by Brenda Joyce
He stared at her with sheer incredulity.
She swallowed. “You are an enigma—a very difficult enigma—but you are the enigma I want to be with,” she said roughly.
He pulled her into his arms, his mouth finding hers, the urgency stunning. Thrilled by his fierce response, Francesca felt the urgency not just in his lips, but in every muscle and tendon of his body and she was desperately relieved. Nothing had changed, dear God, had it? And then she recalled the fact that her father was now dead-set against them. “Calder?”
He lifted his head, his eyes ash-gray with desire. “I want to make love to you,” he said. She froze.
And every single time he had declared that he did not believe in love filled her mind. But there was more. He had said he had never made love to a woman, not once in his entire life. She pressed against his shoulders. “What did you just say?”
Staring intensely at her, he repeated, “I want to make love to you.”
It was impossible to breathe, nearly impossible to think. “You told me once that you have never made love to a woman.”
“I haven’t.”
What did this mean? Was he telling her that he loved her? “Calder?”
“I want to show you how I feel,” he said roughly, stroking his thumb over her jaw. “I want to make you feel the same way.”
She was ready to swoon. Every inch of her body had turned to fire. She was ready; she had never been more ready. “Please,” she whispered, a plea.
He smiled a little at her. “Your wish is my command,” he murmured, and with dexterous fingers he unbuttoned her jacket, sliding it from her shoulders and tossing it to the floor. As he unbuttoned her shirtwaist, her heart had never beat more swiftly. She had difficulty continuing to stand.
He watched her, dropping the shirt and reaching behind her to unfasten her corset. “Don’t faint now, darling,” he said, pressing his thigh between hers. “We have hardly begun.”
She gasped, holding tightly on to him for support as her undergarments hit the floor as well. “I am so excited,” she managed to say, “and you haven’t even touched me.”
He smiled. “I can rectify that,” he said softly, and he touched his forefinger to her hard, distended nipple, then began to rub it. She cried out, waves of pleasure engulfing her, making her dizzy. He bent and laid his tongue over the hot, hard tip. Somehow, her skirts and petticoat dropped to the floor, pooling at her feet.
He sucked on her, hard.
Francesca moaned shamelessly, filled now with desire.
Hart lifted his head, his tone thick but surprised. “Darling, are you peaking?”
“Hurry,” she gasped, barely able to open her eyes and meet his smoking gaze.
Before she knew it, he had laid her on the rug, their mouths instantly fusing, his hand now between her thighs, inside her drawers. The moment he touched her sex, she screamed, racked by a violent climax.
When she was floating somewhere in time, she felt him kissing her throat and her breasts, his hands stroking over belly, her thighs, her sex. Her drawers were, miraculously, gone.
She struggled to open her eyes and look at him.
“I want to give you so much pleasure,” he said, his eyes hot. He bent over her and laid his tongue between the thick folds of her sex. Instantly, Francesca collapsed back on the floor, moaning.
He spread her wide and continued to caress her with his tongue. She spiraled out of control so quickly that there was no time to protest and disrobe him. Reaching down, clinging to his shoulders, she wept in pleasure and pain and more pleasure again.
He moved beside her when she was done and she drifted back into his arms. Toying with her breast, he whispered, “Perhaps we should argue more often.”
She was still floating; she managed to look at him. Still breathless, she took his hand. “I hate arguing with you, but for some reason, your every look, word, touch is making me insane with more desire.” She moved his hand down her belly and lower still.
He smiled, smug and pleased. He found her mouth and kissed her slowly, deeply, for a long, long time. This time his dangerous hand moved down her buttocks, playing there in a terribly sensual, suggestive manner.
From behind, he prodded and caressed, toyed and searched.
She tore her mouth from his, gasping in violent need. “You said you wanted to make love to me,” she cried, reaching for his trousers. “I think this moment is highly appropriate.”
He smiled at her. “I am making love to you, darling. I am making love to every inch of you that I can.” His smile faded and he turned her onto her stomach. Her hair had long since come down and he moved it aside, kissing her nape and then slowly working his way down her spine. He had straddled her, and when he moved over her buttocks, she finally felt him and her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. Beyond weak, beyond hollow, she arched upward, seeking to feel him again.
“Yes, darling, I know what you want and what you need,” he whispered hoarsely in her ear. And she felt every inch of his manhood, hard as steel, encased in fine wool, pressing against her buttocks. She cried out.
Holding her tightly now, his breathing harsh, he moved against her, thrusting long and slow. “One day,” he said, “you will know what this really feels like.”
She was sobbing but soundlessly now. “One day?” she wept. “You said you are making love to me tonight!”
It suddenly crossed her mind that they had a serious miscommunication. She tensed, torn between fury and despair, and she felt his mouth on the corner of her lips. “I never said I was intending to break the vow I made to wait until our wedding night,” he murmured.
“You are a complete bastard,” she cried.
“So much passion in one tiny woman,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder, and then she felt the naked length of him as he unfastened his trousers and sprang firmly against her but tocks. He surged deep and low, between her thighs, directly against her sex.
