Wildstar

by Nicole Jordan

  "I'm going to prove you wrong, lady. You're going to eat your words before I'm done." He said it coldly, calcu­latingly, and with the supreme assurance of a man deter­mined to win. "I can, you know."

  "Realizing he was right, she pushed against his chest frantically. "Please, stop it. . . ."

  "Stop undressing you, sweet?" He shoved aside the folds of the camisole, exposing the shadowy prelude to a luxurious cleavage. "We can leave your clothes on if you want. I'd rather have you naked, I'd rather see your beau­tiful body, but I can satisfy you just as well like this. I can take you right here, standing up."

  Giving her no chance to respond, he tightened his grip on the veil of her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her bare throat to his mouth. His breath seared her skin as his lips found the vulnerable hollow at her throat where her pulse hammered wildly. Jess felt her head spinning, felt herself growing warm at his words, at his feather-light kisses.

  "You want me, Jess." His husky voice vibrated against her throat and sent hot shivers of pleasure rippling over her.

  "No . . ." She only wanted to demand that he leave her alone. She wanted to tell him to go to the devil and not come back. Trouble was, she couldn't find the strength to fight him. Her legs suddenly had gone weak. She reached for something to hold on to and found his upper arms, feeling the heavy cords of muscles beneath his tailored coat.

  His mouth was hot and hungry on her throat. The scent of him surrounded her, the odor of soap and sandlewood and aroused male. He pressed hot kisses down the slender column, and lower, over her bosom, above the neckline of the corset-covered chemise which hid her creamy rose-pointed breasts. His hand joined his lips in the assault then, dipping beneath the soft cotton and rigid buckram to find an aching nipple.

  Jess made a gasping sound, her body jerking convul­sively. Refusing to release her, Devlin slid one hard arm around her waist, holding her prisoner, while the thumb of his other hand rubbed her nipple into a rigid peak. An in­voluntary moan escaped Jess as the buds of her breasts tightened unbearably. She couldn't believe this was hap­pening. She had never imagined the brutal rush of feeling his rough caresses would kindle in her. His hard stroking fingers felt like fire on the sensitive, swollen tips of her breasts, echoed in the moist aching weakness that pulsed between her thighs.

  As if he knew what effect his ministrations were having, he lifted his gaze, and his eyes held hers, hot and silver. "You want me, Jess."

  Her lips parted to answer him, but no sound came out. His arm still held her tightly, and she could feel the pres­sure of his obvious arousal against her skirts, the sugges­tive movement of his hips thrusting against hers.

  Then his hand left her aching breasts and he reached down, raising the layers of skirts and petticoats that envel­oped her legs.

  Realizing that he really meant to carry out his threat, Jess cast a frantic glance at the closed door. "Devlin, stop . . . we can't . . . my father . . ."

  "Is up at the mine. We're all alone, honey."

  "Devlin, please. . . ."

  "That's right, beg me."

  "No . . . I didn't mean—"

  "No? You don't want my hands on you . . . my mouth on you?"

  His hand moved up the shivering surface of her inner thigh, his probing fingers finding the opening in the soft cotton of her drawers. When he raked the tight curls be­tween her legs, Jess jerked, gasping. "You don't want me to touch you here? You don't like this?" One finger eased into the slit of her soft folds, dredging a ragged whimper from her.

  Helplessly Jess clung to him. She did want him to touch her there, God help her. Her damp trembling thighs opened wider for him.

  Watching the quivering reaction in her startled eyes, Devlin pressed against the moist cleft. Jess's entire body clenched from the exquisite pleasure of it.

  "Devlin, don't ..

  "Shhh, I'm not going to hurt you." Raw desire darkened his husky voice. His lean fingers stroked her, gliding through the hot dew seeping like honey from between her legs. "Do you know how wet you are?" Devlin whispered roughly.

  Jess closed her eyes and arched against his hand. She didn't think she could bear what he was doing to her. "You want me, Jess."

  She did want him, Jess realized helplessly. She'd had no notion how much until this moment. The fiery craving in­side her was so insistent and sharp it frightened her.

