by Lydia Dare
She shook her head slightly, her eyes roaming across his features. His blue eyes were warm and inviting, his hair damp and tousled. For some reason, he seemed so familiar. And not just because he was Will.
“What is it?” His hands left her hair, and he rested them on her knees. Her bare knees. She shivered as his thumbs drew small circles on the sensitive flesh. “You’re cold?” he asked before frowning and throwing more wood onto the fire.
Shadows from the fire danced across his naked back. Cords of muscle rippled down his spine as he stoked the flames. Prisca’s mouth watered at the sight. “I’m not cold,” she squeaked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m not cold, Will.” She was anything but cold.
“Good,” he nodded as he passed her glass back to her. “Drink this anyway. It’ll keep you warm.”
Prisca wanted to say he was already doing that, but she took a big swallow of whisky instead. Then she coughed and sputtered. She raised her balled fist to her mouth and coughed against it.
“Whisky should be sipped,” he laughed.
She simply nodded. Of course, he would think that was humorous. “Are there clothes here that you could wear?” she asked. If he was fully dressed, she would feel much more comfortable.
His gaze moved from her bare feet up to her knees and lingered on her thighs. She tugged the bottom of the shirt down. “You’re wearing the only shirt in the trunk.” He held out a hand, his blue eyes twinkling with laughter. “You could give it back to me, if you’re done with it?”
If the whisky wasn’t helping to relax her, she would have thrown the tumbler at him. In fact, she looked down to do just that and noted that it was empty. She held it out to him, instead.
“More?” he asked as he tilted his head and regarded her quizzically. A dimple appeared on his left cheek.
“Please.” She nodded.
“Have you had whisky before?” he asked, his voice soft and nearly as nice as a caress.
“Of course, I have.” She rolled her eyes at him.
“When?” he asked as he passed the tumbler back to her with more whisky in it.
Rather than reply, she took another sip of the horrid stuff and was surprised to find that it got better with every swallow. What had once been a harsh burn to her throat was now a pleasant, warm sensation.
“Be careful with that,” Will warned.
“Oh, I’m fine,” she said before she tossed back the last of what was in her glass. She tried to place it on the side table, but the empty glass thunked against the surface. “Sorry,” she said as she righted the cup.
Will smiled broadly at her.
“What’s so amusing?”
He wiped a hand across his mouth, as though wiping away all traces of merriment. He failed miserably. “Nothing.” He shrugged.
“Come now. You’re finding something to be quite amusing. Out with it,” she motioned with her hand, only to find that it wasn’t quite as easy to manipulate as it usually was. She sighed loudly as she rested her hand in her lap. “I have had a long day. Can we go to bed?”
His eyebrows immediately shot up and the smile disappeared from his face. “Can we go to bed?”
“Not we,” she clarified. It was as though the man had a muddled mind. She was being quite clear. “Since you’re bigger than me, you should take the bed.” She laid her forearm over her eyes and relaxed. But then she felt the room spin around her.
“Put one foot on the floor,” Will said, suddenly beside her.
She did as he said, but gasped quickly when pain shot up her leg.
“The other foot,” Will chuckled.
The room immediately stilled. She lifted her arm and looked up at him. But his gaze wasn’t on her face. It was on her body, particularly the area revealed when she’d parted her legs to put one foot on the floor.
“Oh!” she gasped as she tugged the shirt down and brought her foot back up. But then the room started to spin again. “Do be a gentleman, Will, and go away.”
“Being a gentleman is the last thing on my mind,” he replied, his voice suddenly husky and rich.
Will had good intentions when he walked closer to her. He honestly did. But when she’d parted her legs, all those thoughts of good deeds left his head. And would probably never return. He was now doomed to a lifetime of seeing Prisca’s most private places in his head, in his dreams, in his hopes.
He removed the counterpane from the bed and laid it over the rug in front of the fire. Then he very gently picked her up and laid her upon it.
