With her skin like silk beneath his fingers, her breasts beneath his mouth, her breathy sighs of pleasure echoing in his head, any control he may have believed he still possessed evaporated like a puddle under the desert sun. When he encountered the tie-on drawers, he quickly dispatched with the barrier.
Want her. Need her. The words pounded through him, a mantra fueling the fire raging in his veins. Need to touch her. Now.
At the first brush of his fingertip against her feminine flesh, they both stilled. She drew in a sharp breath, and he lifted his head. Lying there, hair in wild disarray, eyes closed, dark lashes resting on cheeks flushed with arousal, lips parted and swollen, breasts bare, nipples damp and erect from his mouth and tongue, she completely undid him. Bathed in the flickering, golden firelight, she looked like a wild temptress, an enchanting siren he could not resist.
She opened her eyes and their gazes collided. “Spread your legs, Meredith.”
Without a word, she obeyed, and he glided his fingertip over feminine flesh that was slick, moist, and plump... for him. Her eyes slid closed. “Oh, my....” The words whispered past her lips, and she spread her legs wider.
Watching her face, studying the myriad expressions flitting over her features, he aroused her with a slow, circular motion. Her hips began to slowly undulate in response, each movement brushing her hip against his erection, until he felt as if he were about to explode. His fingers quickened their pace, and her breathing turned choppy, her movements jerkier as she sought release. Leaning over her, he kissed her deeply, his tongue slipping into the warmth of her mouth at the same time he eased first one, then another finger into the heat of her body.
She stilled for several heartbeats, and he absorbed the taste of her in his mouth, the feel of her tight, wet heat surrounding his fingers, imagining her wrapped around his erection. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and with a moan, he deepened their kiss, his tongue imitating the act his body ached to share with hers, his fingers stroking inside her in unison. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, digging into his flesh. She tightened around his fingers and arched her back. Breaking off their kiss, he watched her, pressing his hand tightly against her, drinking in the feel of her spasming around his fingers, lost in the erotic sight of her in the throes of orgasm.
A long sigh escaped her, and her grip on his shoulders loosened. He slipped his fingers from her and drew a deep, shuddering breath. The musky scent of her arousal filled his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth against the clawing need to free himself and simply bury himself in her silky wet heat.
The sensual fog enveloping Meredith slowly lifted, leaving her steeped in a loose-limbed, sated state she’d never before experienced, one her imagination had never even conceived. Forcing her eyelids open, she stilled at the sight of him. On his side, his upper body propped upon his elbow and forearm, he was perfectly still except for the muscle ticking in his clenched jaw. His gaze was fastened upon her face, his eyes burning with intensity. He took her limp hand from his shoulder and pressed a hard kiss into her palm, then pressed it against his chest. His heartbeat thundered beneath her fingers.
Her gaze roamed over him. His hair was badly rumpled from her fingers, his shirt badly wrinkled and hanging open, and God help her, she wanted nothing more than to remove that shirt altogether to explore the play of muscles her fingers had danced over. Her gaze drifted downward, settling on his arousal that tented his loose trousers in the most spellbinding way. She ached to touch him, to strip away the barriers of his clothing and look at him, to feel him inside her body and share the most intimate of touches with him. And clearly he ached to do the same. Yet he had not. And the truth smacked her like an open-handed slap—she would not have stopped him from making love to her. Indeed, if she’d been capable of speech at the time, she might well have asked him to make love to her.
That reality cut through the lingering sensual cobwebs still obscuring her wits, bombarding her with a plethora of self-recriminations. Dear God, what had she been thinking? In the blinking of an eye, she’d surrendered her respectability, and had very nearly turned herself into the very sort of woman she’d sworn she’d never become.
Snatching her hand from his chest, she struggled to sit up. Hellfires burned in her cheeks as she yanked her bodice over her naked breasts, then jerked down her skirts. An image of herself, legs splayed, back arched, wantonly offering him her body, flashed through her mind. The upbringing she’d fought so hard against, that she thought she’d beaten, had defeated her the instant it was put to the test. She supposed she should be thankful for his restraint, because clearly she did not possess any.