She rode him as he thrust, her swollen wet sex on his hard determined length, and the explosion was cataclysmic, throwing her far away into a black star-spangled universe. She wept and wept as he thrust with increasing urgency, and at some point, lost in time and space, she was vaguely aware of his climax joining her own.
And then she was in the circle of his arms.
He was panting hard, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her ear. “That was too soon,” he whispered. “I want to give you so much pleasure tonight.”
She found his hand and held it tightly, her composure slowly returning. Being with this man was like nothing she had ever dreamed of. She had never imagined that so much passion and desire could exist, that it could be so raw, so urgent, so consuming. Dazed, she spooned into him and he kissed the swell of her breast. Amazingly, her body was eager to respond to his again. And bemused, she realized that once again she was completely naked in his arms, and he was fully clothed. She could not form any coherent words just yet.
He raised her hand and kissed it. “We need to be in my bed,” he murmured. “Because I am hardly through with you, darling.”
She twisted to look up at him, smiling, while hot need shafted inside her.
He smiled with real amusement at her. “Cat got your tongue, darling?”
She had never felt more relaxed or more languid. Yet her sex had begun to ache in the most insistent manner. She closed her eyes and kissed his shirt and as she sighed, she guided his hand where it belonged. “Yes,” she finally murmured.
He laughed, sounding a bit too pleased with himself. “You are such a strumpet! You are so easy to set off!”
She felt slightly annoyed and she lifted her lashes to look at his impossibly attractive face. His eyes danced now. “And that is a problem?”
The laughter died. He became thoughtful and his skilled fingers slipped low, stroking there. “It is an interesting dilemma,” he said. “I wonder if I might have a certain effect on you—say, from across a crowded ballroom or a supper table?”
She understood and gape
d.
And his expression became self-deprecating. He sat up. “Yes, I am depraved to the very end, it seems.” His good humor was gone.
She seized his hand. “Then I am depraved, too—and happily so. Because if you meant what I thought you did, I should very much like to experiment and see what we can achieve.”
He looked at her.
She stared back, aware of a blush on her cheeks. “Your very look has a certain power over me,” she said softly. She cupped his cheek. “Am I being too naughty?”
“No,” he said, inhaling. He pulled her close, his eyes closing, and kissed her deeply. Then he shifted and stared at her. “I sensed this in you the moment we met.”
She was surprised. “Calder, I myself had no idea I was capable of so much passion.”
He stroked her face, her shoulder. “I knew. I knew it right away. I knew the bluestocking and the sleuth were but the outermost layer.” He hesitated. “As much as I want to take you upstairs, I can’t risk us getting caught.”
She understood. “What are we going to do about Papa?” she asked.
He met her gaze, then slowly stood, adjusting his clothing. Francesca watched, making no move to get up. He smiled a little. “Have I created a monster?” he asked softly and with a tender smile.
“I think so,” she said, knowing that they had to talk but also wanting to be back in his arms in a wild frenzy of passion.
He handed over her drawers and chemise. “Please.”
As she put on the two garments, she thought about the way Calder had touched her and kissed her and held her. She had felt far more than passion and lust in his touch. What exactly had he meant when he said he wanted to make love to her? She thrilled just recalling his words. “Calder? You said you would not break your vow to wait for our wedding night.”
He met her gaze, his expression utterly serious. “Your father has now refused us. Rick has pointed out the trouble I am causing you with the portrait stolen. And then there is Daisy.”
Her heart lurched with fear. She bent and stepped into her petticoat. Then she faced him. “If you’re asking me if I still want to marry you, the answer is yes.”
His jaw flexed. “What did Daisy and you speak about earlier today?”
She trembled. “She told me why she went to your office. She told me what she said. And she told me that she wants revenge.”
“Revenge? For what?” he exclaimed.
“I think she is always the one to walk away, Calder, I do not think any man has ever been the one to walk away from her.”
He absorbed that. “Did she tell you exactly what she said at my office?”
Francesca tensed with dread. Her ears began to ring and her cheeks to burn. “Yes.”
He stared at her. A bead of sweat had formed on his forehead.
She desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. “Daisy approached me in the Lord and Taylor store,” she said slowly. “Earlier in the week. Somehow, she knew exactly what to say to me to disturb me no end. I was incredibly distressed by her, enough to begin endlessly worrying about our engagement, our future and even your loyalty.”
“What did she say?” he asked abruptly, his gaze dark and intense.
She stiffened. She did not want to be that honest with him, oh no.
“Darling, if you intend for me to be honest with you on this matter, then you will have to do the same.”
She walked away and sat down on an ottoman. Not looking at him, she said, “She told me what I already believe. That you will soon find me boring and stray to someone else.” She dared not look up.
He knelt before her. “Look at me,” he exclaimed.
She somehow managed to do so, shaking now. She hated Calder having even the briefest glimpse of her very real insecurity.
He touched her face. “The one thing I am sure of is that I will never find you boring! And how many times must I reiterate that if I wanted to pursue other women, I would not shackle myself in marriage? I am sick of that life!”
She met his steady gaze. “How sick of it are you, really?”
