Hayden Islington knew how to undress for a woman, she’d give him that. From the moment his cravat hit the floor, she realized he held the reins. Somehow, her command had placed her at his mercy, waiting for his next move, for the next revelation. The waistcoat went next and her throat was dry in anticipation even though not an inch of skin had yet been revealed. Then came the cufflinks at his wrists, the studs of his shirt, and at last, the shirt itself.
It was worth waiting for. His chest was defined by muscle; shoulders, pectorals, abdomen, sculpted to golden perfection in the firelight. His thumbs hitched in the waistband, his hands blatantly framing the most male part of himself through the trousers, and magnificently so. She raised her gaze to his face, aware that he was watching her response intently. His blue eyes burned like twin smoldering coals. “There is something entirely arousing about a man who is so boldly confident in his own sexuality.” Jenna dropped her eyes back to his waist, to those provocative hands, noticing for the first time, the line of a scar peeping above the band of his trousers.
“A man could say the same of a woman.” Hayden drawled, turning to the side to use the fender of the fireplace for balance as he pulled off his boots. He was doing it on purpose. Turning showed him to advantage in silhouette, the curve of his buttock, the muscled length of thigh, the bulge of muscle in his arm as he gave his boots a tug.
Boots off, feet bare, and shirt long gone, his eyes held hers as he removed his trousers, pushing them down over lean hips and thighs hard from hours in the saddle. An appreciative ‘oh’ escaped her. Greek gods had nothing on him, and he had nothing on.
“See anything you like, Princess?” His eyes were half lidded, but he was watching her, she could feel his attention, his gaze a palpable thing between them.
There was only one appropriate, adequate response. Jenna rose from the chair and let her robe fall.
Chapter Fourteen
Holy mother of God! In all his life Hayden Islington had never seen anything so beautiful, nor anyone so bold. He’d seen plenty of naked women, but none so deliberate and yet there was a hint of the tentative in her eyes as she held his gaze, the merest shade of shyness as if he would find her lacking.
There was no chance of that. The firelight was behind her, limning her to perfection; emphasizing the slimness of limb, the fullness of breast, the curve of hip, the flatness of belly, the length of leg, perfectly framing the chestnut curls nestled between. Botticelli couldn’t have imagined any beauty finer.
She was no virgin. She must be aware of her effect on men. Jenna gave an alluringly shy glance down her body as if she could see herself as he saw her. It occurred to him that she didn’t know. She really didn’t know. Whoever had been her past lovers, they’d not demanded nudity. That made him wonder the quality of the experience those misguided lovers had provided. Only hasty encounters or prudish ones were managed with clothes on. The table incident had certainly classified as the former, proof enough that clothes equaled haste, although in his opinion, clothes had not inhibited his enjoyment of the table.
He stepped towards her, eyes riveted. “In my experience, I find nudity a most potent aphrodisiac.” To be naked, was to be honest. There was no hiding desire, no hiding the self, and that made it essential, beautiful. There was nothing more frank, more forthright, than the slide of bare skin on bare skin.
“Um, yes.” Jenna managed, her eyes flickering low to the jutting core of him. “I’d have to agree. There is a particular mystique to full exposure.” She stepped into him, a hip pressed to his, her hand taking a thorough grasp on his cock and giving a firm upward stroke. Her thumb finessed a bead of moisture from the slit at his tip, her hand smoothing it down his length in a firm rhythm; down and up, up and down. By the saints, she had an exquisite touch! Then she reached for the soft sac of his balls with her other hand, giving them a delicate, intimate squeeze that left him moaning in abject delight. “You keep that up, Princess, and you’ll have me spending early.” It took all his willpower to remain upright.
Jenna tossed him a saucy look, daring him to do something about it, daring him to stop her. His move was it? Hayden gave a wicked growl and took a firm grip on her buttocks, hoisting her to him. She gave a gasp, half scream, half laugh, her legs coming around him, the juncture of her body flush against him as he moved them to the bed. But she wasn’t done yet. Her mouth found his ear, her teeth nipping, pulling at his lobe. This was the spontaneous give and take he liked; heat and desire spiraling about one another, building the anticipation to a fever pitch, explosive and shattering like a firework in the night sky.
