Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows)

by Anna Campbell

* * *

  At Anthony's knock, a quiet word invited him into the bedroom. Carefully he eased the door open, like a mortal entering an enchanted kingdom.

  In awed silence, he stopped on the threshold. For a long time, the only sound in the room was the fire crackling in the hearth. His head was swimming before he realized he'd forgotten to breathe. He sucked in a great gust of air and struggled to say something coherent.

  "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." The reverent whisper resonated like a vow.

  Her lips, pink satin, curved in a smile. "Thank you."

  In the firelight, she was exquisite. Rich gold hair tumbled around her shoulders—what a glorious privilege to see it unbound. She wore a sheer white nightgown, and as she stepped forward, the way it clung and flowed around her slender body set his unruly heart cartwheeling.

  She stopped about a foot away and fixed eyes brimming with mystery and shy passion upon him. "I want this, Anthony. When I'm with you, I don't feel lonely anymore."

  "Oh, Fenella," he said, moved by her confession. He set his hands around her waist, reveling in her slim strength, and drew her up for his kiss.

  After last night, her eagerness was familiar, but the freedom in her response was new. His tongue swept into her mouth, and when she greeted him without hesitation, animal hunger jolted him. He buried his hands in the luxuriant hair and angled her face up for a kiss of unabashed carnality. She followed where he went, until the unforgettable moment when she thrust her tongue into his mouth and a hum of enjoyment emerged from her throat.

  Anthony backed her toward the bed. Fenella was a creature of light and fire. Not afraid, but his equal. He loved that. Although in the last few days, the differences between them had mattered less and less, and what counted now was that he was a man in thrall to a woman, and that woman wanted him back.

  He couldn't mistake her desire. Her greedy hands explored his chest and shoulders, bunching the silk against his skin until the dressing gown crumpled to the floor.

  Her eyes devoured him with considerably more enthusiasm than she'd shown for the excellent dinner he'd watched her pick at. "Mr. Townsend, you are magnificent. I'm quite overcome."

  Her blatant sensual interest—and admiration—filled him with pride. He loved that his big, muscular body pleased her. He'd feared she'd recoil from his size and vigor.

  But he couldn't mistake the avid hunger in her eyes. Or in her touch as she flattened both hands on his broad chest with its thatch of black hair.

  "Mmm," she murmured appreciatively.

  Hell, these throaty murmurs tested his control. His cock, hard and erect, twitched. He clenched his hands in the flimsy lawn covering her hips as he fought the urge to push her down and plunge into her.

  "I'm very large," he said, almost in apology.

  She bit her lip in hesitation, then to his astonishment, her glance fell to his dick, stiff and heavy and insistent. "Yes, you are."

  His heart crashed to a stop when she slid one of those soft lady's hands down his belly, setting every muscle jumping. And curled her fingers around him. "Lucky me."

  Despite the dizzying heat, a growl of amusement escaped. "No, lucky me."

  He caught her hand and pressed his lips to those fluttering fingers. "I want to see you."

  When he kissed her lips, her fevered enthusiasm made his blood pound. Reluctantly he raised his head. She was as addictive as wine. Her face was flushed and lovely, and her expression spoke surrender. But for all her boldness, he caught a shadow of earlier shyness.

  "You're a gift," he murmured.

  "Then pray, unwrap me," she whispered.

  How he delighted in these hints of saucy humor. Carefully he gathered the nightdress in his hands. Slowly he slid it upward, knuckles brushing smooth, still unseen skin over thighs and hips and flanks. With a sudden tug, the garment was over her head and on its way to a distant corner. He caught her supple waist and lowered her to the bed.

  Urgency rang through him like a volley of trumpets, but he delayed long enough to snatch an incendiary glimpse of her. Nothing in his heated fantasies matched the pure white perfection of Fenella Deerham, lying bare and impatient for his possession.

  She was all long, lissome lines, stronger and leaner without clothes than she looked in her fashionable gowns. Slim grace, subtle curves, high pointed breasts shaped to fit his hands.

