He seduced her slowly, with his mouth and hands, wanting to make this experience everything she wanted. Everything she deserved. Angels deserved heaven, and for this one precious night he was going to give it to her, or die trying.
Trailing his hands up and down her back, from her shoulders to her buttocks, his fingers caressed her soft skin. She squirmed against him, her breathing erratic, her breathy sighs the most erotic sounds he'd ever heard.
When his palms caressed the sides of her breasts, he reveled in her quick intake of breath. Leaning back enough to watch her, he feathered his thumbs lightly over her nipples. She rewarded him with a gasp of delight.
Filling his palms with her sensitive flesh, he teased her with his fingers, then lowered his head, flicking his tongue over her erect nipples. She exhaled a long, deep sigh, and tunneled her fingers through his hair, bringing his head into more intimate contact with her breasts.
Stephen laved her nipple, his tongue gently rubbing her, then drew the aching peak into his mouth and suckled. His lips moved back and forth, alternating breasts, until her moans commingled into one long, heartfelt murmur of pleasure.
He ran one hand down her body, his fingers entangling in the soft curls between her thighs. "Spread your legs for me, Hayley."
She obeyed and he caressed her wetness, separating the swollen folds of womanly flesh. Flesh no one but him had ever touched. Flesh that was already hot and wet. For him. A rush of possessiveness hit him like a brick to his head. This woman was his. Only his. He gently slipped a finger inside her, groaning when her velvety walls clutched him.
Her eyes slid shut and she clung to his shoulders. "Stephen," she whispered.
The sight of her flushed face, her lips moist and reddened from his kiss, the feel of her warmth surrounding his finger snapped his control. He wanted, needed, her hands on him. All over him. Wanted them skin to skin. Now. He quickly stripped off his clothes, then stood perfectly still before her, allowing her eyes to take in all of him, giving her time to look her fill. Her gaze drifted slowly up and down his body, and he gritted his teeth, aching for her touch but allowing her the time she needed … until he couldn't stand it for another second.
"Touch me, Hayley."
Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. "I don't know what to do."
"Just … touch me. Feel how much I want you." Reaching out, he guided her hands to his chest.
She splayed her fingers beneath his. "Your heart is pounding," she whispered. "And your skin is so hot."
He lowered his hands to his sides. "Don't be afraid."
She glided her palms across him, tentatively at first, then more boldly, running over his shoulders and back. His muscles bunched and contracted beneath her delicate, unpracticed touch, driving him mad. When her hands drifted lower, to brush across his abdomen, he couldn't hold back his groan.
Her hands stilled. "Did I hurt you?"
You're bloody killing me. "No, angel. Don't stop."
Clearly emboldened by his response, she ran her hands over him again and again. Stephen endured the sweet torture, knowing that any agony he suffered was well worth the bloom and wonder of sensual discovery lighting her eyes. When she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his chest, he sucked in a sharp breath and clenched his hands into fists.
"Do you like that?"
"God. Yes."
A feminine smile curved her lips. She kissed her way slowly across his chest, igniting his skin until it seemed an inferno burned inside him. When she flicked her tongue over his nipple, he couldn't stand the delicious torment any longer.
Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her to the bed and laid her gently on the counterpane. He was about to lie beside her when he stilled, transfixed by her expression. Sensual awareness, mixed with curiosity and newfound feminine power, all shimmered in her eyes. She rose to her knees, her gaze wandering slowly over him, head to foot, then riveting on his manhood.
On her knees, she moved to the edge of the bed, her eyes fastened on that part of him that was close to bursting with need.
Aroused beyond bearing by her ardent gaze, he took her hand and guided it to himself. "Touch me, Hayley. Don't be afraid."
Kneeling before him, hesitant and so beautiful he could barely stand it, she gently touched the tip of his arousal with her index finger. His moan echoed in the quiet room. Never in his life had he been reduced to such a state by a mere whisper of a touch. He would die if she continued. He would die if she stopped.
