He held her tightly in his arms afterward, a primordial possessiveness overcoming him. Bedding Sabrina had been far more enjoyable than he’d anticipated.
He had pleased her as well; he knew it by the languorousness of her eyes when her lids slowly lifted. But he had hurt her, too. The champagne lights in the dark irises were blurred by tears.
“That was what you meant…by release?” Her voice was hushed and bewildered.
Her faltering question surprised him. “That is what I meant, sweeting. The French call it la petite mort, the little death.”
“How…appropriate. I thought…for a moment I was dying.”
“From pain?”
“No…not pain. Pleasure. Just as you promised.”
A slow, brilliantly devastating smile crept across his lips. “So you liked it?”
“Yes…I liked it…No…more than liked.”
He laughed against her mouth, the sound thick, sensual, raw. “I applaud your honesty.”
“You mock me.”
“No.” His expression instantly sobered. “I feared I might hurt you too much for you to feel pleasure.”
“Well…it did hurt at first…but afterward…”
“Afterward?”
“I felt…it was…I can’t really explain…”
He thought he understood what she had felt, but he wanted to hear it from her own lips. “Try,” he commanded softly.
“It…was like I was soaring and falling at the same moment, but that…you would catch me….”
He drew back, his gaze capturing hers. She sensed his burning triumph and satisfaction, saw it reflected in his look.
Wordlessly, Niall pressed his lips against her temple, before carefully easing himself from her body. Sabrina winced at the twinges she felt between her thighs and the unspoken fear that he would leave her. After covering them both with a sheet and quilt, however, he held her in the curve of his arm, while his fingers toyed with a lock of her hair.
Her alarm ebbing, she lay there, breathing the warm, musky scent of his skin, savoring the novel experience she’d just undergone, her senses still in thrall to the lush mysteries of passion. She hadn’t realized such a degree of sensuality even existed. Her husband had, of course. In the game of love, Niall was an expert who commanded a vast array of weapons. And he had used them to great advantage in their battle of wills. She’d been a fool to think she could escape surrender. He had won handily…although she would not consider herself the loser. Not tonight. Tomorrow, though, she would have to face the painful knowledge that she was not unique.
I want you, he’d told her. How many other women had he said those exact words to? In this very bed? In truth, she was not so special, though he had made her feel so. He had taken great care to make her initiation into love a tender awakening, but it was no more than he would have done for any other woman.
Sabrina bit her lip, trying to still the sudden stab of jealousy that curled through her. Faith, it was better that she face the truth squarely now, better that she allow herself no illusions. She had to crush the fantasy that she held any special place in her husband’s heart or bed.
Passion was a sport to Niall, a game at which she was a hopeless novice. It had been imprudent to confess to him how profoundly his lovemaking had affected her. She should have tried to pretend indifference at least.
Feeling suddenly awkward, Sabrina started to ease from his embrace, but Niall merely tightened his hold.
“Where do you go, madam wife?” he murmured lazily.
“I thought you…we…were finished.”
“We are, for the moment. But savoring the aftermath of passion can be enjoyable.” He turned his head to gaze at her intently. “There is no point in fleeing me now, tiger. The deed is done.”
A hesitant smile curved Sabrina’s lips before her natural reserve reasserted itself, and she buried her face in his shoulder.
That shy, heartrending flicker of a smile affected Niall strangely. As the chamber grew hushed, he lay there holding her, attempting to understand the myriad emotions his new bride had evoked in him.
It was some long moments later when he realized from her soft, even breathing that Sabrina had succumbed to nerves and exhaustion and had fallen into a deep slumber.
Sleep was not forthcoming for Niall, however. He could not shake the unsettling feeling that he had passed a point from which there was no return.
It was not merely because he was irrevocably wed now. With the consummation he had fulfilled his duty regarding their marriage, and considered himself free to go his own way.
It was Sabrina herself who troubled him.