His smile was derisive. He stood. “Sex has bored me for some time, Francesca. It has become rather like a drug, I think, addictive, but with each dose, less intense. As a result, the addict must constantly find ways to make each act more exciting. That is why I strayed to women like Daisy and Rose, among other less usual fare.”
She was wide-eyed. “You find sex boring?” But it began to make some sense now.
He smiled a little. “I have for a number of years, yes. But recently, that has changed.”
She continued to stare. Her eyebrows felt as if they had risen to join her hairline.
“There is nothing boring about you,” he said, kneeling again. “And I have never felt as excited as when I am with you.” He smiled a little, but she thought he was blushing, for the top of his cheekbones had become tinged with pink. He hesitated and added, “I think it’s the fact that I genuinely care about you. It seems to have changed everything.”
“Oh,” she managed to say. She was stunned.
He stood, looking very pensive now and not quite pleased. “So you do not need to listen to anything Daisy has to say. What a troublemaker! The least of our problems will be my wandering the town in pursuit of other women.”
Francesca stood, continuing to reel from Calder’s confession. “So why did she upset you so much? She is the reason you almost broke off our engagement Friday night, isn’t she?”
He turned to face her. “Yes.”
“Why? You forced me to be utterly honest with you. You can at least do the same with me,” Francesca said.
“She knows me too well,” he said flatly.
“I don’t understand,” she began, and there was more dread, again.
“Daisy’s entirely accurate point was I am by nature a cad, and I will never be able to change that, not for you, not for any woman. And she is right. I can never reform,” he said harshly. “I am sexually depraved. Inside, I am black and hollow, and we can both pretend I am noble and good, but the truth is, I am not that man.”
“No! Stop!” She took his hand very firmly. “The one thing I do know is that you are a good man, Calder Hart.”
“That is what you are determined to believe, and that is why I—” He stopped. And he flushed from ear to ear. “That is why you are so sweet,” he said hoarsely.
She could only stare, amazed. Every instinct told her that he had been about to tell her that was why he loved her. “I will not lie now, Calder. I am afraid you will wander one day, but I know that there is nothing black inside of you. I know it.”
He took her in his arms. “Don’t you see? Daisy, your father and Rick are right. I am simply not worthy of you. I do not want to taint you. I do not want my depravity to rub off on you, not in any way.”
“What are you saying?” she cried, trembling.
“This is the time for us to say goodbye—if that is what you want. Your father is against us and he is right. That portrait is missing and it is my fault. I suggested you pose nude, because of who I am. You deserve someone far better than I, Francesca. Admit it.”
She clasped his face in her hands. “There is no one better. I will admit nothing of the kind. Yes, you have a dark sexual side. But you also have a good side, and don’t you dare deny it. I have seen as much nobility in you as I have in your half brother.”
“I will never believe that,” he said softly, “but oddly, I think that you really do.”
He had seemed almost sad as he spoke. She knew that she would never convince him that he was good enough for her. “That sexual side Daisy tried to seduce? Frankly, it is as alluring to me as your nobility, your intellect, and all the power you have amassed when you were born in a ghetto.” His eyes widened. “Of course I know about your dark side. When I met you, your alibi for your father’s murder involved sleeping with two women at once. I have known all about you from the very moment we met. I was investigating you. I had heard every rumor and ever
y fact before I ever fell in love with you.”
His eyes went even wider. His coloring vanished. “What? What did you just say?”
She released him, backing up. “I, er…I…” She stammered.
He seized her. “Like hell! You just said you love me! Do you love me? But how can you? You love Rick! You gave your heart to him first, and you told me yourself, when we first met, that you were a woman to give her heart away once and only one time.”
She swallowed, trembling. “I thought I loved him,” she whispered, “but now I have true love and I can feel the difference. I respected him, I admired him, I cared for him—and it was an infatuation. Calder, it was nothing like this. I have never felt this way about anyone, ever, in my life.” She felt tears rolling down her cheeks.
She had not wanted to tell him the real extent of her feelings. She knew this confession would give him so much power, but as afraid as she was, she was also relieved. “I am in love with you,” she whispered. “Head over heels in love with you.”
“Oh God,” was all he said, as white as a ghost. He held her face and kissed her, hard and deep. And abruptly he released her, stepping back.
“You can’t stay,” he said, pointing at her. His hand trembled. He saw, and slipped it into his pocket. “I have a very serious loss of control,” he added more calmly.
She could only gape.
His eyes were black. “Francesca, if you don’t turn around and walk out that door, I am going to more than make love to you, and I know I will regret ruining our wedding night for the rest of my life.”
He was shaking. She had never seen him at such a loss. She nodded, biting her lip. “Then you had better go while I get dressed,” she said.
He raked his hair with his hand. “Yes. Yes, that is a good idea.” But he did not move. He stared. “Did you mean it? How could you mean it?” he demanded.
She began to glimpse the small, abandoned boy who had never grown up, a boy who was frightened and vulnerable and who lived still inside the powerful, arrogant man. “I meant it.” And suddenly she realized that she had not just handed Calder the keys to their kingdom. He needed her as much as she needed him. And he needed not just her genuine love, but her genuine faith. “I mean it.”