Leave. She had to leave. Immediately. Before she said or did anything else to humiliate herself. Because even now, with the cold reality of her actions staring her in the face, she still wanted nothing more than to fall back into his arms and let the magic begin all over again. His intoxicating, gentle touch stripped away her control, leaving her vulnerable in a way that terrified her.
Hot tears pushed behind her eyes, and she pressed her lips together to contain the sob rising in her throat. She frantically tried to tame her wild hair by twisting it into a knot while she looked about in panic for her hairpins.
Spotting several, she grabbed them, and began jabbing them into her hair.
“Meredith. Stop.” He reached out and grasped her wrists, halting her efforts to repair herself. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. She drew in a deep breath, fighting off the panic threatening to overwhelm her.
Gathering what scraps of her dignity remained, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Please let me go. I want to leave.”
“I can see that. But I cannot let you leave... not like this. We need to talk.”
“There’s nothing to say... except I’m sorry.”
“What the devil for?”
“For my... behavior.” Dear God, it was nearly impossible to look him in the eye.
His eyes filled with concern, and, releasing one of her hands, he gently brushed a tangled curl from her cheek. “My God, Meredith, you’ve nothing to apologize for. You were... extraordinary. If anyone should beg pardon, it should be me, but God help me, I cannot apologize for something that was so beautiful. The only thing I am sorry for is that you so obviously feel regrets over what we shared.”
“How can I not? It was a mistake.”
His eyes darkened. “It was nothing of the sort. It was incredible. And inevitable, given the attraction between us. Although it was perhaps precipitous.” He brushed his fingers over her cheek. “Although I desperately, and obviously, want to make love to you, it was not my intention to seduce you this evening.”
She pointedly looked about the room. “Indeed? Then why did you go to all this trouble?”
“To court you. Properly.”
“There is nothing proper about any of this, Philip.” And she knew it. Had known it from the moment she’d walked into this room. Yet she’d stayed. She had no one to blame for the outcome of the evening but herself. Damnation. It would have been so nice to assign the blame somewhere, anywhere else. On him—but he’d taken nothing she had freely given. On the wine—but she’d only had one glass.
“I assure you my intentions were honorable. Yet once you were in my arms, I’m afraid I forgot everything else.” He cupped her cheek in his palm. “You intoxicate me, Meredith. Everything about you captivates me. Yes, I want to make love to you, but I want much more than that.”
Everything in Meredith stilled, and she stared at him with dawning dread. His words, his serious, hopeful expression, his declaration that he’d arranged this evening to properly court her and that his intentions were honorable... she actually felt the blood drain from her head.
Dear God, did he intend to ask her to be his wife?
Fourteen
Meredith jumped to her feet, trying to hide her mounting alarm. Abandoning the idea of fixing her hair, she scanned the room for her reticule, every fiber of her being int
ent on escaping. Before he gave voice to an impossible proposal.
Philip rose and grasped her shoulders. “Meredith, I—”
She rested her fingers against his lips, cutting off his words. Trying to keep her voice calm, she said, “Don’t say anything else.”
Hurt and confusion flashed in his eyes. “Why not?”
Because I know a simple “no” will not satisfy you, that you ‘d want more of an explanation. And I cannot think of a lie in my current state of confusion that would satisfy you. And I cannot tell you the truth. And because it’s now obvious where talking to you leads—to me lying on my back. “Because I... I am not ready to hear anything more. I need time to think, and I cannot do that in your presence. You’re far too... distracting.”
A measure of the tension left his face. “You affect me in exactly that same way. Which is why—”
“No!” Full-fledged panic rose in her, doubled by the unmistakable hurt and confusion in his gaze. “Please, Philip. Please do not say anything else. Not now.”
His unwavering gaze completely unnerved her. “You know what I want to ask you, Meredith.”
