by Darcy Burke
Then it hit him hard. Slammed into his gut. She figured because he avoided her, it was not to keep her safe from him and his driving urge to claim her, but that he didn’t want her. For the love of God above, he was a trained investigator, able to find the pin in the hay, but here, he misinterpreted the lady of his heart’s desire. Mentally, he shook his head, calling himself every name in the book. But, in his own defense, he’d have sworn she feared intimacy. But he knew better. Her response to his kisses held the key. She responded in a manner no man could miss.
In the blink of an eye, he pulled her to him, her gasp barely audible as she collided with his chest. His hand held the back of her head and he descended, his mouth claiming hers. She tensed, as if not sure what to do, but he persisted. He pressed against her closed lips, his own parted, and his tongue traced the seam of hers, begging entrance. Instantly, she opened to his invasion, and he plundered her depth. She tasted like manna, sweet, desirous, wanting. How could she ever think he’d want another when he had her?
She tilted her head, giving him easier access. When she rose on her toes, her hands wheedled under his arms and encircled his neck, returning his kiss. Her tongue danced with his, and his hands squeezed a bit more, realizing the thin gown was wrapping against the lush warm body beneath. His hand slid down her back, over the swell of her buttocks and scooped her tight, pressing her against him. It was automatic and once he did so, he guessed it wasn’t advisable to push her. Her past could easily make her flee him and his lust, but he wanted her. Needed her. He deepened his kiss. She arched toward his body. Inwardly, he leaped with joy.
He growled as he picked her up and carried her back to his bed. Slowly he lowered her to the mattress. She was limp, easy to place there. Thankfully she didn’t resist, and he let out the breath he’d held in anticipation. He slid onto the bed next to her. There was a flash in her eyes, that of a frightened deer. She blinked and it was gone. She reached up to kiss him again. Her touch was gentle, like a butterfly flittering above, lightly grazing his lips. The feeling drilled into him that he’d protect her from the world if need be, and the lion inside roared for him to take her. He wanted her badly, wanted to rip her gown off and lavish her with kisses, to hold her against him, but she was fragile. Any attempt to appease his desires could mar her forever, so he went softly and slowly.
Evelyn, though, pressed further, faster. Her lips parted, her tongue darting into his mouth as her body smashed against his. Her leg bent over his hip, the apex of her thighs dangerously close to his cock. Nude against her, he strained not to rip the material away and bury himself inside her. Despite the roving male, the instinctive desire to mate, to make her his and give into his dark side, a part of him recalled the file on her attackers. The words streamed into the faint threads of sane thoughts. Of torn garments, bruised and bloody marks with obvious signs of violent rape. Christ, he couldn’t be aggressive by any means. She was his wife, and Grifton’s dying request was for him to protect her.
The remembrance of his dead friend and the blood that stained his own hands fought over the throbbing member that had a mind of its own. He returned her kiss, deep and passionate, but pulled his body back. If this was all he had, her in his bed and pliable, he would, he must, remain content. Damn!
***
Evelyn’s blood surged through her. Not like a fever from an illness, though she might define herself as sick. She was hot. Her body demanded release but didn’t know how to get it. His kisses intoxicated her. He tasted like bay spice and brandy mixed with something else more natural, perhaps the scent of him. It invaded her senses–smell, touch and taste on her lips. It made her crave more, something deeper, more primal, and that started her blood racing. When he deepened her kiss, returning it with a passion she’d never known, she equaled him in responding.
But when he pulled his rock-hard body away from her, she whimpered. Instantly she missed his warmth, the sensual feel of skin rippling over corded muscles. She’d never seen a man as defined as him except for a museum statue—not that she had any exposure to nude men. But memories haunted her of demons, wearing unbuttoned shirts and their trousers undone. She shivered at the thought, but the man next to her distracted her, not letting her fear take root. Tentatively, she reached for him, placing her open palm against his chest, molding her hand to his chiseled frame. Steam seemed to rise from him, as if he too had a fire inside. Like she did.