“Vixen!” Hayden dropped her into the center of the bed and followed her down, his body rising over her, her body stretching in an attempt to match his, length to length. Her hands were hungry for him as they ran up his torso, over ridges of muscle, her mouth devoured him and he reveled in it. Had he ever been partnered like this? But now wasn’t the time to think of other lovers. For one, he was past the point of thinking, for another, whatever thought he still possessed was fixed on the woman beneath him, on the musky scent of her arousal, the taste of her mouth, the caress of her touch, the welcome of her thighs as he settled between them, acutely aware of how neatly he fit there. His body had come home, almost.
Her hips pushed into his, her arms wrapped about his neck, her words heady and seductive, and if he wanted to analyze them, perhaps a tad bit desperate. “Take us there again, Hayden, take me.” It was all the invitation he needed. He thrust, glorying in the slickness, the readiness of her. Whatever desperation he might have heard beneath her words, this was proof that something more was at work.
Her back arched, her body rising to meet his, to join his in the journey to pleasure. She clenched about him, thrust after thrust, the rise of her desire evident in the catch of her breath, the moans that escaped her, the wetness of her channel as it sheathed him, until at last he felt inevitability claim him and he gave a final thrust, his body surging one last time, emptying, as she claimed her release beneath him.
They were shattering together, broken into a thousand pieces together. These exquisite, rare moments were entities unto themselves and most unexpected. There would be time to think of his carelessness and her desperation later. Time to ponder how innuendo, flirty word games and hot challenges dared with nothing more than a look, had resulted in this sweet heaven, so far removed from the earth-bound pleasures to which was he used. Hayden rolled to his side, drawing her against him, the warm swell of her derriere nestled in the cradle of his groin, his arm about her, and let the little monsters of his mind slumber to the lullaby of later, later, later…
Jenna awoke with a start. It was late, far later than she’d intended to stay or to sleep. Good lord, she’d not meant to actually sleep! But there was no denying it. The fire had died down to embers and the one candle had burnt to a stub, extinguished in the melting pool of its own tallow. The room was cool about her but the bed was warm, compliments of Hayden. He shifted behind her, his member stirring against her even in sleep, insatiable creature that he was.
“Are you awake too, sleepyhead?” Hayden murmured drowsily, well not quite asleep, then. His body shifted around her as he came awake.
“I just woke.” What did one say in this situation of waking up in a man’s arms? This was new, this prolonged intimacy after the act, wonderful and awkward. Adam had always risen immediately, washed himself off, dressed, and left. The aftermath had always seemed rather abrupt for having engaged in something so significant.
Even her train of thought was poorly done. Adam Grantham would never survive the comparison. Still, what else was she to do but draw on her own knowledge to help her blunder through? She could hardly ask Hayden. ‘What do you normally do next? What did you and Miss Last Night do after you woke in each other’s arms?’ That was possibly even worse. There were insults aplenty in that phrase and she didn’t want to think about Miss Last Night any more than she wanted to think about Adam Grantham. Thinking about Miss Last Ni
ght brought on thoughts of Miss Some Night in the Future, and the women that would come after he left her.
“I should go.” She managed enough self-discipline to get the words out.
“You should stay.” Hayden’s hand was on the move, closing over her breast, his thumb absently stroking her nipple, a touch all the more erotic for its idleness, creating the illusion of comfort, as if they lay together like this always, his lips at her shoulder, the two of them at ease with one another’s bodies, nothing of the world existing outside the walls of the room. It was an intoxicating fantasy, one that fed on itself, conjuring other images — of life on the road with Hayden, riding at his side by day, sleeping by his side at night. There would be no more Miss Last Nights. That was the night talking. The wee hours could work all nature of impossible magic. She could no more run away with Hayden Islington than he would want her to do it. This was temporary for both of them.