It should have been a simple exercise for him to conquer her with pleasure. He was a master at seduction, and no woman had ever resisted him for long. In truth, the bedding had gone well. He had demanded and received her surrender, just as he’d intended. He’d made Sabrina trust him enough to lower her prickly defenses.
Disturbingly, though, he hadn’t expected her passionate response, or his own. He had meant to satisfy a fleeting desire for her, but carnal craving had spiraled into something more profound. When she’d given herself to him so bravely tonight, he’d felt the same primitive, overpowering urge as when she’d defended him in battle. Protective and possessive. Needy and yearning. He had wanted her, desired her, more than was rational.
Perhaps it was her very inexperience which had engendered his response. Remarkably, Sabrina’s combination of innocence and shy eagerness had made the act of lovemaking seem fresh and new to a man of his jaded passions.
He might also attribute his powerful reaction to frustrated desire; he’d refrained from indulging his needs for some time now, and he was not accustomed to abstinence.
Her defiance was a powerful aphrodisiac, as well. She was a challenge to his masculinity. A tiger in mouse’s clothing.
Niall found himself biting back a smile as he stared at the velvet canopy overhead. Sabrina was not like the shallow, self-serving beauties who usually pursued him. Her naivete might amuse him, yet at the same time her spirit and courage had won his respect.
Oddly, he liked his new bride. He liked her innocence. He liked her soft and mellow and trusting. He liked her defiance and her tart tongue. He liked her beneath him, arching with ecstasy and sobbing his name.
She was not the cold, unresponsive woman he’d feared. She possessed a hidden fire that was tantalizing. In the throes of passion he’d glimpsed a bewitching enchantress.
No, perhaps being wed to Sabrina would not be the hardship he’d envisioned. He might be furious at Angus for forcing his hand, but his fury did not extend to his bride.
Indeed, Niall reflected, Sabrina might be getting the worst of the bargain. Perhaps he was the hedonist she’d termed him. He would admit to excesses in matters carnal. He was a man to whom women had always come too easily and too often. From the time he’d been breeched, the female sex had practically been at his feet. And he had responded in kind, intent on losing himself in the pleasures of the flesh, regardless of who his lovers might be, seeking nothing deeper than carnal gratification. Both he and his partners had accepted that.
He formed attachments based purely on sensual pleasure. With Eve Graham, for example. His former mistress had lasted longer than most. Their expert couplings had left him breathless, spent…and hollow.
Unlike with Sabrina tonight. Lovemaking with her was somehow different…exciting and new. He was profoundly touched by her abandon and ingenuous appreciation.
The novelty would undoubtedly wear off with time, Niall suspected—but for the moment it might be satisfying to discover what sort of bride fate had given him. To see if he could remake her into the woman he wished her to be, a desirable woman who was, if not a match for him, then at least a skillful bed partner.
Absently picking up some silken strands of Sabrina’s hair, Niall let them slowly shift through his fingers.
He was wed to her now, and he would make the best of it. He would explore the hid
den, sensual side of her nature to their mutual enjoyment. He would pleasure her and teach her to pleasure him in return.
It would be a challenge, no doubt, but he intended to bring out the tigress in his mouse of a bride.
Chapter
Nine
Sabrina stirred slowly awake, then sharply inhaled with awareness. A warm, nude, and very male body lay beneath hers, the sensual feel of sinewed flesh arousing against her sensitive skin.
Niall. Her husband. Her arms and legs were braided with his, her hair a wild tangle across the breadth of his chest.
Sabrina’s face flushed as disorientation fled and memory came rushing back. This was her marriage bed. And this must still be her wedding night. Dawn evidently had not yet arrived. Shadows wreathed the bridal chamber, the candle flames burning low in their sockets.
Thankfully Niall was asleep. His breathing was deep and easy, his strong body relaxed—may the devil take him.
Her heart thudding, she slowly eased herself from his side. She needed time to regain her composure before she had to face him again.
