by Lauren Smith
When he growled and tightened his grip around her waist, she felt a surge of triumph. The needy aching feeling intensified. Did he feel it too? She hoped so. She hated to think she was the only one experiencing this delicious agony.
She needed relief, she needed more, she ached to be closer.
Apparently he felt the same because he pulled her onto his lap in one swift move that made her gasp. But then his lips were covering hers again and she rested against him. Then she was pressing against him. Without meaning to, she found herself crushing her breasts against his chest as her hands moved over his shoulders and arms, reveling in the feel of his hardness beneath her.
He shifted her weight and with a gasp she found her bottom pressed against his hard length, so unfamiliar but so very right. She wiggled slightly and was rewarded with a moan as he intensified the kiss, burying one hand in her hair to hold her still as his tongue claimed her mouth.
She found herself whimpering at the onslaught, her hands moving over him, her body moving anxiously against his trying to find relief. She’d never felt so needy before. So filled with such overwhelming longing. Like she might die if she didn’t have more of his touches, if she didn’t feel his skin against her own.
One of his hands was stroking her back, her waist, her stomach. When he moved it up and cupped her breast, she cried out, the sound swallowed by his kiss. She arched against him, giving him better access. He slipped the hand inside her cloak and skimmed his fingers over the edge of her neckline.
Her breath came in short pants as she pulled back briefly to meet his gaze. She wanted to beg him for something. Ask him for more, but she didn’t know what. Whatever he saw in her expression, it seemed to undo the last of his stoic resolve. With a primal growl, he pulled down the neckline and slipped his hand beneath.
When his calloused fingers brushed against her nipple, she gasped and then moaned, her head falling back as his warm lips moved over her neck, trailing kisses as his fingers greedily moved over her breast, molding her soft skin and pinching her sensitive nipple.
More. She needed more. Clutching at his shirtfront she tried to pull him even closer. “I need,” she started. She didn’t know how to finish so those two words hung there in the air between them.
“I know,” he whispered. And he did seem to know exactly what she needed. In the next breath he’d found the hem of her plain frock and slipped a hand underneath. His growl rumbled against her skin as he ran his hand up the length of her leg to her inner thigh.
She kissed him fiercely as he spread a possessive hand over her thigh, his grip tight as if he was claiming this untouched skin as his own.
“Mine,” she thought she heard him mutter.
Yes. His. She was his. In that moment she would have given anything to be claimed by him, but maybe that was her imagination running wild.
She writhed in his arms, all thoughts silenced as her attention narrowed to that sensitive area between her thighs. His fingers moved slowly, too slowly, inching toward her center where she ached and throbbed like nothing she’d ever known.
“Gabriel,” she moaned. He captured her lips with another fierce kiss that told her he knew what she needed. That he was in control.
And then his hand moved higher, just slightly, enough that his fingers brushed against the soft curls between her thighs.
Oh sweet heaven. Her hips jerked as she cried out his name. More, she wanted to say. She needed more.
His touch turned infinitely gentle as his fingers stroked the soft flesh that was hot and wet and begging for his touch. She clung to him, burying her face in his neck as he whispered in her ear. The words were so soft she barely heard him, whispered words of reassurance and encouragement as his fingers moved over her slick skin and between her folds.
When she couldn’t take it anymore. When she was sure she would die from the aching tension coiling in her core, he slipped a finger inside of her. She cried out as a tide of bliss rolled over her, making her shake in his arms as she came apart at the seams.
A moment later she came to her senses again to find him cuddling her close and adjusting her clothes back into place.
But…that wasn’t all. That couldn’t be all. His manhood was still hard beneath her and he sat with a rigidness that gave him away. He hadn’t found release. He was still aching, or at least she hoped he was.
Unless…maybe he didn’t feel the same way. He was a man of the world, experienced as she was not. Maybe this hadn’t moved him. Maybe she was alone in this.
With something close to desperation she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, hoping to rekindle his desire, make him want her as she wanted him.
At first he responded just as she’d hoped. His lips were firm and commanding as he met her kiss. But then he tore his mouth away from hers with an uttered oath.
She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, stunned and speechless.
He took one look at her and groaned, tilting his head so his forehead rested against hers. “You’re going to be the death of me, Lydia Ashford.”
She grinned. So he felt it too, then. The agony. The bliss.
Thank God.
She wasn’t alone and if there was one person she trusted to show her what this all meant, to lead her as she discovered this new side of herself, it was him.
He loosened his hold on her but she grabbed one of his hands and set it on her waist. She’d wanted to place it on her breast but found her courage failed her. Instead she held his hand against her body, pressed her bottom against his hard length, and pulled back long enough to meet his gaze. “Don’t stop.”