  He came down over her, supporting himself on one arm while his hand began a wanton exploration. Her skin was soft and smooth, and the color of new cream. He cupped one delicious breast and his thumb brushed the beaded pink tip.

  As her nipple tightened to a pebbled raspberry point, her eyelids flickered down and her breath escaped in jagged gasps. In a plea for more, she moved restlessly on the sheets.

  Slowly, although his craving built like a great crescendo, his hand drifted down her flank to her hip. She was shaking. So was he.

  She rolled toward him and pressed her hot face into his chest. Her hands ran up and down his arms. Husky murmurs spurred him on. His hand trailed down to her buttocks, then around to part her thighs.

  He stroked her slick cleft, tracing the secret valleys and rises. Her musky, female scent intoxicated him. With a shuddering gasp, she shifted onto her back to offer him access. Again he marveled at her generosity. When his thumb found the hard little knot of her pleasure and she jerked in response, he set out to tease and arouse.

  She tautened under his caresses and when he slid one finger, then two into her, she whimpered. Gently at first, then with increasing urgency, he worked her. The needy clench of her muscles around his fingers threatened to blast him to ash. His balls tightened to the point of agony, but still he lingered to ensure her readiness.

  She'd waited so long for a lover's touch. By God, he'd make the wait worthwhile, or his name wasn't Anthony Townsend.

  He bent to take one pink nipple into his mouth. Flicking with his tongue, scraping his teeth over the sensitive peak, until she cried out and raised her hips to meet his seeking hand.

  After an interval of delightful torture, she dug her fingers into his hair and pulled until she had his attention. With the salty taste of her skin tangy on his tongue, he looked up.

  "Don't wait." She ran her fingers through his hair. "I want you so much."

  "I want you, too," he murmured. How profound the simple words became when spoken to the right woman.

  He angled himself up and kissed her. She made a discontented sound against his lips and deepened the contact, but he pulled away.

  Anthony was in such a lather to be inside her, his control shredded to tatters. He was sharply conscious of his proportions and he feared hurting her, despite her ardor. Gently he spread her legs and, using his hand to guide his entry, slid inside her.

  Dear Lord, she was tight. She panted and dug her fingernails into his bare shoulders until he felt the sting. The hell of it was, he wasn't sure he could stop. Not now, poised on the edge of bliss.

  His balls burned to complete the joining. Every muscle coiled until he feared he'd explode like an overheated chestnut in a fire. His heart pounded so ferociously, it must rattle the windows.

  Fenella tugged at his hair again. Given her dreamy expression only moments ago, her uncompromising stare surprised him. "Anthony," she said clearly. "I won't break."

  "What the devil?"

  Her hands framed his face and she stretched up to kiss his mouth with an unfettered eagerness that threatened to blow his head off. "I appreciate your consideration, I really do."

  "That's good," he said doubtfully. By God, it was difficult to talk and rein in his ravenous urges at the same time. He was close to forgetting that she was lovely and refined—and unused to great brutes heaving about on top of her.

  "But you're driving me mad with frustration," she said.

  "I don't want to hurt you."

  The softness in her eyes set his heart thumping in a whole new rhythm. "You won't hurt me. I've done this before. Remember?"

  "Not for a l
ong time," he mumbled, and despite his most valiant efforts, his hips jutted forward.

  "Far too long." She kissed him again, briefly but with devastating effect. "It's unkind to make me wait any longer."

  "Fenella…" he began, but she arched up on a sigh of surrender and this time, not even the end of the world could stop him taking what he wanted.

  On a groan of helpless delight, Anthony thrust deep and felt her open in fervent welcome.

  Chapter Eleven

  * * *

  Fenella felt like she started out on a long journey that stretched beyond this large, comfortable bed into infinity. But this first step? Ah, this first step was marvelous. She stretched beneath Anthony, basking in the snug fit of their bodies.

  When he'd pushed inside her, he'd pressed his face into the curve of her neck. Now he raised his head and shifted, setting off delicious little explosions inside her. "Good?"

  She smiled and twined her arms around his back, tracing his long, straight spine and the sleek muscles. "Better than good."