She felt different, strangely so, Sabrina reflected as she lay there rigidly taking inventory. Her mouth was tender from his kisses, her nipples even more so, while the secret hollow between her thighs throbbed with a twinging ache, almost as though he were still inside her. She could feel him moving within her—
Shying away from the remembrance of what he’d done to her, she carefully slipped from the bed and drew the velvet curtains around him to give herself privacy. After stirring the fire, she hastily washed away the musky scent of their lovemaking which clung to her skin, then dressed in a day gown which had been delivered yesterday to her husband’s home.
Feeling somewhat refreshed and more able to deal with the demands of her current circumstances, Sabrina realized she was famished. When she started to slip from the room in search of food, however, she discovered a tray directly outside the door. Someone had thoughtfully provided wine and a cold collation of meats and cheese and bread. Gratefully, she curled up in a chair before the fire and satisfied the worst of her hunger.
She was lost in reflection when a deeply masculine voice spoke behind her—the same voice she’d heard whispering endearments and bold persuasions in her ear last night.
“’Tis a first, a lass leaving my bed before the night is through.”
Starting, Sabrina glanced back over her shoulder at her husband of a few short hours. Niall had parted the bed-curtains and propped himself on one elbow. He looked dismayingly, sinfully beautiful, lounging there among the tumbled sheets, the covers falling to below his waist, nearly a day’s growth of stubble darkening his jaw. The nakedness of that broad, bronzed, rippling chest made her mouth go dry.
“W-Would you…like something to eat?” she managed to ask.
“Later, sweeting. I have in mind satisfying a different appetite first.”
“What…appetite?”
“Come here, and I will gladly show you.”
Her heart twisted in her chest. Niall seemed so easy and normal, unchanged by having made love to her, while she had been devastated by his tender eroticism. With his invasion of her body, he had laid claim to some secret part of her. But then, he doubtlessly had honed that particular skill. He was a veteran of more beds than he could probably recall.
He flashed her a slow, lazy smile, more brilliant than sunshine. “Come to bed, love.”
“W-Why?”
“Because I want you.” His voice was pleasant, unhurried, rich in timbre. “And because I want to pleasure you.”
He was in an enchanting mood, Sabrina thought, her heart sinking. It was all she could do to resist his potent sexual power, yet she had to try. She had already exposed more of her vulnerability to him than she could bear.
“Do you never think of anything else but lovemaking?” she muttered.
“Occasionally.” The warm blue eyes were amused and beguiling. “The third Tuesday of each month I devote to clan affairs.”
She bit back a smile, cursing the overwhelming urge to run into his arms. “You may cease your efforts to seduce me. Our marriage has been consummated, you might recall.”
“True.” He regarded her with lazy anticipation. “But we have barely begun your education.” His voice held a uniquely seductive rasp. “You delighted me far beyond my expectations last night, but it will take time and practice for you to become proficient.”
“You have enough proficiency for both of us. And I have no desire to repeat the experience.”
“Did you find your initiation too painful?”
“I found it…disappointing,” Sabrina lied. “I cannot comprehend why such fuss is made about so awkward a procedure.”
His eyebrow shot up. “You render me inarticulate.”
“I doubt it.”
His grin was audacious and captivating, his eyes a vivid, wicked blue. “I think you must be telling a shameful falsehood. Come, admit it, mouse, you find me irresistible.”
A warm laugh bubbled past her control. “I find you impossibly conceited.”
Niall tilted his head at the bell-like sound of her laugh. “You are entrancing when you laugh, do you realize that?”
Her heart tumbled over itself at his remark. Doubtless he was giving her false coin, but still she felt herself succumbing to the virile charm. “I expect countless women find you entrancing, but I think your prowess as a lover much overrated.”
“Come, now, pet, I might become insulted.”
“That would be impossible!”
His smile softened. “I shall take pleasure in proving you wrong. No lass has spent a night in my bed and yet been unsatisfied.”