"Touch me again," he commanded in a raw voice. "Don't stop."
She brushed her fingers over the length of him, and he gritted his teeth against the incredible sensation. When she wrapped her fingers around him and gently squeezed, his heart stalled. She rubbed her hand over him several more times, until he caught her wrist. If he didn't stop her, he stood in danger of spilling himself into her palm. And that was not what he wanted. It wasn't what either of them wanted. He couldn't wait much longer.
Pushing her gently back, he lay half over her, gazing down into her luminous eyes. "This will probably hurt—"
"You could never hurt me, Stephen." Leaning up, she kissed his mouth, and hot need replaced all thoughts of conversation. Settling himself between her thighs, he entered her gently, a bit at a time, until he reached the barrier. He tried to gently probe past it, but that proved futile. His only two choices were to retreat or press on.
Retreating was not an option.
He grabbed her by the hips. "I don't want to hurt you," he gritted out.
"I don't care," she breathed.
She pushed herself up just as Stephen bore himself down, and together they broke the slim barrier that separated the girl from the woman.
Stephen rested his forehead against Hayley's and held himself perfectly still. Or as still as his ragged breathing and pounding heart would allow. Jesus. She was so warm and so tight. Like a velvet glove squeezing him in a pulsing fist.
Sweat broke out on his forehead in his effort to remain still and allow her to become accustomed to the feel of him. "Are you all right?" he rasped.
"I've never been better. Is there more, or is this it?"
Stephen raised his head and looked down into her eyes. He could not stop the half-grin that quirked his lips.
"There's more."
She wound her arms around his neck and squirmed beneath him. "Show me. I want to know everything."
Hesitating no longer, he began moving slowly within her, withdrawing nearly all the way, only to sink fully inside her once again. He kept his gaze locked on her, mesmerized by the play of emotions flitting across her expressive face. He quickened his thrusts, his arms trembling under his weight, determined to bring her to pleasure before he found his own release.
He watched the pressure build in her. She clutched at his shoulders, meeting his thrusts, her breathing choppy. When her climax claimed her, she threw her head back and dug her fingers into his skin.
"Stephen. Oh my … Stephen…"
She moaned his name over and over. Stephen watched her pleasure overtake her, his eyes and ears devouring her uninhibited response. Her contractions squeezed at him, driving him over the edge. Thrusting into her again, he spilled his seed deep inside her, losing a piece of himself, of his soul, to her.
When his spasms finally receded, he gathered her in his arms and rolled their bodies onto their sides, still intimately joined. He buried his face in her tousled curls and breathed deeply, filling his head with the soft scent of roses, and the musky scent of their lovemaking.
She snuggled against him and pressed a gentle kiss on his neck.
Stephen felt her kiss and drew his head back until their eyes met. Her gaze was filled with languorous warmth. She looked like a woman who had just been well loved.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked quietly.
"Only for a moment. After that, it was…" Her voice trailed off into a rapturous sigh.
He ran a single finger down the bridge of her nose. "It was what?"
"Indescribable. Incredible." A teasing gleam lit her eyes. "Are you looking for praise, Stephen?"
He chuckled and shook his head. "No. I know how wonderful it was. I was right there with you."
"Yes, you were." A frown puckered her brow. "I'm not trying to pry, but I assume this was not the first time you've done … this. Am I correct?"
Wariness filled him. The last thing he wanted was to discuss his debauched past with Hayley. "Why do you want to know?"
"I was just wondering if it was always so wonderful. So magical. Since I've never done this before and have nothing to compare it to, I was hoping you would know."
Stephen thought briefly of his past experiences, the parade of beautiful women who had shared his bed. He couldn't recall half their names, and at the moment he couldn't picture the face of even one of them. They were all like him—selfish, pleasure-seeking nobles in search of nothing more than physical gratification.
"No, Hayley. It is not always this wonderful or magical. I've never known it to be this way."
"Then you have made love before," she said in a small voice. "I knew you must have. You undressed me with an ease that bespoke of great experience."