She didn’t dare pretend she didn’t, lest he indeed ask her. “Yes. But not here. Not now. I... I need to think.”
He studied her for several seconds. “Very well. But we will discuss this, Meredith.”
She nodded. “But not now.” Not until I’ve had a chance to gather my thoughts and shore up my defenses against you.
“I’ll return for you here once I’ve seen to the carriage.” He quit the room, closing the door quietly behind him. The instant she was alone, Meredith buried her face in her hands.
Dear God, what had she done?
Albert pushed aside the heavy blue velvet drapes and stared out the drawing room window. Without even a glimmer of moonlight, nothing save blackness and his own somber reflection greeted his stare. He listened to the mantel clock chime, announcing it was midnight. Surely Miss Merrie would return home soon from the fancy dinner party. Would Lord Greybourne choose one of the fine ladies he’d invited to be his wife? Or would he follow his heart?
An image of Charlotte rose in his mind’s eye. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rested his forehead on the cool glass and blew out a long breath. She’d gone upstairs hours ago to put Hope to bed and had not returned. Obviously she’d retired as well.
Instantly the image in his mind shifted, and he imagined Charlotte, lying in bed, her blond hair fanned out across the pillow, firelight flickering across her golden skin. His body tightened, and he gritted his teeth, trying to banish the sensual image, but to no avail. Reaching out her arms, she said, “Albert...” A groan of misery-filled longing he could not suppress escaped him.
“Albert... are you all right?”
His eyes popped open, and he jerked upright. Reflected in the window, he saw her standing in the doorway.
Heat rushed into his face. Biting back a curse, he tried to will away his obvious arousal, but it was hopeless. And damn it, he’d left his jacket and waistcoat in his bedchamber. There was nothing to shield his condition from her.
“I’m fine.” The words came out in a strained, hoarse voice.
He watched her reflection, watched her hesitate, praying for all he was worth that she’d turn and leave him. Instead she frowned, then walked slowly toward him.
“You don’t sound fine. I heard you groan... did you hurt yourself?”
“No.” The word felt ripped from his throat. His heart pounded harder with every step she took. She didn’t stop until she stood next to him. Her delicate, flowery scent wafted over him, and he clenched his jaw and fisted his hands at his side. Although she’d retired hours ago, she still wore her gray day gown. Thank God. If she’d shown up in her night rail...
Bloody hell, don’t think of her wearin‘ a night rail. He felt her staring at his profile and resolutely fixed his gaze out the window, but that didn’t help, as he could clearly see her reflected in the glass. Her lovely profile. Her full lips. Her soft hair. Her feminine curves. God help him. Perhaps if he ignored her she would leave. Before she saw the effect she had upon him.
“I came down to make a cup of tea. Would you care for one?”
“No.” The word came out much harsher than he’d intended, and he saw her flinch, saw the look of hurt, surprised confusion pass over her features at his biting tone. Damn it all, he was making a muck of things. He had to get away from her. Now. Intent upon escaping as quickly as possible, he turned swiftly. Too swiftly. As he did so often, he tripped over his own bloody feet, and would have fallen fiat on his face had she not grabbed hold of his upper arms to steady him.
He straightened and found himself standing less than a foot away from her, her hands grasping his upper arms. The heat of humiliation at his clumsiness instantly changed into heat of an entirely different sort, radiating need and want through him from where her hands touched him. Somewhere in the back of his mind a small voice screamed at him to move away from her. But instead he looked into her eyes.
Beautiful gray eyes that stared up at him with an expression he couldn’t name, but that halted his breath just the same. By God, the feel of her hands, even through his shirt, burned fire through him. She was so close. She smelled so delicious. He loved her so deeply. And God help him, he wanted her so badly....
He’d meant to step away. Surely he had. But the longing and desire he’d fought against for so long overwhelmed him, and he stepped forward. Cupped her pale face with one unsteady hand. Wrapped his other arm around her waist to draw her flush against him. Heart slamming against his ribs, limbs shaking, he leaned in and touched his lips to hers, kissing her with all the pent-up love in his soul. For several euphoric seconds. Until he realized he was the only one participating. Abruptly ending the kiss, he straightened. And froze.