Still kissing him, she slid her hand down his chest and over his abs. The lower she went, the more the muscles beneath her palm trembled. Curious, she went further, her fingers skimming the dark hair that lay down there, the nest around his….she hit his hard member and flinched. Could she touch it? If she didn’t, would he be hurt? She heard the sudden intake of breath when her fingertips ran the length. It surprised her it was hard with the skin velvet soft. She wouldn’t look at it but continued kissing him, leaving his lips for his jawline, where she planted small kisses. Yet, she was intrigued by the stiff shaft and moved from light touch to wrapping her hand around it.
“Evelyn,” he rasped.
She opened her eyes and glanced at the flesh in her grasp. Not expecting to see the slit in the mushroomed tip, how it shone in the candlelight, her eyes widened. The look brought old fears slamming into her, deeper than the open lust she’d discovered. Memories flooded her–sounds of male cynical laughter, too many men. Of voices telling her how great she was and what pleasures she’d learn to enjoy. The visions reminded her of how she felt at the time, as if moving under water, everything slowed, as if she couldn’t breathe.
“Evie!” Tristan’s voice bellowed, and he grabbed the wrist of the hand that held him. The pressure made her release him and she gasped.
“I’m so sorry,” she quickly said.
“You didn’t hurt me,” he replied softly. “You had a wild-eyed look, like I was the boogie man.” He smiled slightly for a minute, then became concerned. “We don’t have to do this.” But his voice sounded strained. “Let me get my dressing gown and return you to—”
“No,” the word escaped her mouth before she could think. That primal urge resounded through her. The pool that had formed deep, between her legs, begged for reprieve. She wanted him, and it scared her.
“Sweetheart,” he began. “It’s all right.”
“No, no,” she muttered, almost like a mantra. Despite the monsters inside her mind, snickering at her, she more feared losing him. If he didn’t have a mistress, soon he would. He could easily forget about her and Mary. And those dreams that plagued her, the ones that had him with her but never completing because he left her, and the demons came then.
Tristan started to roll away but she put her hand on his arm and stopped him. “Please don’t leave me.”
He gave her a troubled look, obviously undecided on what to do next. Finally, she won out when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. She wanted to cry except she wasn’t a child. As the demons laughed, convinced they’d won, Evelyn wrapped her hand around his neck and met his lips with a driving force. As he returned her ardor with equal passion, she pressed against him, every nerve from her nipples to her spine on fire.
It seemed that he gauged her, not responding but not withdrawing. His hand was at her neck, steadying her head to his kiss when he suddenly took the challenge. He growled into her mouth and plundered in. His hand skimmed down her back, over her upper leg to scoop it up and place it on his hip. An onslaught of emotions warred inside her. The position left her open and vulnerable to him. His hand moved to her breasts, cupping the upper one as she lay on her side. He bent and kissed the mound of flesh, moving closer to her hard nipple. Each of his kisses lit fires beneath. Moving down her breast, he cupped it with his hand, holding it upward to him. His warm breath teased the tip, and she trembled. And as that happened, he darted his tongue out and helped guide it to his mouth. She dragged air into her lungs as his suckling seemed to take it out. The heat built, shooting an array of feelings into her. As his teeth grazed th
e hard tip, she moaned, craving more but to what end, she couldn’t fathom.
When he moved from her nipple, the fabric he’d suckled through was wet and clinging. The coolness set off another flame that streaked down to her groin, and her hips wiggled in response. More, she wanted more. Yet, when his hand found the hem to the gown and pulled it up, baring her legs, she shrieked. He dropped everything. She grabbed his hand.
“Evelyn, I can stop. I don’t want to hurt you or bring back that night.”
She looked into his troubled eyes. Never talking about what happened had deadened the torture some but hadn’t erased it. The look in his eyes was genuine, and she wondered. She hadn’t told him about it. Heavens, she hadn’t even talked to him all that much. Somehow, he knew of her madness, of the pain, but a deeper fear appeared. That of losing her husband to another. A thread of attachment, of longing, aimed at him kept her on course.
“I don’t want you to stop,” she begged.