A vise squeezed his chest. To compare what he'd just shared with Hayley to his experiences with the women who'd preceded her disgusted him. There was no comparison, and he knew why. Neither his nor his partner's emotions, beyond physical attraction, had ever before been engaged.
"You're wrong, Hayley. Yes, I've bedded other women. But I have never made love to one." He cupped her face in his palm, and ran his thumb over her full bottom lip. "I've never made love before. Until now. Until you," he said, his voice filled with wonder, as if he could not believe the truth of his own words. But they were indeed true.
A tremulous smile curved her lips. "I love you, Stephen."
He closed his eyes and swallowed. "I know."
"Make love to me again."
Stephen opened his eyes and stared at her. "Again? Now?" Even as he thought it impossible, his manhood stirred to life.
A teasing sparkle twinkled in her gaze. "Can you think of a better time? I have a great deal to learn." She pursed her lips. "I thought you were a tutor. Perhaps I need another teacher?"
The thought of another man being with her like this, the image of Hayley lying beneath someone else, looking up at him with love-filled eyes, of her laughing and teasing with someone else, filled Stephen with such violent jealousy, he nearly choked on it. She was his, damn it. His angel. The rational part of him knew he had no right to feel that way, but he felt that way all the same. As if he would kill anyone who touched her.
Unable to reconcile his warring emotions, he dropped a hard kiss onto her mouth. "No. You don't need another teacher," he growled. Angry at himself, and unreasonably angry with her for making him feel so unsettled and unsure of himself, he flipped her over onto her back and plunged into her with one strong stroke.
"Stephen!"
"God, I'm sorry." What the hell was wrong with him? He'd just plunged into her with all the finesse of a randy schoolboy with his first woman. Christ. He'd probably split her in two. "Did I hurt you?"
A slow smile lit her face. "Have you noticed that we keep asking each other 'did I hurt you?'"
Stephen's frown eased. "Yes, I guess we do, but I suppose that's not unusual for new lovers, especially when one is a virgin."
"Was a virgin," she corrected with a wicked grin. Her face suddenly sobered. "I suppose I shouldn't be quite so happy about that. I should probably be appalled by my shocking behavior and kick you out of my bed. I seem to recall a lecture you gave me regarding my lack of propriety."
"Indeed?" He withdrew himself nearly all the way from her body, then plunged back into her silky warmth. "I cannot imagine what I was thinking."
"Oooh…" she breathed. "Luckily I am not in the least bit appalled and I have no intention of kicking you out of my bed."
"Thank God." He again withdrew, then buried himself to the hilt.
"I quite like what you said before," she whispered, her body moving beneath his.
Withdraw and plunge. "What did I say?"
"You said we were lovers. I like the sound of that."
He withdrew and plunged again.
"And the feel of that."
He bent his head and drew her taut nipple into his mouth, eliciting a long moan of pleasure from her. He sucked on her gently at first, increasing the pressure, stopping just before it became pain. Hayley thrashed beneath him, raising her hips to meet every one of his thrusts.
"Wrap your legs around my waist," he instructed in a tight voice.
She obeyed without hesitation, opening herself more fully to him. He rocked against her, his strokes growing longer and stronger in length until she gasped his name.
Stephen thrust into her warmth, unable to control himself. Some force he couldn't explain had taken him over. His body moved involuntarily, in and out, faster and harder. Sweat beaded his brow and covered his back, slicking his skin. When he felt her velvet walls contract around him, he lost all semblance of control. He thrust into her again and again, mindless with passion, swamped in sensation. His release broke over him, the spasms incredibly strong. He plunged one last time, so powerfully he nearly drove them both into the wall.
When his manhood finally stopped jerking, he collapsed on top of her unable to move, barely able to breath. He knew he was probably crushing her, but God help him, he could not move a muscle.
Hayley wrapped her arms around his sweat-slick back, and sighed, snuggling closer to his chest. "I want to make love again," she whispered into his ear several minutes later.