  He kissed her, then tautened his hips and moved. The glide of his body drew a shivery sigh of enjoyment from her. A moment's emptiness before he filled her again.

  Joined like this, she thought she'd never feel cold again. "More," she whispered, tilting up.

  Her encouragement unleashed his power. His dark eyes turned blind and he began to move with great, deliberate strokes, deep and high so she shuddered with each thrust.

  She loved every moment. While she'd thrilled to his tenderness, she'd feared he meant to treat her as too fragile for genuine passion. But this unfettered possession spoke to her strength and stirred a turbulent reaction she'd never known.

  Craving the end that turned her blood to fire, she shifted restlessly. But still he kept her teetering on the edge of release until she sobbed with frustration.

  "Stop torturing me." Sweet, biddable Fenella Deerham fisted her hands and pounded on her lover's back to make him obey. He laughed breathlessly and with a surge of movement, rolled onto his back until she straddled him.

  "Oh," she gasped, instinctively leaning forward to flatten her hands on his heaving chest. The crisp hair tickled her palms and his skin was hot as a furnace. "I'm not sure…"

  He caught her hips, keeping her in place before she scrambled away. "You haven't done this before?"

  He sounded surprised. It seemed mad to blush when she was stark naked and Anthony was deep inside her, but this position seemed so outlandish as to be perverse. "Ridden a man like a horse? No, I most certainly have not."

  The sweetness in his smile almost vanquished her jitters. "Try it. You'll like it."

  "I don't think so." Fenella squirmed with discomfort.

  Except when she moved, discomfort wasn't the result. A lightning jolt of pleasure blasted her and she cried out in astonishment.

  Anthony's smile was smug, as with a hitch of his hips, he touched parts of her she hadn't known existed. The spark ignited into cascading fire. Even as she told herself she couldn't possibly be so wicked, she wriggled again to summon those breathtaking sensations.

  His hands tightened and his lips drew back from his teeth in an expression of fierce delight. "Oh, aye, lass."

  She couldn't complain about the view. Spread beneath her, he looked quite glorious. His olive skin gleamed like satin, and his superb physique showed to advantage against the crumpled white sheets.

  "No need to look so pleased with yourself," she muttered, pressing down to ignite that quaking delight once more.

  "It's your turn to torture me." He squeezed her breasts, teasing the nipples to aching points until she writhed. With every second, she was less shocked and more curious.

  "I don't know what to do," she confessed, embarrassed.

  "Here." He caught her hips again, lifting her, then bringing her down in a sensual slide that set every nerve in her body alight. At this angle, he filled all of her.

  "So I really do ride you?"

  Odd how freely she asked the question. In bed with Henry, much as she'd liked what they'd done, she'd always been circumspect. But Anthony Townsend awoke a new Fenella. The new Fenella, despite earlier misgivings, very much liked this variation on mating.

  "You really do."

  Experimentally she imitated the movement he'd demonstrated and watched his expression reflect her enjoyment. What had seemed so unacceptable became more natural. With a smothered moan, she began to rise and fall over him, more like waves on the ocean than a rider.

  His gaze focused on her bobbing breasts and the unabashed hunger in his eyes made her feel like a goddess. She'd never imagined she could lead with a lover, dictating pace and rhythm. To her surprise, she liked it.

  Daringly, she clenched on the descent. Anthony's groan was long and guttural. "Damnation, you drive me out of my mind."

  She laughed with brazen abandon, and just because she could, tightened again and rolled her hips. He closed his eyes. "You'll kill me."

  "Not yet." She shook her hair back from where it clung to her heated skin. "I'm not finished with you."

  "Witch," he whispered, and caught her shoulders, sweeping her under him and thrusting deep.

  She bowed up until her breasts crushed into his chest, then gasped as he moved more intently. For what felt like hours, she'd hovered close to shattering. Now craving spiraled higher with each slide of his body.

  She dug her nails into his sinewy back and gasped for air. Then for one dizzy second, she balanced on a pinnacle of bright torment. Before in a flash of searing light, she tumbled over into purest ecstasy.