“What are you doing?” she grumbled.
“It helps a bit to have a solid surface beneath you when you’re too foxed to sit up,” he chuckled. He sat down beside her.
“I am not foxed,” she replied, but the x came more like an s. “I’ll show you,” she said as she sat up slowly. Seeing her unsteadiness, Will parted his legs and then pulled her to rest between them, her back against his chest.
“Thank you,” she sighed and sank into him. “That’s much better.”
“Just be still,” he said. Then she moved. “Priss, if you can’t be still, I won’t be responsible for my actions,” he growled.
She turned in his arms until she lay cradled against his chest, her lips inches from his. “You’re never responsible for your actions, William Westfield.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She stiffened in his arms and started to pull away, but he held her firmly.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Will.”
“I don’t care to fight, either, Priss,” he murmured.
“So, what would you like to do, instead?”
I want to take off that blasted shirt and taste every inch of your body. That would never do. “I just want to hold you like this,” he said instead.
“We can’t possibly stay like this, Will.”
“Why can’t we?”
She reached a hand back and rubbed her backside. “Because my bottom is hot.”
“I beg your pardon?” he choked. It most certainly was.
She took his hand in hers and guided it to touch her back. Then moved it down and under the long shirt she wore. “See,” she said as his hand slid across the silky skin of her cute little derriere. “My bottom is hot.”
He laughed out loud. He rubbed his hand across her flesh. She was right. Her skin was warm enough that it was probably pinkening from the heat of the fire. He manipulated his body until his back was to the flames instead. “There, is that better?” he asked. He knew he should stop stroking her soft skin, but he just couldn’t.
“Much better,” she sighed. Her warm, whisky scented breath brushed across his cheek. His hand continued to rub and finally to massage. “That feels nice,” she said, smiling, her voice whimsical. Would she remember tomorrow that she’d allowed him to touch her bare skin? He certainly hoped so. It would make what came next easier.
“I can make it feel nicer,” he whispered against her lips before kissing her softly.
“How?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
She nodded, her eyes full of wonder. Or was that lust? He wasn’t sure. And didn’t particularly care at the moment. He slowly lowered her back to lie on the counterpane, taking care to keep his body between hers and the rolling flames in the hearth.
He very slowly unbuttoned her shirt and pressed his lips to the tender skin of her throat.
“That’s nice,” she said quietly.
He unbuttoned another button and kissed the cleft between her breasts. “That’s nice, too,” she said as she arched her back a bit. Her nipples stood hard and pointed beneath the fabric of the shirt. He uncovered her breast and pressed a kiss to the soft, plump skin. As his fingers danced down the rest of the buttons, he took her nipple into his mouth and tongued it gently.
She cried out. The scent of her desire reached his nose and called to the beast within him. He pulled harder on her turgid flesh. Prisca rocked her hips against his thigh, which was trapped between he
r legs.
“Please, Will,” she whispered. “Make it stop.”
He couldn’t have heard her correctly. Will lifted his head. “You want me to stop?”
“No. Make it stop.” She gasped as his lips touched her lower belly and his fingers tangled in the hair at the juncture of her thighs. When he moved to part her flesh, she stilled.
“Are you all right?” he asked between kisses against her inner thigh.
“This is what happens…?” she let her sentence trail off and met his gaze.
“This is what happens,” he confirmed, as his fingers parted her flesh and his tongue licked across her center.
Prisca called out, arching her hips against his questing tongue. “I like what happens,” she moaned as she reached above her head and grasped the counterpane in her hands.
“So do I,” he laughed. Then he slid a finger into her as he felt her melt against him.
He would never, ever forget the little gasps she made next, the hectic pants, then the clench and release as he showed her pleasure.
Slowly she relaxed, her body melting back down onto the counterpane. She jerked as he kissed her one last time and then came up to lie beside her.
“I didn’t know,” she started as she clumsily climbed over him and put her elbows on his chest, where she looked down at him.