  Then his finger entered her. Slowly thrusting.

  "Ohhhh . . ." She almost sobbed.

  His narrowed look followed every shock, every startled reaction in her face, taking in the cloud of tawny hair, her flushed cheeks, her trembling mouth. He was flooded with fiercely masculine satisfaction and a desire so violent he ached. He wanted her so badly .he thought he might ex­plode just from touching her. All he could think about was how tight and hot and wet she would be on his throbbing shaft.

  He lowered his head again, his hungry mouth covering hers, hard and compelling, kissing her with a fierceness that stopped her breath, while his bold fingers continued their determined arousal.

  Jess lost the ability to speak, to reason. She felt the stroking thrusts of his tongue in the depths of her body, a carnal imitation of the stroking fingers between her thighs. The world was reduced to his hot mouth, his thrusting tongue, his erotic hand.

  She moaned into his mouth, a panicky, anguished sound, which Devlin answered with a deep-throated mas­culine growl. His fingers plied her weeping flesh merci­lessly, back and forth, in and out, rubbing, probing, tor­menting.

  Jess squirmed wildly against him, seeking release from the terrible, exquisite tension. Her nails frantically raked his shoulders while her hips strained feverishly against the imprisoning caress of his hand.

  They seemed the acts of a stranger. This couldn't be her, making these little whimpering sounds of feminine need, feeling this desperate wanting, this raw frenzy. This wasn't her. She couldn't be doing this.

  A low sob rolled from her throat as she tore her lips from Devlin's.

  "I don't . . . want this . . ." Jess panted with a last at­tempt at sanity.

  "No? You want it lying down? I can oblige, angel."

  His brazen fingers left her abruptly, yet he didn't release her. Instead, he bent and scooped her up in his arms. Jess gave a startled cry, but the impatient heat of his mouth on hers again silenced any possible protest.

  She no longer wanted to protest, though. Her body had caught fire. Every muscle and nerve she possessed trem­bled and ached with need. She wanted to scream with the violence of it. Her fingers clenched* in his thick sable hair, anchoring Devlin's lips to hers.

  Kissing her hard, he strode to the bed, laying her on the yellow-patterned quilt. His eyes fiercely primitive, he cov­ered her with his body, one powerful knee wedged be­tween her thighs, pressing hard against her woman's mound.

  "I'm going to have you in a real bed," he promised hoarsely, "the way it should have been the first time."

  His lips were both tender and harsh as he assaulted her mouth again, yet it was only a score of heartbeats before the fierceness left him. His kisses turned hungry, needy.

  Jess felt the difference, gloried in the difference. The stranger was gone; her dark lover had returned. His lips were the same lips that had offered her comfort and ec­stasy in a night of darkness and fear, his kisses the same devastating kisses. He was here with her, desiring her, needing her, loving her. She clutched at his hair, trying to get closer, trying to tell him with her body that she needed him, too.

  In some distant corner of her mind, she felt Devlin shudder against her. Then he drew back with a sharp inha­lation.

  "Damn, I want you," he muttered raggedly.

  "Devlin . . ." she breathed in return.

  He shut his eyes tightly, fighting for control—but he knew he'd already lost it, the way he always did with her. Only Jess could stop him now.

  She wasn't even trying. She lay with her eyes closed, her hands reaching for him, her wet, passion-bruised lips parted. She was hot and e
xcited and oblivious to anything but their lovemaking, and the knowledge made him rigid with longing.

  Fumbling with the buttons of his trousers and drawers, Devlin freed himself and shoved up her endless skirts. He felt near to bursting, and knew he would burst if he didn't have her now. Pushing apart the folds of cloth between her parted thighs, he thrust his burning shaft into her, groaning aloud with pleasure, with shattering relief, as her moist tightness swallowed him.

  At his savage entrance, Jess gave a soft cry and arched wildly beneath him. He clutched her to him, drove deep inside her, hard and fast, taking her as if she were an ex­perienced whore and not the innocent young virgin he'd taught to know passion just a few nights ago. Yet Jess met his every thrust, her hips moving in fervent response, hun­gry and unashamed. She hadn't known love could be so furious, that it could be like riding the edge of a dark, wild pleasure. He was all taut and fierce and driving. He was her world—mating, claiming, filling, surrendering, pump­ing into her with mindless, blinding need.

