by Sara Bennett
Bliss.
He pressed hard against her, the bulky cloth of her skirts flattening between them, and she felt the hard jut of his member. “The letter?” he said breathlessly, but it was obvious he no longer cared and certainly didn’t expect her to acquiesce. She shook her head and groaned again as his fingers slid between her legs and brushed her firmly through the soft cloth of her drawers.
Hot, unbridled pleasure took away her power of thought, of flight, of anything but longing for him to continue. He kissed the back of her neck, increasing the heated tremors running through her body, and she felt him reach down to grasp her hips, bending his knees, and sliding the long, hard length of him between her thighs, settling himself against her most sensitive places.
Antoinette groaned, unable to help herself, reaching back blindly to touch him, to hold him. He wasn’t inside her but he was pressing against her, creating a pressure that was driving her to distraction. She moved, too, trying to catch his rhythm, but she felt awkward. As if she was seeking to sing a song she’d never heard before and hadn’t quite got the tune right.
That aching pressure was building inside her. With his fingers about her jaw, he turned her face, arching her back so that his mouth could cover hers in a slow, passionate mating of tongues and lips.
Another moment and she would be flying. She tensed, ready, as her body gathered itself for the launch…
And then he stepped away.
A moment of confusion, of disbelief, and then she gave a wail of disappointment. Spinning around, she tried to grasp him, pull him back to her, but he avoided her hands. His chest was rising and falling heavily, and his muscles were hard as iron. Such self-control should have won her admiration, but Antoinette wasn’t in the mood to admire him. Instead she wanted to pound him with her fists; at least that would release some of her tension.
“The letter,” he gritted. “Give me the letter and I’ll roger you until you can’t walk.”
The coarseness of his words finally reached her. Antoinette dropped her hands. The ache inside her was still there but it was draining away, being replaced by cold disgust at herself and him, and hatred of Lord Appleby for placing her in this appalling situation in which she could be mistaken for a woman whose sensual greed was more important than her honor.
“Never,” she hissed.
He walked by her and opened the door. The light made her blink. She couldn’t see his face, only the shape of him, as he left her.
“Never is a long time, sparrow,” his voice drifted back.
She stood there in the silence after he’d gone. Anger ravaged her, making her hate herself and him, but gradually her emotions began to cool. Her mind took over.
Why was she allowing him to treat her like this? He was teasing her, manipulating her, using her. It was time she turned the tables on him and began to do the same to him. He’d shown himself to be vulnerable to her charms, hadn’t he? Antoinette might be an innocent but she was no fool. She knew he wanted her. Why not use his desire against him just as he was using hers?
But the question was: How?
Frustrated at her own lack of sexual knowledge, she almost gave up the plan—and then she remembered something. When she was in the library looking for a hiding place for her letter, she’d noticed some books in the corner of a high shelf. They were the sort of books gentlemen collected—her gentle Uncle Jerome had several and called them “art,” but since they had titles like The Journey into Desire and Ladies of the Rod, Antoinette had her doubts on that score. Now such tomes might actually come in useful if they gave her hints on how to play the highwayman at his own game.
In a purely educational manner, of course.
Antoinette smiled to herself as she left the room and sauntered down the hallway. Just wait until next time. She’d show him what it was to suffer the effects of unsated passion!
Gabriel didn’t know how he managed to hold back. He hadn’t planned to, he’d wanted her so much, but at the last moment his pride had stepped in.
Of course now he was in agony. Again! Was it possible to die from unsatisfied lust? And the un-fairest cut of all was that Antoinette had wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
He pushed open the side door and strode out into the cool air, breathing deeply, trying to still the trembling in his limbs and the heavy ache in his groin. There was the letter, he reminded himself. The letter was why he was here, not to slake his lust on Appleby’s mistress.
Jealousy burned inside, and he clenched his fists. He wanted her, he accepted that, but what worried him more was that he didn’t want Appleby to have her. He wanted her all to himself, just him and no one else.
Gabriel knew he was in trouble.
Chapter 12
The books were where she remembered, just out of reach on a higher shelf, but with the titles plainly visible. Antoinette peered upward through her spectacles. Erotic Poses and Positions, she read. Nights in the Sultan’s Harem. She dragged the stepladder into position and climbed up to remove the books and carried them to the table.
They were dusty, and after she mopped at them with her handkerchief, she opened the first one. The illustration that confronted her made her blink. Several times.
A naked young woman with her back to a half-open door, glancing around over her shoulder with a wicked little smile at the man who was standing in the shadows watching her.
Antoinette cleared her throat nervously, and glanced over her own shoulder. She’d locked the library door, but she still felt as if someone would burst in upon her and demand to know what she was doing with obscene material.
“I’m teaching myself the arts of seduction,” she said aloud. Feeling better, she turned over the page and took in the next image.
A woman reclined on a chaise longue, her long, dark hair spread across her breasts, her head arched back, and a look of dreamy pleasure on her face as a man leaned over her, his fingers between her thighs.