“I am honored to be your first.”
“Did you not enjoy the feel of me moving inside you, sweeting?”
Sabrina shut her eyes briefly, fighting the erotic image of their bodies joined. His sensuality was a weapon he held over her, and the wretch damn well knew it. “If you expect me to pay homage to your carnal talents, you will have a long wait.”
“Just so I do not have to wait for you. Come, sweeting, I am not accustomed to begging for female companionship.”
“Perhaps you should. You might find it beneficial.”
He shook his head. “I can see you have a great deal to learn about the art of dalliance. When a man asks if you enjoyed his lovemaking, you should declare yourself enchanted.”
“Had I been enchanted, I might have admitted it.”
Niall was the one to laugh this time, a wry, pained chuckle. “My wounded vanity may never recover.”
“I’m certain it will. You have only to seduce your next female and it will be quite whole again.”
“I want no other female but you.”
“Now who is telling falsehoods?” Sabrina plucked at a thread of her skirt. “I…am not the kind of woman who could ever please you.”
His expression suddenly grew sober. “You can and shall please me in every possible way. Come here, Sabrina.” When she remained frozen, he patted the mattress beside him. “I never took you for a timid lass. But perhaps our Highland ways are too fierce for you, and you are not up to the challenge.”
Vexed as he intended her to be, Sabrina rose abruptly, determined to prove him wrong. She might be unable to change her plain appearance, but she was not a mouse in spirit.
She hesitated, however, when Niall tossed aside the covers, exposing his nudity. He presented a riveting contrast to the pale linen sheets, his body an awesome line of broad chest and naked, rippling thigh, all lean-muscled strength and bronzed skin.
She wanted desperately to avert her gaze, but then she noticed the discolored flesh on his right hip—a wicked gash that in her nervousness she had missed seeing previously.
“You are hurt,” she murmured in sympathy.
Niall’s mouth twisted wryly. “A wound from an unfortunate mishap. But it is healing. Do not think to change the subject, mouse. Do as I bid and come to me.”
A mixture of
desire and excited apprehension coursed through Sabrina as she forced her feet to move.
When she was close enough, Niall reached out to capture her wrist and drew her down to sit beside him. The warmth in his blue eyes seemed very real as he lightly stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Did you truly not like kissing me last eve?”
She couldn’t answer with the sudden constriction in her throat; indeed, she was finding it difficult to breathe.
“I very much liked kissing you,” he murmured.
“You were…merely performing your duty.”
“Surely you do not believe a man embraces a woman like I did you out of simple duty?”
“Yes…”
“Indeed,” he said almost to himself, “a great deal to learn.”
Sabrina forced herself to reply lightly. “You cannot persuade me that last night was not a disappointment to you. Doubtless you prefer ladies of experience.”
Niall gave her an odd look. “Don’t underestimate yourself, lass. Such spirit as yours is entrancing. It will be a fortunate man who can unleash all the fire you’ve hidden from the world.” He smiled softly. “And I intend to be that man.”
He reached up and flicked the high neckline of her gown, making Sabrina tense. “Surely this is too constricting, sweeting. And unflattering. It doesn’t do you justice.”
She made a face. “You have a most annoying habit of criticizing my taste in attire.”
“Because I am not fond of the stiff Presbyterian frocks you wear. The style is all wrong for you—and you don it like protective armor. A gown should flatter the wearer. The neckline should show the lovely swell of your breasts…Like this…”
Gently he tugged on the bodice, drawing down the fabric to the neckline of the tight stomacher. Sabrina’s breath caught in her throat.
“And if you were truly daring…you would rouge your nipples and let them peek over the edge, beckoning your lover…like so…”
Her breath fled entirely. When he brushed her skin, her nipples instantly grew taut, while her heart began to thud. Yet she made no move to stop him as he exposed the pale swells of her bosom pushed up by stays of whalebone, freeing her flesh of the confining fabric.
The Lover Page 17