“Ow,” he laughed. “I give you pleasure, and you impale me with your elbows.” He spread her arms so that she lay flat against his chest. The weight of her was perfect, but he wanted more than anything to be inside her. He needed to ruin her before the night was over, but he wanted to take it slowly as there was much more night to be had.
“Is it always like that?” she asked, her violet eyes shimmering with… something. Perhaps it was lust. Or perhaps it was affection. It could have just been the light reflected from the fire. He reached up to brush her dark locks back from her face.
“No,” he assured her. “It’s not always like that.” Her bottom lip poked out as she frowned.
“It’s not?” she asked.
“No. Sometimes, it’s better,” he growled as he adjusted her hips so that she straddled him. He freed himself from his drawers. His want for her was nearly painful. If he didn’t have her soon, he’d surely lose his mind.
“Oh,” she sighed with one long breath. She laid her head on his chest. “I have much to learn.” Her words slurred a bit.
“I know. I like teaching you. I’ll teach you more tonight, and when we’re married, I’ll teach you more and more.” He lifted his hips so that his shaft touched her wetness.
“Married?” she raised her liquor-soaked, passion-numbed head. It was no wonder the woman was dazed. “We’ll talk more about that tomorrow,” she murmured as she turned her head and laid her cheek over his heart.
“You can depend upon it,” he assured her. “But we’ve other things to do tonight.” At last, she would be his. After wanting her and lusting after her for years, he’d finally move inside her, claim her as no other could or would.
A soft snore rose from her. “Priss,” he said as he nudged her. She didn’t move, except to breathe heavily.
Will lay his head back on the counterpane and cursed. “Bloody hell.” His teeth ground together so loudly he thought the sound might wake her. He nudged her again. No. Nothing would wake her at this point. She was soundly asleep. Her naked body lay atop him, and though he was hard and ready, she slept.
Very slowly, he rolled her from atop his body, so that he could stare down at her sleeping face. He’d planned to have her that night, needed her desperately. But even he had a conscience.
Will picked her up and carried her to the bed where he laid her down gently. He retrieved the counterpane, covered her with it, and then slid in beside her. She barely moved, except to roll toward him and throw one leg over his hip.
Will groaned. Only Prisca could torture him so thoroughly.
Fourteen
PRISCA OPENED HER EYES SLOWLY AS A SOFT HAND brushed the hair from her forehead.
“Good morning, Prissy,” Will said softly from where he lay beside her.
“What?” she mumbled, raising her head to look around. “Where am I?”
He didn’t answer. He just continued to stare at her, his eyes as hot as the fire from the previous night. He simply placed a hand on her hip and gently rolled her onto her side to face him. He lay with his elbow bent, his head resting in his hand. A welcoming smile tilted the corners of his mouth. She shivered.
“You’re not cold, are you?”
The front of her body lined up against the front of his, heat flowing from his body to hers. “Please, tell me I’m not naked,” she breathed, closing her eyes tightly.
“Sorry, love. I can’t do that,” he laughed. She squeezed her eyes closed tightly.
“Then please, tell me you’re not naked?” she tried. But she already knew her breasts brushed the sparse hair of his chest.
He brought his mouth close to her ear and said, “I’m not naked. Not completely, anyway. You, on the other hand…” He let the sentence trail off. He lifted the edge of the blanket and held it up. “Did you want to see?”
She turned her head quickly away and rolled onto her back. He laughed. The cad actually laughed.
“I think you’re enjoying this,” she mumbled.
“Having you in bed, naked, beside me? Of course, I am.” His thumb brushed her bottom lip. “I was so worried last night when no one could find you.”
She snorted. “You never worry about me.”
“You’re wrong about that.” His voice was strong and firm.
She lay there in silence while her mind tried to sort out the situation. How had this come to pass? Images popped into her mind from the previous night. Him laying her before the fire. Unbuttoning the shirt she wore. Licking down her body. “Oh, Lord,” she moaned.
