringed eyes…

  A lock of dark hair fell over Damon's forehead as he stared down at her, waiting. His gaze delved into hers, shattering any resistance she had left.

  “Hush and let me pleasure you, Elle.”

  “Yes…” she whispered.

  His searching fingers unerringly finding her feminine folds, he parted her slick flesh and touched her there.

  Every nerve in Eleanor's body flared and tightened, while her breath fled. Damon had aroused her desire before with his kisses, but he had never gone further than fondling her breasts through her clothing. Until now.

  His fingers moved maddeningly in light caresses over the heart of her, rimming the sleek cleft of her sex, teasing the damp bud he found hidden there. Arching against him, she shut her eyes.

  When a whimper rippled from her throat, he captured the sound by kissing her again, more gently this time. His mouth shaped itself to hers, hot silk, while his warm, thrusting tongue plied with a slow, sensual rhythm, intensifying the brazen heat that was coiling inside her, centered between her thighs.

  At length, her hands rose to Damon's hair and clenched in the silky thickness as she returned his kisses fervently. Her senses seemed imprinted with the scent and feel of him, with the relentless ache he made her feel. Her skin had grown hot and keenly sensitive, as if she had a fever.

  A fever that only heightened as an overwhelming wave of fire began building inside her.

  In desperation, Eleanor loosened her grasp on his hair and clutched at his shoulders, anchoring herself against his sinewed body. But her growing frenzy only drove Damon to increase his efforts.

  He stroked her harder, more urgently, evoking a hunger in her she couldn't believe possible. She had never felt such intense sensations, such uncontrollable desire-

  Then suddenly, she burst into flame-a fiery eruption that sent shuddering shocks of pleasure through every single part of her body.

  When she let out a wild cry, though, his kiss deepened to drown out the ragged sounds she made.

  The incredible bliss faded eventually. Stunned, Eleanor lay there a long moment, her breathing harsh and rapid. Finally she opened her eyes to stare up at Damon.

  He was smiling faintly at her dazed expression, his gaze lingering on her flushed face.

  Eleanor licked her dry lips and tried to find her voice. “So that is what all the fuss is about,” she uttered in a thready rasp. “I never realized…”

  “Realized what, love?”

  “That lovemaking could be so… amazing.”

  Tenderly he bent to kiss her forehead. “Yes, it can be amazing. Although there is much more I have yet to show you.”

  As if to match deeds to words, Damon eased himself between her spread thighs and covered her body with his. When their hips met, Eleanor could feel the hardness and detail of him beneath his satin breeches.

  He let his weight sink lower, fitting her more fluidly against his rigid arousal…

  But then suddenly he stopped.

  Quite unexpectedly, it was Damon himself who ended his seduction, to her startlement and dismay and relief.

  He squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain, and his voice was hoarse when he whispered, “I would like nothing more than to spend the night making passionate love to you, Elle, but it wouldn't be honorable.”

  “No,” she agreed, her own voice ragged. “We cannot make love, Damon. You know I am saving myself for marriage.”

  A sense of loss filled her when he took her at her word. Shifting again, he rolled to one side. Yet he did not go far.

  Instead, he supported his weight on one elbow and gazed down at her. “That is a problem that can be remedied,” he said slowly.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled.

  He hesitated a long moment before finally answering. “I think you should marry me, Elle, not your precious prince.”

  Never let him think that a marriage shackle is your chief aim, else you may frighten him into fleeing in the opposite direction! -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…

  For the space of a several heartbeats, Eleanor lay there without moving, certain she had misheard Damon.

  “You are jesting, of course,” she finally said in a high, uneven voice.

  “On the contrary. I am quite serious. I think you should marry me, Elle.”

  For the second time that night Eleanor sprang from her bed. Whirling to face Damon, she stared at him, first in stunned disbelief, then in narrow-eyed sus picion as she wondered what machinations he was plotting this tim
e.

  “What game are you playing, Damon?” she demanded in a warning tone.

  “It is no game, I assure you.”

  Highly distrustful, Eleanor remained standing there, trying to gauge his purpose-until she realized that his gaze had dropped from her face to her brazenly exposed breasts.

  “If you think for one minute that I would ever agree to wed you,” she muttered while hastening to button up her nightdress, “then you are clearly suffering a fever of the brain.”

  Damon gave a mock wince. “Your estimation of my mental faculties wounds me deeply, love.”

  “Not deeply enough, to my mind!”

  He cast a glance at the door. “I suggest you keep your voice down unless you wish to have your servants investigating why you have secreted a gentleman in your bedchamber.”

  “I have not secreted you,” Eleanor retorted, although she did lower her voice somewhat. “You have secreted yourself-and I wish you would leave.”

  When he showed no signs of complying, she stalked across the bedchamber to her armoire and retrieved a dressing gown, which she quickly donned. At least she could face Damon with more equanimity when she was more modestly dressed.

  Tucking her bare feet out of sight, Eleanor shook her head in continued disbelief. “You must be touched in the head, Damon. I can fathom no other explanation for why you would renew your offer of marriage after what happened the last time.”

  His enigmatic, shuttered look did not increase her faith that he held any enthusiasm for his astonishing proposal. Watching his expression, she was even more certain he couldn't truly mean it.

  “You don't have any desire to wed me, any more than I wish to wed you,” she said more calmly, determined to sound rational instead of letting Damon rile her as he was so expert at doing.

  He pushed himself up to a sitting position. “That isn't true. I do want you for my wife.”

  “Why?”

  “Various reasons. We are well matched, for one. We could make a good marriage.”

  At his unexpected prediction, Eleanor couldn't repress the sharp ache that wrenched her heart. “I once thought so, but no longer. You are not the marrying kind, Damon. I suspected it when I first met you, but I foolishly convinced myself otherwise. No, when it comes to marriage, I would say we are greatly mismatched.”