  Mindlessly she clung to Anthony as she rocketed through incandescent space. She cried out at the wonder of it all, then again when finally his control broke and he drove into her, flooding her with his hot seed.

  After the wild flight reached its breathless end, peace washed over her like a warm sea. Fenella collapsed back upon the bed in exhausted, trembling, joyful satiation.

  * * *

  Anthony stirred and opened his eyes to darkness. Since he'd plunged into a dreamless sleep with Fenella in his arms, the fire had burned down to embers. Limp and exhausted, she still snuggled against him.

  She'd been remarkable, a miracle, beyond his most extravagant fantasies. Now he wanted to do it all again. His cock rose against her belly and he rubbed languorously against her softness. She made a sleepy, incoherent murmur and turned toward him with an immediate trust that touched his soul. She leaned in to brush a kiss over his heart.

  He rose over her, kissing her face, then very gently her lips. She gave another bewitching murmur and lifted her knees to cradle him between her thighs. He wasn't even convinced that she was awake, but her willingness was clear.

  God knew, he was more than ready.

  He slipped his hand down to stroke her. She was wet and hot, and at the touch of his fingers, she gave one of those little hums of pleasure that had so tantalized him last night.

  Gradually, savoring every luscious sensation, he slid inside her. When she immediately tightened to bring him closer, his heart dissolved. The urgency that had marked their first explosive union was absent. In its place was a poignant need to cherish. He kissed her again, then started to move with a relentless gentleness that had her sighing in greeting every time he stroked deep. This was like floating on clouds of joy.

  He kept up the careful rhythm as long as he could, but eventually, inevitably hunger rose. She quivered on a peak of satisfaction, less tempestuous, but slower and longer than before. He buried his face in her shoulder and groaned as he filled her. This joining was breathtakingly profound, for all the thunder and lightning of their first time.

  Anthony sighed and rolled onto his back, shaping her to his side. She murmured again and curled against him, all relaxed, womanly satisfaction. As he idly stroked her tangled hair, he smiled to realize that despite what they'd just shared, she was still closer to asleep than awake.

  He settled more comfortably against the pillows. Life offered a man nothing
finer than a cozy bed on a cold night and his woman dozing in his arms. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve this happiness, but he meant to hold on to it. And to Fenella.

  She shifted again and pressed a drowsy kiss above his heart where she'd kissed him before. The instinctive tenderness made his heart cramp with unfamiliar but devastating emotion. He'd never felt like this before. She shook his world to its very foundations.

  Cuddling up again, Fenella brushed her cheek against his chest with open affection. She hadn't spoken at all when he'd been inside her, although her moans and sighs had been the sweetest of music. Now, her voice emerged thick with sleep.

  "Oh, Henry, my darling, I love you so much."

  Chapter Twelve

  * * *

  Anthony cracked open heavy eyelids to find Fenella Deerham on the window seat, staring outside into the dawn. She wore the blue traveling gown that had become so familiar.

  After her tender declaration of love, he'd stayed awake for hours, staring at nothing. But eventually he must have dropped back to sleep. Not long ago if his gritty eyes were any indication.

  She looked beautiful. She always did. And desperately sad.

  That was no surprise. He wasn't exactly on top of the world himself. Despite a night of the best sex he'd ever had.

  Anthony wasn't entirely sure how he felt about Fenella vowing her love to another man while she lay in his arms. Probably he should be angry, but she'd never hidden her allegiance. He was definitely hurt. Moving inside Fenella, he'd felt closer to her than to anyone in his life. It was like they shared the same breath.

  The sting of discovering he was as prone to romantic illusion as the next man lingered, much as he told himself to grow up and get over it. After all, she'd made no promises, least of all eternal devotion.

  The problem was all his, damn it. Because somewhere in the last two days, his immovable, stubborn soul had set itself to win Fenella Deerham.

  Who was still in love with a dead man.

  And given her steadfast heart, always would be. That left Anthony wanting to rampage around like a wounded bear and break things.