“Your head hurts?” he asked as he softly kissed her brow. That was as good an excuse as any. She nodded.
“You saw me naked.”
He inhaled sharply, his chest pressing into hers. She held her breath until he laughed. “I did. And it’s a sight I will never, ever forget.”
She was going to die of embarrassment. Prisca tucked the counterpane firmly beneath her arms and stared up at the ceiling. How could she ever look at him again?
“No need for modesty now. I’ve already seen you,” he whispered, his voice teasing yet intense as his eyes fell to her breasts. “And you’re quite perfect.”
She shivered again as his tone and heated gaze did odd things to her belly. His eyebrows drew together. “Are you still cold?” He reached a hand beneath the counterpane to place it on her hip and roll her back toward him.
“I’m quite all right,” she squealed and reached for his hand to stop its slow slide across her bare skin. He let her tangle her fingers with his. “I need to get out of this bed,” she murmured.
“Not if my life depended on it,” he growled as he rolled her beneath him and settled between her thighs.
At that moment, Will heard the tromp of horses in the distance and groaned as he buried his face into her neck. He’d never get inside her at this rate.
“Do you remember anything about last night?” he asked, his gaze boring into hers.
Prisca gulped.
“Do you remember me making love to you?” he asked, praying the whisky still numbed her mind, praying she’d forgive him for this when she learned the truth.
Her eyes grew wide at the question. “D-did we?”
Will breathed a sigh of relief. “Hmm,” he lied. “You were marvelous, Prissy.”
“I was?” she squeaked, unable to meet his eyes any longer.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, love.” He tried to soothe her fears away and tried to ignore his own feelings of guilt. “You did promise to marry me first. Not every bride waits until her wedding day to seal the deal, so to speak, no matter what they say.”
“I remember you said something about marriage.”
Voices of her brothers could be heard on the other side of the door. Will steeled himself to receive their wrath.
Prisca squirmed beneath him, finally meeting his gaze. “That’s Emory!” she hissed, horrified.
Will nodded. “Don’t worry, love. It’ll all turn out for the best.”
A knock sounded on the door. “William!” Emory called. “Are you in there?”
“Please,” Prisca whispered. “Don’t say a word.”
But it was too late for that as Pierce already peered in through the small window. Even if Will had wanted to change his plan now, he’d gone too far to turn back.
Her brother’s eyes round with surprise. “He’s in there. They both are.”
Then the door swung open, and no one said a word. Not a gasp, grunt, groan, or bellow left their lips.
“Does the end truly justify the means?” Garrick’s stricken voice was so low that Will barely heard it. Certainly the vicar couldn’t know of his duplicity.
He glanced over at his old friends. Perhaps someday they’d forgive him. Aside from Garrick, who looked to be on the verge of expiring, if the color of his face was any indication, the others’ expressions shifted from shocked to smug to relieved before starting the cycle over again. Certainly not what he expected. “Morning,” he offered lamely as Prisca groaned beneath him and covered her face with a pillow.
Emory rubbed his jaw. “See you found Prissy,” he said, for lack of anything intelligent to say.
Shouldn’t they have been more angry? Will nodded. “Do you mind giving us a moment?”
Blaine closed his mouth, which had been hanging agape. “By all means, take a couple.”
The brothers Hawthorne filed back outside.
Prisca’s tortured groan only grew louder beneath the pillow. Will tugged the pillow away from her face. She looked completely devastated, not that he could blame her. The emotion niggled at him, too. After all, he’d told Ben he’d bring her back in the morning. There was no way the Hawthorne brothers would have found them without his little brother’s assistance.
He smoothed a curl from Prisca’s forehead. “Sorry about that.”
Her face squished up in mortification, and he felt a twinge of remorse, but only a twinge. She’d be his forever now. “But it was probably for the best,” he tried to assure her.