A twinkle popped into his green eyes. “It can be beautiful, rewarding even,” he hinted.
She gave him a timid smile, her burning body winning over her doubt. “Then teach me.”
He gave her another glance and tugged at her gown. Modesty seized her heart at the thought of removing it, but reality also reminded her he wore nothing. She nodded timidly. With gentle ease, he slid the piece off and groaned.
“Beautiful,” he whispered and bent to take her other nipple with his lips.
Slowly he eased her onto her back and suckled the tip to a hard pearl. Tingles raced through her at the sensation. Her body writhed. His mouth went to the other and teased it to match as his fingers skimmed down her belly and to her thigh. Lightly he touched as he suckled, making her confused as her tension rose. The pad of his fingers ran up the inside of her leg to the top. To the wet curls that sat at the apex of her thighs. Slightly embarrassed, she did the exact opposite of her thinking. She spread her legs apart for him.
His teeth grazed the second nipple as his fingers went over her curls and traced the wet folds between her legs. Warnings rang in her head, the urge to scamper away strong, but the moisture below increased. He was slow, meticulous, breaking the barriers. Her hips moved in tempo, calling to him. One finger slid between the wet folds and entered her. In and out his hand moved, her hips rolling to meet his thrust.
“Are you sure?” he whispered. He was kneeling above her, his naked body glowing in the embers’ reflection.
At the next insertion of his finger, she nodded. Vaguely, she wondered if he’d be disappointed she wasn’t a virgin, but she dismissed it. Of course he would, she determined.
He took her mouth, his tongue inside her, teasing. The finger withdrew, the loss devastating, but the head of his cock sat at the entrance, waiting. Her need grew. Now. Now.
It was like he heard her. His hardened cock slid right into her. She wanted him in there, but as he went deeper, her body wrenched. He was too big, too hard, too fast! Then he was in, thrusting, and the moment he filled her, she screamed in pain. It ripped through her. He stopped moving, staying perfectly still.
“Get out!” she hissed.
His eyes widened, amazed, only to turn to a look of concern. “Wait. It will get easier.”
Fully inside, he didn’t move, and neither did she. The pain lessened as her body adjusted to him. It was strange to have his member inside her. He shifted, and the movement lit her aflame. The rhythm between them began—measured, not hurried at first, but increasing as their bodies rocked together, developing a pattern. Each stroke burned her, the heat building. Their timing multiplied. He moaned. Deeper and deeper, her cravings grew. Another plunge, and suddenly, the sky exploded into a million stars as she shattered beneath him. Her last conscious awareness was his groan as he thrust and stayed buried deep, emptying his seed. His cock pulsated inside her walls then as he collapsed on top of her.
She lay lazily, unmoving. Sated, she was mesmerized by what just happened. Slowly, he diminished, falling outside her womb. A frown fretted her eyebrows because she missed his presence, and that thought sent a wave of astonishment through her. This wasn’t what she recalled from that nightmare of two years ago. The severe pain that stabbed deep inside her she wouldn’t have forgotten. Even now, that flash of discomfort vanished after her body adjusted to his invasion, accepted and relished in it. What had happened?
Tristan moved his hips slightly, resting on his elbows above her and he lightly kissed her forehead. “Are you all right?” His eyes searched hers with a look of concern.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
He raised himself off her, his gaze down at the place between her thighs. “Evelyn.”
Not sure if she was comfortable naked next to him, she shifted but was too embarrassed to reach for the sheet. He smiled devilishly and moved lower, throwing the entangled sheet away. It surprised her, and she scrunched her legs together, pulling them up in a protective manner when his hand stopped her.
“Sweetheart,” he started, his gaze on her thighs as he pushed her legs back.
She submitted but instantly turned hot on her cheeks as she blushed.
“You felt a sharp pain when I entered you, correct?”
Wishing the bed could swallow her, all she could do was grunt with a nod.
“’Tis the only time to feel that,” he continued with his seductive grin. She wondered how he could question her about something so intimate, so personal, yet make her feel like it was foreplay. “Evelyn, I broke your maidenhead. Look.” He flicked his gaze down to her hips.
