by Carla Kelly
He stroked again and parted her with his fingers, and his touch became firmer, more insistent, driving her somewhere she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to go. She tensed, opening her eyes to discover he was watching her face, gauging her reaction. Her body seized. Her heart raced. ‘Too much,’ she gasped.
‘Relax. Let it happen,’ he said.
And then it did. Whatever it was, it shuddered through her, a shattering loss of self and then a rush of heat, leaving her breathless and limp. He caught her around the waist, pulled her close to his side, kissed her temple, her jaw, her lips.
‘My sainted aunt,’ she said when she finally had breath to speak at all. ‘What on earth...?’
He gazed down at her, looking very pleased. ‘Liked that, did you?’
‘You are a wicked, wicked man.’ And she was a very wicked woman, because she was very pleased, too. It was all she could do to prevent herself from sliding beneath the water, she felt so completely lax. And yet he had not... ‘What about you? You did not...’
He smiled lazily. ‘Watching you is all the pleasure I require.’
And yet there was something else in his voice. A sort of distance. As if he was intent on keeping himself apart, even as he gave her the greatest pleasure she’d ever experienced. It hurt, but she didn’t know how to breach the wall he’d built to keep her out. Perhaps he did not find her equally desirable. Why had she even fooled herself into thinking he might?
While she debated just what she should say to fill the silence, he tossed the cloth over the side of the tub and slid under the water, washing his hair and body in quick efficient strokes. When he had finished his ablutions, he looked at her with lifted brows. ‘I think it is time to rinse you off and get you out of here before the water cools and you catch a chill.’
So protective and thoughtful, her whole body sighed with contentment. She caught the thought midstream. Thoughtfulness in a man was to be encouraged, but not to the point where they believed they were indispensable. She’d proved she could manage perfectly well on her own. Yet, if she was honest, there was a great deal of loneliness in being independent. ‘Good idea,’ she said.
He retrieved the bucket and filled it from the tap, testing the temperature. ‘Stand up.’
She froze. Him exploring her body beneath the water was one thing, but to expose what her mother had despairingly called her voluptuous proportions was quite another.
‘Please,’ he added, proving he was a man who saw that which she wished to hide. Her fear.
To prove him wrong, she rose to her feet. Seemingly unfazed by the sight of all of her, he tipped three buckets of warm water over her head and a couple over his own, then helped her out of the tub when she could have easily managed to step down. It seemed to give him pleasure to wrap first her body in a towel and then another around her hair. It also gave her a great deal of pleasure watching the muscles ripple beneath his skin as he patted and fussed over each inch of hers. It gave her a chance to admire the definition of his chest and abdomen, with its scattering of dark male hair and his magnificent arousal.
Why hadn’t he wanted her to give him pleasure?
It was not the sort of thing one could ask. She picked up another large bath sheet and draped it over his shoulders, using the moment to hide her confusion. ‘You need to dry off, too.’
She rubbed briskly at his back and he arched into her hand with a soft groan.
‘Nice,’ he said in a low belly-clenching growl.
So she moved on to his shoulders and his chest, trying not to notice his continuing state of arousal, yet secretly thrilled that even if he wasn’t exactly willing, his body was interested. The man was certainly well endowed, though she had little experience by which to judge. Her husband had done his duty in the least possible time in the dark under the covers.
To her disappointment Adam stepped away. ‘Your hair needs to dry before you go to bed.’
So much for his interest, though if she wasn’t mistaken he was breathing faster than before.
He bent and fiddled with something around the back of the tub. Water gurgled. The level in the tub slowly sank. ‘It won’t take long to empty.’
If he wanted to appear indifferent, she could play the same game. ‘If this catches on, it is going to put a lot of footmen out of work.’
He looked at her thoughtfully, his lips tilting up at the corners. The merest hint of a smile appeared. ‘I can see it now. Instead of weavers breaking machines, we will have footmen taking axes to bathtubs.’ He picked up their clothes, looped his arm around her waist and led her back to the kitchen. He dropped the pile of clothes on a stool and gestured to the rug before the fire. ‘Do you have a comb?’
She sank cross-legged to the floor, careful to keep her towel tidy. ‘In my valise.’ Which he’d carried upstairs to her chamber.
He reached for his coat and pulled one from his pocket. ‘You can use mine, since it is handy.’
She unwrapped her hair and ran her fingers through the tangles, trying to separate the worst of them, then dragged the comb through.
‘Let me,’ he said, kneeling behind her and then sitting so his legs were each side of her hips. He gently pulled the comb through the ends of a clump and worked his way up to the roots. He was so gentle she felt not one jot of pain.
‘You really would make an excellent lady’s maid,’ she said, smiling over her shoulder.
‘My father does this for my mother. Sometimes I braided my wife’s hair before bed.’ His hands stilled.
She glanced back to catch an expression of longing on his face. And sadness.
‘You miss her.’
His expression froze.
Her stomach dropped. ‘I beg your pardon. I should not have—’
‘It is all right,’ he said harshly.
Clearly it was not all right. The man looked haunted. ‘I am sorry, I should not have said what I did.’