If Stephen had been capable of smiling, he would have. Christ, the woman was going to kill him.
But what a bloody marvelous way to die.
Chapter 22
« ^ »
Several hours later, while Hayley slept, Stephen lay in her bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. He felt more alive than he ever had in his life, but his state of euphoria was blasted to hell by the tidal wave of self-loathing washing over him.
Making love to Hayley had been an unforgivable, foolish, not to mention completely selfish, thing to do, but still he was not sorry for it. He tried to dig up some feelings of remorse, but the task proved impossible. The night had been too beautiful, too magical, to spoil with regrets.
It had somehow been inevitable. He'd wanted her from the first minute he saw her asleep on the settee, exhausted from nursing him. Something about her had drawn him right from the start.
The emotions she sparked within him stunned him. He'd never felt anything other than lust for any of his former lovers, women who'd chased him because of who he was. None of those superficial title seekers had touched his heart or engaged his emotions. Would they have pursued him if he weren't a marquess? Perhaps, but certainly as nothing more than a sexual diversion.
But Hayley didn't know who he was. And she'd made him feel things he would have sworn himself incapable of feeling.
Like jealousy. He'd experienced his first unwelcome rush of jealousy the first time she'd mentioned Jeremy Poppledart. The mere idea of another man, any man, touching her filled him with a sick, icy rage.
And then there was his sudden, unprecedented fondness for children, old ladies, and irreverent servants. Where the hell had that come from?
And then there was love.
Callie loved him. And Hayley loved him. A lump the size of a teacup lodged in his throat. Jesus. He was nearly thirty years old and no one had ever said those words to him until he came here. His own family, except Victoria, could barely stand him, yet the Albrights, people he'd known for only a matter of weeks, loved him.
Stephen shook his head, thoroughly confused. He cared deeply for the woman he held in his arms. How could he not? There was not a mean, dishonest bone in her body. But did he love her? He doubted his ability to truly love anyone. His life among the social-climbing, back-stabbing members of Society had left him too cynical.
Too jaded. Too morally corrupt to believe in the fairy tale, all-encompassing sort of love poets spouted.
Hayley stirred in her sleep and Stephen's arms tightened around her. He knew she'd be hurt when she discovered him gone, but he had to go. He had a killer to catch, a fact he seemed to forget with frightening ease. He had to concentrate all his energies on discovering his enemy's identity, or else he'd end up dead. Once the person who wanted him dead was apprehended, then he could resume his life.
And Hayley would resume hers. She thought she loved Stephen Barrettson—tutor, but Stephen knew she would loathe Stephen Barrett—Marquess of Glenfield. Maybe she'll find happiness with Poppledink.
The idea filled Stephen with a fire-hot rage, but he fought it. She deserved happiness. He couldn't remain here, and he knew his shallow, pleasure-seeking lifestyle among the ton would appall Hayley. She would not last five minutes with the lecherous rakes and the vicious women. The ton would shun her for all the wonderful, fascinating things that made her unique. Yes, she deserved someone better than him. Whoever the man was who won her, he was going to be one lucky bastard.
As long as I never have to see him with his hands on her.
Then he would be a dead bastard.
* * *
Hayley awoke slowly the next morning, warm sunlight pouring through her bedchamber windows. She stretched, her muscles protesting with a highly pleasurable ache. Memory flooded her, and a heated blush suffused her from head to toe. She turned her head, hoping to see Stephen lying next to her, but the bed was empty. She rolled over, laying her head in the indent he'd made on the pillow next to hers and breathed deeply.
The white linen smelled just like him. Clean, woodsy, and musky. Pulling his pillow over her face, she hugged it and sighed with happiness.
Last night Stephen had made her a woman. And she felt like one. A knowing smile touched her lips, recalling the touch of his hands, the taste of his skin, the feel of him deep inside her. A pleasure-filled shudder rippled through her. How on earth was she going to keep the rest of the family from knowing? Surely her face would give her away.
RED ROSES MEAN LOVE Page 24