She stood wooden in his embrace, face devoid of color, eyes wide and filled with shock. Nothing but shock. No warmth, no desire, no tenderness.
He released her as if she’d burned him, and took two hasty steps backward. And finally another expression filled her eyes.
Pity.
Jesus. Anything but that. Anger. Hatred. Disgust. But not pity. For the virginal cripple who’d made a complete ass out of himself. And destroyed years of friendship with a single, thoughtless act. How could he have been so incredibly stupid?
“I... I’m sorry, Charlotte. Please, forgive me.”
She said nothing, just stood rigidly, hands clenched at her sides, staring at him with that same stunned, pity-filled expression that jabbed a knife straight through his heart. Turning, he strode from the room as swiftly as his lame leg allowed, not stopping until he reached the privacy of his bedchamber. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he propped his elbows on his shaking knees, then lowered his head into his hands.
God Almighty, never, never had anything hurt like this. Not Taggert’s fists, not his leg, nothing. And just when he thought he couldn’t be more mortified, hot tears pushed at the backs of his eyes and a shudder shook him. Bloody hell, he hadn’t been reduced to tears since he was a lad. But these weren’t tears of pain. They were tears of loss.
Another shudder racked him, and a litany of self-directed obscenities whispered past his lips. He’d ruined everything. That one-sided kiss, her utter rejection, and his utter humiliation would always stand between them. Christ, how could he ever look her in the eye again? He’d betrayed her trust. She no doubt thought him nothing more than a randy bastard, the same sort who’d misused her for years.
Raising his head, he dragged his hands down his face. He had two choices. He could try to find some way to accomplish the impossible—to find the words to make amends to her, then pray they could go on as if tonight had never happened. Or he could leave Miss Merrie’s house.
His heart shattered as it recognized that there was really only one choice.
Charlotte stared at the empty doorway where Albert had disappeared, and slowly emerged from the stupor that had afflicted her since the instant he
’d stumbled into her arms. Raising a shaking hand, she pressed her fingers to her lips.
Lips that only moments before he’d touched with his own.
Heat swamped her, awakening her senses that his unexpected kiss had frozen with shock. Her eyes slid closed, and she allowed herself to relive those few seconds. Never had a man kissed her like that. With sweet, heart-stopping gentleness. With all her experience, she hadn’t known a kiss could be so... beautiful. Hadn’t known it could rob her of breath. Of movement. Render her wide-eyed, stunned, and speechless.
Yet she should have known that Albert would kiss like that. Everything about him was good and kind, tender and sweet. And heaven help her, she wanted all that goodness and kindness for herself. She wanted Albert for herself. And after the way he’d held her against him, after she’d seen the blatant desire burning in his eyes, there was no denying he’d wanted her.
Pity had suffused her that someone as fine as Albert would waste his desires on someone like her. Which brought to mind the most nagging of questions. Why would he want someone like her? Had he been drinking? No, there’d been no hint of spirits about him. Perhaps it hadn’t been her he’d desired—maybe she’d just happened upon him when he’d been thinking about some other woman, a woman he desired. Yes, most likely she’d simply found Albert at a randy moment. She well knew that men had plenty of those. A man got hard, and any woman would do.
Yet the instant the thought entered her mind, her heart rejected it. No. Albert wasn’t just any man. He was honorable. He’d kissed her because he’d wanted her. And it wasn’t just his body that told her that. It was the look in his eyes.
But that still did not answer why. Why would a decent young man desire a used-up, former whore? ‘Cause he’s lookin’ fer a little tumble, you nodcock. You haven’t wanted a man to touch you fer the past five years. Now you do. Why not give ‘im what he wants? You’ll both get yer itches scratched.
WHO WILL TAKE THIS MAN? Page 26