“Oh my…” Antoinette closed her eyes and swallowed. She turned over the page. The same woman was seated on the chaise longue while the man stood before her, his manhood jutting toward her open lips. She looked at it as if—Antoinette peered more closely—she was going to suck on it like a giant lollipop. An irresistible giggle broke from her.
Quickly she turned the page.
The pictures were amazingly educational. Who would have thought some of those feats were even possible? And when she imagined doing them to the highwayman, she found herself growing warm. Her breasts began to tingle, and she pressed her hands to them, closing her eyes and remembering their encounter in the darkened room.
Looking at pictures was all very well, but Antoinette preferred the real man to pretend images. Remembering the taste and scent and texture of him made the flesh between her legs begin to ache. Antoinette told herself she had more study to do, and opened the second book.
Lots of women in scanty harem trousers and tiny blouses, cavorting with leering men similarly dressed and with amazingly large…swords.
Hurriedly she closed the book, and then sneezed when dust rose up in a cloud into her face.
Antoinette was certain she now knew enough to put her plan into action, but whether she would be brave enough to actually do it when the time came…
That was another matter.
Wexmoor Manor was sleeping. Gabriel climbed the stairs, avoiding the creaking board on the landing from long practice, and moved silently along the short passage to Antoinette’s room. For two days he’d waited, allowing himself to cool down. Or so he thought. In truth, as soon as he stepped into the manor, that ache of desire began its familiar throbbing and his hopeful body began to ready itself for release.
He’d been strong, but he didn’t know if he could be strong much longer. She had the letter and they both knew it, but how could he persuade her to part with it? This way wasn’t working, not unless he wanted to be driven mad with unfulfilled lust. Perhaps he should have gone with violence after all, he thought, and shook his h
ead with a wry smile, knowing he could never hurt her.
He was still smiling as he quietly unlatched her door and swung it inward.
She was asleep, breathing softly, the night breeze stirring the curtains that were drawn back from her open window. Sally Wonicot had told him about the window and Antoinette’s refusal to close it. He smiled. She was an unusual woman, his sparrow, and not one to do as others did just because that had always been the way of things. She made her own decisions and lived her own life, and he found he liked that about her.
He was beginning to feel as if he understood her, and he was aware that bullying her into handing over the letter would only make her more stubborn and determined not to give it to him. She was a strong woman who thought for herself, and he admired her for it. Antoinette Dupre was an honorable enemy.
Gabriel strode softly over the old Turkish rug toward her bed and stood staring down at her. She didn’t move, her hand flung out on the pillow, her hair in a single braid across her shoulder, her lashes like dark crescents on her alabaster skin.
She looked so innocent and yet so desirable, both at the same time. It made no sense, but that was what he felt. Before he could stop himself, or even try, he stooped over her and kissed her soft mouth. Savoring her taste, taking his time, enjoying the exquisite sensations she created within him. Because in a moment he knew she would wake up and demand he leave, and then…then the whole push and pull between them would begin again, with both of them determined to be the victor.
She was stirring. He kissed her again, drawing her gently into his embrace, and with a sigh she lifted her arms and draped them about his neck. He felt her lips smile, saw the flicker of her lashes as her eyes opened and she gazed into his.
“You,” she murmured sleepily.
“Yes.”
“I thought I was dreaming.”
Her voice was soft, sweet, and for some reason the sound of it brought a new ache to his chest. Not lust this time but something else, something he didn’t have the time or the courage to explore too closely. Besides, her lips were brushing his, her fingers twining in his hair, and he let her have her way.
Gabriel was completely unprepared for what happened next. He felt her give his chest a sudden shove, and then he was falling off the bed and landing hard on the Turkish rug. Surprise slowed his reaction, and before he could get to his feet she was on top of him, landing hard, and driving the breath from his body. For a moment she lay sprawled over him, her nightgown rucked up over her legs, and her soft breasts in his face. He was enjoying the sensation so much he forgot to struggle. He even reached for her, intending to carry on.
But Antoinette had other ideas.
She sat up, straddling his waist, her palms pressed to his chest for balance, her single braid swinging down to tickle his chin.
“Now it’s my turn, highwayman,” she said in a triumphant voice. “You’ve had your way for too long. Lie still and do not struggle, or I warn you, it will be the worse for you.”
She sounded so dramatic he began to laugh, he couldn’t help it, and he couldn’t stop. She laid her hand across his mouth to silence him, and her face swooped down to within an inch of his, her dark eyes round and bright and full of anticipation.
“Lie still,” she ordered. “And do not fight me. I will have my way.”
Gabriel blinked. It was the first inkling he had of what she intended to do to him, and he wondered if he should be afraid of her. But he didn’t feel afraid. Instead excitement tingled down his spine, and his body, already eager, leaped once more to attention.
Antoinette took his silence for acquiescence. She removed her hand from his mouth and began to undo the fastenings on his shirt, before tugging the garment over his head. His bare torso seemed to fascinate her. She brushed her fingers lightly over his chest, tracing the curve and dip of bone and muscle, before she bent her head and began to blaze a new trail with her lips and tongue.
He tried to clasp her to him but she pulled away, firmly removing his arms and laying them down at his sides, and shaking her head.