His eyes darkened as he pulled her closer. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said. He sounded like he was talking more to himself than to her. Like he was trying to remind himself that she was an innocent.
She scowled up at him. “Don’t treat me like a child. I know exactly what I’m asking.”
He studied her, his gaze never wavering even as their carriage hit a rut and they were jostled together. “Then you know that what you’re asking means we would need to wed.”
She blinked at him, full understanding dawning as heat rushed toward her face. Perhaps she hadn’t realized what she’d been asking for. Not completely, at least. She’d spoken out of passion, instinct, but the idea of marrying because of one reckless interlude in a carriage made her shift uncomfortably on his lap. A marriage to this man was what she wanted, but not like this. She couldn’t marry Gabriel if she was some sort of obligation. A regret he needed to make right. Somehow that seemed even worse than a marriage to old Rothmore.
He continued, his voice low and filled with suspicion. “Unless that’s what you were after in the first place. Was that your plan, Lydia? To seduce me into marriage?”
She pulled back with an outraged gasp. “Of course not.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest—a prideful pose that lost a good amount of its impact since she was perched on his lap. But really, the man made it sound like she’d thrown herself at him. Her pride stung and she lifted her chin. “Might I remind you that you kissed me. Both times, I might add.”
“You’re right,” he muttered. He lifted a hand and rubbed it across his eyes. “My apologies, I’m not in my right mind these days.”
Some of her anger faltered at the show of weakness—a rarity coming from Gabriel. She remembered then that he’d ridden all night the night before to stop her wedding and hadn’t stopped since.
The carriage rolled to a stop and she was grateful for the excuse to leap off his lap and scurry out into the fresh night air. The conversation had gone the wrong way and the feelings it stirred up were…unpleasant.
Those old feelings she’d squashed so thoroughly were threatening to erupt again. The girlish crush she’d tried so hard to tamp down was roiling just beneath the surface, and it threatened to ruin everything.
She should be able to enjoy some harmless kissing without losing all sense of reason. She should be able to pursue the idea of a
marriage with this man based on logic and reason. He knew her. He understood her. Most of all, he would never try to control her or keep her imprisoned in a loveless marriage.
But it would be a loveless marriage.
The pain that thought brought with it was so intense she clutched her chest as if she could find the invisible dagger and pull it out.
There was no way she could survive a loveless marriage with this man. Because it wouldn’t be loveless for her. That was what had her so unsettled in the carriage. The clarity of her self-awareness left a bitter taste in her mouth. She wished she could avoid the truth but it was there, staring her in the face as she stared up at the next warehouse on their list.
She loved Gabriel. She always had and she always would, despite her best attempts to strangle the stubborn emotion. But he didn’t love her.
“Are you all right?” he asked for the second time that night.
She avoided looking up at him when he reached her side after giving the carriage driver instructions to wait for them yet again. “I told you, I’m always all right.” The words burned her throat just as tears stung the back of her eyes.
She ignored the pain as she set out toward the building. She had a mission to see through.
Chapter Eleven
Something had changed in Lydia’s demeanor.
Damn it, it was that kiss. No, it had been more than a kiss. So much more. He’d taken it too far. His famed willpower had failed him…again. And now they were both suffering because of it. He should never have accused her of trying to trap him into marriage. Lunacy. She could have her pick of men and she’d made it clear that she’d only wanted him for reasons of convenience in the first place.
Of course she hadn’t had marriage on her mind. That had been him. He’d been harboring fantasies about what married life would be like with Lydia for the past two weeks, ever since she’d planted the idea in his brain. The thought had taken root and bloomed into fantasies he was ashamed to admit to, even to himself.
Kissing her hadn’t helped. Hell, it had only made his situation infinitely more painful as his strained breeches were quick to remind him. He watched her cloak-clad form hurry ahead of him toward the large warehouse, which looked black against the night sky. He shoved aside thoughts that they were on a fool’s errand.
Lydia suspected Vancleef and that was good enough for him. He just hated to see her get her hopes up only to see them dashed. Watching her disappointment as they’d left the last location had been heartbreaking. He’d felt her pain as surely as if they shared one heart.
Lord, exhaustion must have been killing him for his mind to think up such daft, romantic nonsense. Of course they didn’t share a heart. All they shared was a love for her brother and his wife. That was all.