She shifted in his arms, dislodging him enough to turn and face him. She raised herself up on her side, propping her head in her hand. “Tell me about ice racing, do you like moving around so much?” She was torturing herself with the impossible, but sometimes there was pleasure in pain, even the mental sort. What could it hurt to play out her newly sprung private fantasy?
Hayden gave a chuckle. “It’s not as glamorous as I make it look.” he teased. He wrapped one of her curls around his finger.
“Well, I don’t know.” she teased in return, liking the mischievous look that came into his eyes. “There’s all the towns, all the women.” She might as well come out with it.
He shrugged a shoulder. “The lake towns of northern England in the dead of winter aren’t exactly exotic locales.”
She looked away with a sigh. “No, they’re not, I suppose.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… ”
He was fumbling for words to cover his blunder. Jenna smiled to put him at ease. “I don’t mind. It’s true, and you were only being honest. I’m glad you were honest.” She was, it said he was comfortable with her, that his carefully honed guard was down. She was sure he would never speak like that to a town mayor, or local merchants quite so bluntly. She bit back a laugh just imagining it.
“What?” Hayden’s eyes roamed over her face in query.
“Nothing, I was just thinking of you saying that to a town official. ‘I find your town quite boring, quite lacking in the exotic, Mr. Mayor.’
Hayden might have blushed, it was hard to tell with minimal lighting. He rolled onto his back and folded his arms behind his head, leaving his torso entirely exposed. “That would not be good for business.” She scooted close, laying her head in the niche of his shoulder, a hand drawing circles on his body. She couldn’t help it. His body begged to be touched, his muscles traced.
Hayden sighed. “You should have seen the merchants in Derwentwater. They were so damn proud of their lake like it was some water prodigy.”
“Do you get tired of it? The moving? The posturing? It occurred to me the night of the assembly that perhaps you might. It’s just that you do it so well I doubt anyone would guess.” In some ways it was a bold question to ask and incredibly personal.
He hesitated. “Yes, no. I don’t know how to answer. The towns are different but the people are the same.”
That hurt. She hadn’t been prepared. She shouldn’t have asked the question if she didn’t want the truth and apparently he was more than willing to give it. Jenna was glad he couldn’t see her face. The implication that she was somehow the same, more of the same, hadn’t occurred to him and she was glad.
“Where do you go when the ice melts? Do you go home to York?”
She felt him shake his head. “I haven’t been there for several years. Logan and Pierce and I go to London. It’s good for business. Everyone is in London in the spring and Logan has connections. The parties, the balls, the… ” he stopped himself but she could guess the missing word: the women. At least he didn’t give pretensions to fidelity. There was that honesty again. “The entertainments,” he recovered, “are extraordinary. Have you been?” He was deflecting.
“No, I’m a mill owner’s daughter. We might have money but we have nothing else to offer.” But she’d dreamed of it, of the things he described — the parties, the gowns, the Tower, the mansions, the carriage rides through Hyde Park. To be part of it once would be lovely. “Sometimes London comes to us, though, on its way to Lake Windermere in the summer.” she added wistfully.
“Is that enough for you, Jenna Priess? To wait for London to visit Kendal?”
The comment was stunning. Her hand stilled on his chest. It was a literal shot in the dark and it hit the target with astonishing accuracy. How had he divined that? What had she given away that would have betrayed her innermost conflict, her innermost desire? “It has to be enough. I have a brother to raise, a father to nurse, a mill to run.” she replied quietly.
“Hmmm.” Hayden’s voice was quiet too, reflective as he hand moved idly down her hip. “So now I know.”
“Know what?”
“What you’re doing with me.”
There was no time to ask what he meant. She felt his muscles tense. It was all the warning she had before he pulled her up over him, settling her astride. “Come ride me, Jenna, come to life for me, come live a little while longer.”