  "Oh, God . . . Jess. . . ."

  The sudden possessive explosion took them both by sur­prise. She sobbed his name as with one last strong plunge the peak burst on him helplessly, savagely. She heard his choked sounds against her ear, the side of her face, passion tearing from him in hoarse gasps. Then together they were convulsing and tumbling and falling into a dark chasm of ecstasy.

  In the heated aftermath, the tortured sounds of their breathing filled the small room. Collapsing, Devlin buried his face in her damp throat and lay there panting, while the sweet, piercing pleasure slowly dissipated, leaving behind a glow of sated warmth.

  He should regret what had happened just now. He should be cursing himself and giving Jess the apology he'd insisted he didn't owe her. He'd never behaved so sav­agely toward any woman. He couldn't remember a time when he'd lost control with a woman, wanting her so badly he'd buried himself inside her like a maddened kid. Always before he'd made it a practice to act the consum­mate lover, pleasing his bed partners as he expected to be pleased. He'd never been so angry that he'd lost every shred of civilized behavior and decency.

  But then he'd never met a woman who questioned his integrity, his honor. He'd never met Jessica Sommers.

  Just then she stirred beneath him with a small moan. Devlin froze at that slightest movement of her hips. It star­tled him, the sharp renewed hunger that surged through his body. He wanted her again, and he hadn't even recovered from the devastating climax he'd just shared with her. That was something else he'd never experienced with any other woman—that shattering explosion that left in its wake an even more shattering sense of completeness.

  In response to her plaintive movement, though, he eased his weight onto his elbows, sparing her the crushing heav­iness of his embrace, yet not relinquishing the hot, moist sheath that still enveloped him. He couldn't bring himself to be that noble.

  That was another surprise, to learn he wasn't so gallant a lover, after all.

  Pressing light apologetic kisses over her scented skin, he asked her in a voice still husky with passion, "Did I hurt you?"

  Still half dazed with sensation, Jess pondered the ques­tion. He had hurt her, but not in the way he meant; not physically. What he had done was far worse. She felt the heat of his cheek against hers, the feathering of his breath as his mouth traced delicate patterns over her face and throat—and she wanted to cry.

  "I've thought of sharing this bed with you since the day you turned it over to me," Devlin murmured.

  Jess opened her eyes slowly. His look was intent, ex­pectant, as if he were waiting for her to say something. A dark flush of passion stained his cheekbones, and his eyes were dark and smoky. And all her senses were gradually returning.

  Appalled at what she had just done, allowed him to do, wanted him to do, she averted her face. She couldn't be­lieve it.

  "Get off me," she whispered.

  The lips that had been moving upon her flushed face stilled. There was a long silence before he said, "Jess, look at me."

  "No." She just wanted him to go away. It shamed her to realize how easily she'd been seduced, how disgracefully she'd behaved, mindlessly tumbling into bed with a man whose only interest in her was whatever use he could make of her at the moment. First he had used her to ac­complish his secret schemes, now he had used her body—

  "I'm sorry I was so rough." He reached up to catch her chin, but she flinched and shook off his grasp.

  "Get out of my house."

  Going rigid, Devlin stared down at her. He couldn't be­lieve that after what had just happened between them, the explosive passion they'd shared, she was kicking him out of her bed. She'd felt the same powerful exaltation, the same keen joy he had, he was certain. In all his experi­ence, he'd never felt anything quite like it. But then, she didn't have the experience to realize how special it had been.

  A fierce wave of contrition swept over Devlin. He had wronged Jess. She wasn't a virgin any longer—thanks to him—but she was still very much an innocent. He should have taken more care," shown her more tenderness. She had wronged him, too, with her mistrust, but she hadn't meant what she'd said. She couldn't really believe he'd been in league with Burke. When she'd had time to con­sider, she would realize how absurd her accusations were.