“No. I told you. I will have my way.”
The order was not so difficult to obey. Gabriel grinned and shrugged and lay back, closing his eyes, and after a moment he felt her fingers trailing over his skin once more, down over his ribs to his stomach, and then lower to the fastenings of his trousers. Despite himself he shifted uncomfortably, his member so engorged it was a wonder it didn’t shred the cloth in its eagerness to escape.
“Ah, my highwayman,” she mocked, “can it be you wish for my touch? Here?” Her hand glided over the bulge in his trousers. She drew back with a gasp, pretending to be shocked. “Oh my, how big you are. All the better to…” She didn’t finish the sentence, smiling instead.
“Antoinette,” he groaned, his body on fire. She was torturing him, and by the expression on her face she was enjoying it.
“What? Don’t you like what I’m doing?” she said, widening her eyes in pretended surprise. “Should I stop?”
“You know I don’t mean that,” he growled.
“Then hush and let me get on with it.”
And she was touching him again, slowly tracing the shape of him, leaning over him as if she was making a study, her lips parted, her braid dangling against the naked skin of his stomach and tickling him.
He bore her torture as best he could, but when she circled her hand about his length and gently squeezed, it was too much. Gabriel cried out, arching up from the floor. “Put me out of my misery, Antoinette, I’m begging you.”
Startled, she turned from her inspection and looked into his face. There was something so dreamy about her expression, and her lips were reddened and parted. He wanted to drag her down and kiss her senseless. But then her face hardened and her eyes narrowed and she laughed. “So the boot is on the other foot now, isn’t it?”
“Hardly the same…” he protested breathlessly.
She smiled and began to undo the buttons. “Oh yes, it is the same. Do you want me to stop and walk away, just as you do?”
“You know I don’t,” he groaned.
Her smile broadened as she opened another button and then she hesitated, almost as if she was afraid or she hadn’t seen a naked man before. Which, Gabriel told himself, was plainly ridiculous. Or was there something here he was missing? The next moment her hand slipped inside his trousers and closed over his bare flesh, and he was no longer capable of thought at all.
Antoinette was proud of her boldness. The books she’d read had shown her things, explained things, but she was still an innocent playing at being a demimondaine. And it was so different from what she’d expected. The pictures were flat and cold, but this was close and intimate. He was warm and alive and so…well, beautiful. Who would have thought a man could be beautiful? But his body was young and strong and healthy, and he seemed like a creature from a fairy tale rather than simply a man.
The fact that he wanted her as much as she wanted him was far more exciting than she could have imagined. The more she touched and caressed him, the hotter grew her own desire. The thought of making love with him, their bodies entangled, giving and taking pleasure…She’d seen in those books how it could be between a woman and a man, and far from being shocked and disgusted, as no doubt a proper and genteel young lady should have been, she was intrigued and eager to take part.
Her hands began to tremble and her breath to quicken. She was on a knife edge, and at any moment she would lose her balance and her control over this dangerous situation.
“Tell me quickly,” she said desperately.
“Tell you what?” he croaked, gasping, his chest gleaming with sweat.
“Who you are, why you want the letter, where you will take it?” she answered him with sharp impatience.
He opened his mouth and she leaned forward, waiting breathlessly. And waited. He closed it again. He shook his head, his jaw clenched, his eyes squeezed tight shut.
Torture. Agony. And yet with the promise of such ple
asure as he had never had before. Gabriel waited for her to do her worst…or her best.
With a deep sigh, Antoinette laid her cheek upon his stomach, and he felt her breath on his member, cooling his heated and sensitive skin. He groaned softly, wondering if he could get any harder, and knew it was unlikely.
All he needed to do to put a stop to this was tell her what she wanted to know.
But if he gave her the information she wanted, he’d never get the letter, he thought bleakly. She’d pass the information on to Appleby, and next thing he’d be arrested and charged, or forced to leave the country, and his hope of recovering Wexmoor Manor would be gone.
Gabriel swallowed hard. She was touching him with her tongue, delicate little licks, like a cat. He rolled his head to the side. Watching her made it worse. Her mouth closed over the tip, enveloping him, and Gabriel knew he couldn’t hold out any longer.
Tell her, tell her, tell her… His feverish brain was on fire.
But instead of telling her, he reached out and caught hold her. He swung her around, lifting her easily, and planted her directly on top of his aching body, just where he needed her most. She gasped, reaching out to steady herself, her hands slipping on his damp chest, her knees striking the carpet on either side of his hips. He looked up into her face and saw her eyes widen at the sensation of him against her aching body, slick flesh against slick flesh, naked skin against naked skin.
Ecstasy.
Involuntarily, Gabriel thrust upward against her, and felt a good half inch of his member nudge inside her. Oh yes, this was what he wanted. No more games, no more winners and losers. Just pleasure, pure and simple.
Antoinette knew she should fight and run. This wasn’t what she’d meant to happen. He was supposed to suffer as she’d suffered. The trouble was she was suffering, too. Now she understood. This was how he’d felt as he gave her pleasure, wanting her while denying himself. Her new knowledge didn’t help her feel any better.