She lifted up, her hair falling forward over her breasts as she found the tip of him, testing him at her entrance, before sliding down on him, before the glorious thrill of riding him took her. This was a new and heady feminine power indeed, to know she controlled the pleasure for them both, that she could take them there, that they were partners in that pleasure. She moved on him, finding an exquisite point of contact that left her gasping. His hands bracketed her hips, steadying her as she rode, his body bucking beneath her as she seized the pleasure for them both, reveling in the sensation of him filling her, of holding him deep inside as he climaxed for her, because of her, with her and she knew at the core of her being this one simple truth: the pleasure of a man and woman joined, could not be rivaled. Whatever happened after, there would always be this.
Their eyes held as if neither could quite believe what they had experienced. Hayden pulled her down to him, his cock still warm inside her, his hands pushing back her hair as he kissed her, his words a whispered benediction. “Thank you, a hundred times, thank you.” And for the moment they each knew peace.
She should get up. She should get dressed. She should go home before she ruined that peace, before it occurred to either of them that perhaps they’d used one another again to slake their personal demons. All of that assumed she could get out from under Hayden’s arm.
Jenna sighed. She wanted the perfect moment to last forever. She didn’t really want to go. Home meant resuming her burdens, it meant facing her father’s health, the mill’s mysteriously failing finances and disappearing workers. Staying a little longer came at a cost. True, Hayden could make her forget, oh how he could make her forget, but when the pleasure faded and he was gone, he could also make her remember the things she’d let go; she would not have a family of her own, she would not travel. Her life was spent supporting the dreams of others. She really should go, if even staying brought on such sad thoughts. She knew far too well how manic the wee hours of night could be; building fantasies as well as fears.
Jenna inched away slowly and eased from under his arm. At least one of them was sleeping, holding onto the peace for as long as possible. She slid out of bed and looked back at Hayden, his thick hair falling over one eye, his features still handsome in repose, the straight length of nose, the planes of his cheekbones, that kissable mouth slightly open. Her resolve slipped an inch or two. She hurried herself into her clothes and gathered up her cloak before that resolve could slip any further. It would be so easy to slide back into bed, back into him. It would also be unfair. She would know she was using him this time to keep her own realities at bay. He would not like waking to find her gone but
it couldn’t be helped.
“Don’t be mad.” Jenna whispered before she silently closed the door behind her and disappeared into the night, what remained of it.
Chapter Fifteen
She’d left him. It was the first sentient bit of consciousness to cross his mind when Hayden woke. Her side of the bed was cold. Very cold, and a testament to two rather amazing realizations. One, the day was now significantly advanced. She could not have left much before dawn and now the sun had been up for hours. Which led to realization number two. He’d slept, something he’d not managed in five years thanks to the messy business with the Baroness. By slept, he meant not just dozing or napping away the night to wake at numerous intervals as was his habit. He’d slept so soundly he hadn’t even heard her get up, or dress, or slip out the door.
One might suggest he’d slept out of sheer exhaustion. After all, he’d been on the road for five nights with the trip to Derwentwater and then engaged in an extended bout of vigorous love-making, both good reasons to sleep deeply. But they weren’t reasons enough to explain away the incredible sleep. He made love most nights of the year. It was the only way he could snatch any quantity of sleep, and technically, he was always on the road. Do you like it? All the traveling? Her question came back to him.
What would she have said if he told her he was tired of it all? That he’d walk away from it if he could? It was laughable of course. Saying such a thing didn’t make it true. He couldn’t leave ice racing. He needed the money, which he supposed could be replaced by other means. He could always give lessons and his celebrity would carry him for a bit. But more than that, he needed the thrill that drove away his ghosts, that validated him. What would he do without it? What would he be? Besides there were the practicalities. It wasn’t as if the King’s Arms in Kendal was any sort of home.
What if it was? The thought came out of nowhere. He stretched in his bed, allowing his mind the exercise of assessing the question although he knew better. ‘What if’ was always a dangerous game. Kendal wouldn’t be a bad base. It was six miles from Lake Windermere and the heart of the Lake District. For this remote area off the beaten path of the Great North Road, Kendal was a thoroughfare to the lakes. It was centrally located, it had inns and stagecoaches, a canal, a freezing lake of its own.
Reckless Rakes - Hayden Islington Page 13