  Gently Devlin brushed back a disheveled tendril of blond hair that adorned her forehead, wanting to take back his harshness, wanting to make it up to her—

  "Don't touch me." The command was low and raw and filled with self-loathing.

  Devlin heard only the loathing—and thought it directed at himself.

  "I can't believe I ever trusted you," Jess added almost to herself.

  "Jesus, are we back to that again?" The fire of anger that had been momentarily banked in Devlin flamed to life again.

  He was still joined to her in the most intimate way pos­sible, still half hard inside her, but he withdrew from her at once, taking care only to be considerate of her tender flesh and to yank down her skirts. Then he rolled off the bed and stood up, rapidly buttoning his trousers.

  Jess winced at the throbbing ache between her thighs and rolled onto her side, giving him her back. "We never left it. I can't forget how you lied to me."

  "Goddammit, that's enough."

  "Or how you used me. You did it then and again just now."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You used me to slake your lust."

  "Let me tell you something, angel." His voice was deadly. "If all I'd wanted was a piece of tail, I sure as hell wouldn't have come to you. I can find a lot better else­where, believe me."

  His mockery cut deep. Jess drew her knees up to her chest, curling into herself. "Then why did you—" She fal­tered, unable to call what they'd just done "making love" when they'd rutted like savage animals. "Why did you take me to bed just now? What motive are you hiding this time? You can't expect me to believe you did it because you want me."

  "You're damn right about that, I don't want you. A man wants a woman who's soft and feminine and delicate, one who needs his protection, not one with the balls to take on magnates like Burke—or one who's as bullheadedly blind as you are."

  Wounded beyond measure, Jess retorted with a bitter­ness that she'd learned from years of struggling against Burke and all the wealthy, power-hungry, manipulative men like him. "Well, a woman wants someone she can trust not to lie to her. Not someone who's only interested in using her to further his empire."

  Devlin swore. Viciously. He'd had enough of being called a liar, of being likened to that sonovabitch Burke. If he stayed one more second he was likely to do something he regretted even more than what he'd just done in bed with her.

  Gritting his teeth, he turned and grabbed up his carpet­bag, stalked across the room, and jerked open the door. He slammed it behind him with enough force to shake the small house.

  Listening to his retreating footsteps, Jess shut her eyes. In agony, she turned and buried her face in the pillow that smelled
hauntingly of Devlin.

  She lay there curled on her side, hearing the reverbera­tion of the slamming door echo the beat of her aching heart.

  Chapter 14

  Jess suffered from an overdose of self-condemnation during the three days following her break with Devlin. She hated herself for being taken in by a smooth-talking bounder with a bank account the size of the U.S. mint. She'd compromised her deepest principles by even giving him the time of day, let alone surrendering her body, but at least then she'd had the excuse of ignorance. She hadn't known then what kind of dandified polecat she was deal­ing with.

  But she'd known what Devlin was when he'd made love to her that last time. She hated herself for falling into bed with him the instant he'd kissed her. And she hated herself for still wanting him. Her lips felt bruised from his passion, her heart tattered, but she couldn't stop remem­bering the shattering ecstasy she'd found in his arms, or the powerful way he'd made her feel-—all weak and fem­inine and trembling and hungry for love.

  She must be touched in the head to have fallen for him. Her mother had warned her a hundred times against men like Devlin. It was a cardinal rule. No matter how charm­ing or handsome or glib of tongue a man was, no matter what promises he made, never, never give him your trust until after the ring was on your finger. Wealthy barons weren't like normal folks. Success and power went to their heads, until the only relationships they were capable of were based on manipulation and lust. Love was the last thing on their minds. They didn't even know how to love. Her mother had discovered that the hard way with Ashton Burke.

  Fiercely Jess tried to swallow the ache in her throat. Devlin would never love her. He wouldn't want marriage and a family—

  The startling thought that flashed through her mind just then made Jess draw a sharp breath. Her hand stole to her stomach. What if she were pregnant? What if making love to Devlin resulted in a child? She would want the baby, but Devlin wouldn't. He'd told her as much that time on the trail when they'd talked about what they each wanted out of life.