She frowned. On the inside of her thigh was a trace of blood. The sheet beneath her also held the telltale sign of her virginity. But how? Those vile creatures stole it.
“Apparently they didn’t,” Tristan stated, like she’d voiced the words. Perhaps she had... “What do you remember, might I ask?”
The burn of her blush vacated her cheeks as ice raced down her spine. She opened her mouth, but her voice froze. How could he expect her to answer him, especially after he’d made love to her?
“Evelyn, I,” he paused. “I read the report of that night. Every part of it. As disgusting and brutal as those criminals are, they were, in your case, thwarted apparently. Perhaps the constable stopped them when they arrived, or they were too inebriated, but they didn’t rape everyone.” He stopped again. “Causing fear and intimidation was something they enjoyed, as well as the carnal desires. Do you remember anything?”
She shook her head violently. “Nothing after three of them grabbed me and held me while they ripped my dress.” She shuddered. Coldness wrapped around her while her mind dragged out the ghosts who laughed at her in between snarls. The edges of blackness swirled closed.
***
Tristan wished he’d left good enough alone. She’d been relaxed, satiated from giving herself to him, but instead of leaving her to enjoy it, maybe kissing her over and over again, he had brought up the past. She dissolved again, he could see it, and the cold walls closed in.
He needed to protect her. Grifton’s words echoed in his head. It was uncomfortable still, making love to his wife and guilt for taking the woman he married but couldn’t have. A moment ago, she looked like she was his wife in every form, but if she learned how he was the one who’d killed her love, he’d lose her forever. He shoved that fear aside and pulled her into his arms.
“Sweetheart, shhhh,” he whispered into her ear. “I should have left that be. Actually I hoped it would please you to know you gave me the best present a wife can give her husband.” She flinched in his arms. Bastard! He admonished himself for being such a cad at a time like this. But another thought flickered through his mind. “Evelyn, if I took your virtue, I don’t understand how you had Mary.”
She bit her lower lip and glanced away. “If you read about that vile night, you noticed I wasn’t the only lady there. My sister was as well. She didn’t escape unscathed.” She was quiet for a moment. “Mary is hers. Madeline couldn’t accept what happened. She left her baby wi
th me and–and disappeared into the night. My father wrote her off as dead and wanted to turn Mary over to an orphanage.” The last few words were broken as she fought to say them. Her body became tense in his arms. “I loved that baby and refused his demands. She would be my child. When I returned, I knew my fate. Ruined with an illegitimate child.”
He hugged her. “My poor darling.”
She nuzzled against him, resting in his arms as if telling him the truth drained her. The touch of her, the weight of her breasts against his chest stirred desires deep inside. The flutter of her eyelashes against him started to unravel the last of his self-control. His cock hardened in a flash, throbbing again. What inopportune timing, to be aroused by her after such an admission.
But his wife surprised him. She looked up at him shyly. “So we could do that again and it won’t hurt?”
He smiled. How he so wanted her. “Yes,” he rasped.
Her palm rested against his chest, and her tongue licked his skin and traced up to his neck. She found the bottom of his scar, an area that tingled at the pressure. He didn’t move. She followed it up, over his jaw, then traced the ridge of his jaw over to his mouth. Her tongue licked his bottom lip, and he moaned. She waited a second and then licked his bottom lip again. The flutter of her tongue let loose his desire, and he grabbed her, placing her back down on the mattress. He’d make love to her again and show her just how beautiful she was.
Chapter Seventeen
With another snip, the last rose was cut. Evelyn placed it in the basket with the others and sighed. She stretched, trying to work out the kinks in her back, hips and thighs. Even her arms ached. A slow smile crept across her lips. The source of her muscle pains came from her evening “exercises” with Tristan. As his wife in all ways physically, she lacked sleep, but she’d gladly give that up to feel alive in his arms. The warmth of the sun was all around her, but it was the inside heat that she thrived on. It came upon her at the very thought of him, of his touch. Her cheeks burned and she chortled. The servants must think her ill for blushing all the time, when the real cause was her husband.