‘No. It really is all right. I don’t know what brought it to mind. I haven’t thought of it for years.’
* * *
Adam could not believe he had forgotten how much simple pleasure a man could find combing a woman’s hair. Especially when she was sitting between his legs and was as gorgeous and voluptuous as this one. He’d missed the easy companionship of a wife. The fact that he could enjoy it with someone other than Marion should feel like a betrayal, but somehow it did not. It felt right. And good.
Too bad he’d only have this one chance to play maid for Cassie. He’d clearly reacted in a way that made her uncomfortable. He’d been surprised. And, yes, a bit sad at the thought that perhaps he was finally leaving Marion in the past. It had shocked him, too.
He lifted a strand of Cassie’s hair to his nose and breathed in the clean scent of his personal soap. His blood tingled with pleasure at the idea of his scent on her body.
No matter their good intentions, all men truly were primitive beasts at heart.
He teased away at the rest of the tangles, trying not to think or feel. Soon this pleasure would be over and he’d be sending her off to bed. ‘All done,’ he said regretfully.
She shifted, her beautiful rounded posterior wedging itself tighter against his groin, against his rock-hard arousal. She must know the effect she was having on him.
The sultry glance she cast over her shoulder at that moment said she likely did. As did her kiss when she leaned back and cupped his cheek, turning her face towards him. They kissed.
Lovely. Sweet. And hellishly erotic.
‘Will you make love to me tonight?’ she asked softly against is mouth. ‘Properly.’
The words heated his blood to boiling. Temptation was a hard knot in his stomach. And why not when she asked so sweetly?
‘When are your menses due next?’
Heat washed along her cheek where their skin
touched. A blush. Had her husband not talked to her about these things?
‘In two days’ time,’ she said quietly.
‘You are regular?’
A shy smile. ‘Like a clock.’
‘Then it should be safe.’ Thank all the stars shining in the heavens. He let go a breath. ‘There are no guarantees, though. You must promise me that if a child should result, you will come to me.’
He’d reveal his real name tomorrow. Regret filled him. When she knew who he was the easiness they’d found in each other’s company would no doubt be lost. And that would be a shame. A piercing ache in his chest at the idea he might never see her again shocked him. Could he be...smitten? Surely not. That was the last thing he wanted. Another grand passion.
Still he would regret their parting. Perhaps rather than confess like a schoolboy, he would tuck his calling card in her pocket where she would find it later, along with his purse. He could not bear the thought of spoiling this moment by seeing her regard for him change to awe or, worse yet, cold calculation of his worth. He certainly did not want her to know he was the man who had decided to evict her. Better she discover that after he left.
He lifted her onto his lap and kissed her deeply. She sighed into his mouth and kissed him back far more confidently than before. What a delight she was. What an undeserved gift. With her still in his arms, he pushed to his feet. ‘We are going to do this,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘in a soft feather bed and not on a cold hard floor.’
He carried her up the stairs to his chamber.
* * *
The man was immensely strong. She knew it intellectually, having observed him carry the Yule log, but this was entirely a more personal experience. Never in her wildest dreams had Cassie imagined being carried so effortlessly in a man’s arms. Never dreamed such a thing would melt her from the inside out. She felt deliciously feminine. Sensual. Beloved? She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, an effort to recapture reality.
Sensual would do perfectly well. It, too, was a novel experience.
‘I can walk,’ she said, hoping she did not sound as breathless as she felt. Or as regretful at the thought he might take her up on her offer.
‘You will not trot about in chilly corridors wearing only a towel; not to mention you have bare feet, madam.’
She pressed her face into his shoulder to hide her smile. His tone might be brusque, but really, how long had it been since anyone cared so much as a jot for her comfort?
The door he stopped at was not her chamber. ‘Hold tight,’ he said, shifting her weight.
While she clung to his neck, he opened the door, kicking it closed behind them. Only the glow from the fire lit their way, but it was easy to see this was a room of grand proportions, with a huge four-poster bed, its sheets in a messy tumble.
He set her down gently in a large armchair beside the fire which he promptly attacked with a poker, causing flames to flare up, before adding more coal.
He turned to look at her and then glanced at the bed. ‘I left in somewhat of a hurry when I saw the fire.’
‘I appreciate you not stopping to make the bed.’
He grinned, a piratical flash of white teeth in the gloom. ‘Give me a moment to warm the sheets.’
The pleasure of watching him work with brisk efficiency came as a surprise. What would it be like to be entitled to watch a young virile male go about his daily tasks? A privilege indeed.
And then he was sweeping her up in his arms again. He deposited her gently in the centre of the bed and pulled the sheet over her. Warm sheets. How luxurious.
‘You should probably be rid of your towel before the sheets become damp.’
She wiggled out of the towel and dropped it over the side of the bed. ‘Damp sheets would never do.’
As giddy as a schoolgirl, she watched him also divest himself of his bath towel. In the glow of the fire, he looked like a dark god of war, all carved muscle and flat planes outlined in shadow. A Zeus or an Atlas. He slipped beneath the covers, scooting right up along her length and lying on his side, his head propped on one hand. Delicious warmth rolled off him. He toyed with her hair where it spread out on the pillows, gazing into her face, his mouth a terrible temptation to her own.
‘Comfortable?’ he asked.
Comfortable, no. What woman could be comfortable in such a situation? But she was excited. Nervous. And happy, though it was tinged with the sadness of knowing they soon must part.
She stroked his hair back from his forehead and kissed his lips in answer to his question. He sighed deeply and kissed her back, coming up on his hand to bend over her. He took his time wooing her lips, causing her to rise up in impatience and better feel his hard warm chest against her breasts. Obligingly, he caressed first one breast, then the other, seemingly fascinated by their fullness, the way they filled his hand to overflowing. The tightness inside her body had her gasping for more. And when his mouth left hers and he kissed his way slowly across her face, lingering at her neck and moving on to the rise of her breast, she thought she might go mad with anticipation. She twisted her body to bring herself closer, to feel the sensation of skin against skin down the length of her body. The press of his hardness against her hip only served as further torture. Delightful torment.
Hot and wet, his mouth closed over her nipple and she moaned with the pleasure that arrowed low down as he suckled. His large warm hands roamed her body as if he would learn every contour. Too slow. The arousal he’d kindled in the tub and while combing her hair blazed out of control. Its heat scorched along her veins and settled deep in her vitals. Her core ached with need for him.
When his hand skimmed over the curls at the apex to her thighs, her hips rose in invitation. He cupped her and pressed down with the heel of his hand, shooting lightning bolts of heat to the very tips of her fingers. He eased first one finger, then another inside her, sending those same impossible, indescribable sensations rippling through her body. Wave after wave of pleasure. He rose over her, looking down into her face, nudging her thighs apart with one knee, then the other.
She wrapped her legs around his flanks and tilted her hips in overt welcome, pleased when his expression softened with a smile of gladness. Slowly, carefully, his gaze intent, watching her reaction, he penetrated her by gentle increments, pressing forwards and retreating until she could no longer focus on anything but the place where their bodies came together. Tension built to unimaginable proportions.
And yet he seemed to hold back some part of himself. Maintaining his control while she became a mindless creature of sensation and instinct. Something told her this was not how it was meant to be. She raised herself up and captured his mouth with hers, tasting and nibbling at his lips, exploring his mouth with her tongue, holding him close to her, until he sank down onto her with a groan that to her ears sounded like surrender, his weight pressing her deep into the mattress.
His thrusts became harder, stronger, faster, his breathing ragged gasps for air. She moved in unison, meeting each surge with arching hips until there was no separation of body or mind or spirit. A welling sense of wonder followed swiftly by deep affection brought tears to her eyes.
Why after all these years did she have to meet this particular man and fall in love? For there was no doubt in her mind that something deeper than pleasure had lodged in her heart.
* * *
The sensuality of the woman beneath him stole what was left of his brain and his control. Only instinct remained. A feral need to ensure she reached her climax before he let the urges gripping muscle, bone and sinew tear loose. The magnitude of his desire ached in every particle of his body.
‘Come for me.’ A hoarse whisper of desperation.
Unfocused, her gaze found his.
His heart stopped beating when he saw the glint of moisture at the corners of her eyes. Guilt tore a swathe th
rough his chest.
‘Sweetheart,’ he croaked, barely reining in the need to move. ‘What is wrong?’ He rose up on one hand, determined to withdraw.
She looked bewildered. ‘What?’
‘You are crying.’
‘Happy. Thrilled.’ Her fingernails dug into his back. ‘Don’t you dare stop now.’
Relief rolled through him and pride that he’d brought her tears for such a reason. He buried himself to the hilt and reached the peak he had abandoned only seconds before. Her body tightened around him, sheathing him perfectly. And hot darkness beckoned. Beneath him she undulated, drawing him deeper. ‘Adam?’ Her eyes widened as a paroxysm shuddered through her body. He followed into the abyss of her lovely warmth.
‘Cassie,’ he groaned when he could breathe around the pounding of his heart. He collapsed to one side so as not to crush her, stroked her back and felt her snuggle against his shoulder. ‘Everlasting saints, you have done for me.’
‘And you for me,’ she gasped, her body lax against him. ‘I had no idea I could be so thoroughly undone. Shattered.’
Half dead as he was, he mustered a surge of anger against a husband who had never shown her pleasure. Anger tempered by satisfaction that he was her first real lover.
A comfortable silence existed between them. A satisfyingly comfortable silence. He kissed the point of her shoulder in gratitude for this cosy respite full of companionship and a tenderness deeper than anything he had known.
What he’d had with Marion had been larger than life. A grand passion, his mother had called it, looking troubled. A flame that had sparked instantly to life and, if he was brutally honest, had just as quickly burned itself out. What he felt for Cassie was an altogether different kind of affection, a banked fire that might well endure for aeons with enough care and attention.
If he was adequate to the task. He certainly had failed Marion in that regard.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘For the kiss?’
‘For everything. Your kindness. To the girls.’ She patted his chest. ‘Most especially your kindness to me,’ she whispered shyly.