The wind picked up and for the life of him he could have sworn he heard it whisper. Liar. Her brother wasn’t all they shared. They had a connection—perhaps they always had. Back when he was younger it was an odd sort of friendship. She’d been the teasing, tagalong little sister he’d never had. And as she’d grown she’d become a friend. True, their friendship didn’t conform to any definition adhered to by society’s standards, but then neither he nor Lydia matched society’s standards in general. She was a young, single woman who longed to be a spy for the army and he…well, he was a soldier who’d sacrificed all hope of love or family for the sake of loyalty and love of country.
And where did that leave him now? Lonely as hell, if he was being honest with himself. And under the pale moonlight following in Lydia’s wake, it seemed suddenly impossible to be anything but honest with himself.
Which meant facing the fact that he’d been harboring fantasies about marrying Lydia long before she’d proposed. Oh, he’d never owned up to it to anyone, let alone himself, but it had been there, in the back of his mind. A silly daydream of coming home to those twinkling eyes and mischievous smile. A late night vision of blonde temptation. A secret fantasy that was supposed to be just that. A fantasy. Nothing more.
That was one of the reasons her proposal had knocked him off guard. He’d never admitted that desire to himself, and to hear her say the words “we should be married,” well, it had been disconcerting, to say the least. Like a vision from a dream had come to life before his eyes.
And then reality had set in as she’d laid out her practical reasons for wanting him. Not one had been based on anything so callous as desire and certainly not love. She’d offered him what he should have wanted—all the convenience of marriage without the entanglements of a romantic relationship.
Jesus, was he so far gone as all that? Had he become so gruff and unfeeling that Lydia assumed he hadn’t the slightest interest in love?
Of course she thought that. He stopped suddenly, watching her run on ahead as his brain ran in circles. She’d thought that because that was what he’d led her to think. What he’d led everyone to believe. Hell, it was what he’d believed about himself up until today.
Because today he’d kissed Lydia and now there was no turning back the clock. There was no unringing that bell.
He nearly lost track of her as she slipped into the shadow of the building and he hurried to follow. He caught up with her as she was fiddling with the lock of the back door. He looked closer. She was picking it.
He watched with grudging admiration as the door swung open. Of course she knew how to pick locks. He’d long been firmly convinced that there was nothing this woman couldn’t do.
Except perhaps stay out of trouble. But then, if she did that, she wouldn’t be Lydia.
She turned to face him. “Are you coming?” Without waiting for an answer, she slipped into the darkness. She hadn’t even paused, as though venturing headfirst into a potential enemy’s property was something she did on a daily basis.
As he followed her he found himself thinking that this right here was a very compelling reason that he should say yes to that ridiculous proposal. At the very least he’d be able to keep an eye on her.
If she let him.
He followed her into the main room of the warehouse with its vaulted ceiling. Without pause, she headed toward the back, the moonlight coming in through the large windows illuminating a door.
“This must lead to the cellar or a storage area.” She reached into the depths of her cloak pockets.
A rustling noise coming from the far end of the warehouse had them both freezing. He automatically reached a hand out and pulled her behind him and away from the locked door.
She slapped his arm. “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.
“Keeping you safe.”
She tugged on his sleeve as she stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “It was probably just a rat.”
He shook his head. It had been too big to be a rat. Someone else was in there. He backed up slightly so she was wedged between his body and the wall, safe from an attack in any direction.
Her hands gripped his arms and he felt her burrow against his back. For quite possibly the first time in either of their lives, Lydia accepted his help. It was surprisingly nice to be needed. Maybe not needed. But at least she wasn’t pushing him away.
Something shifted again behind a stack of boxes and then it moved, jumping off the stack and directly in front of them with a meow. They both stiffened in surprise and he heard her let out a huff of laughter after the shock passed.
She tapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you for protecting me from the kitty cat,” she said, her voice filled with laughter. “But I think I’ll be all right from here.”
He turned around to face her and found himself so close to her that he could hardly breathe. One whiff of her scent would send him reeling. One brush against her slim figure and he would be lost again. On his way to a special sort of hell. One where the woman he’d been secretly dreaming about for the past few years asked him to be her glorified companion.
Frustration had him clenching his fists. Damn it, when had this happened? When had he developed feelings for Lydia?<
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That’s what this was, the rush of sensation every time she looked in his direction. It was as though there had been a fire simmering inside of him for years and now that he’d tasted her lips, the fire had ignited. Now there was no way he could ignore the heat or escape the burn.
She was staring at him, her eyes wide in the moonlight as she read the look on his face. He didn’t know what she saw, but he could guess. He might be good at hiding his emotions, but this was too intense and the onslaught too sudden.
He read the shock in her gaze and knew that she’d seen it. The fire within. Her lips parted and he lost the battle for control. A growl ripped from his throat as reason stepped aside and the need to possess her overwhelmed him.
He was vaguely aware of her gasp as his leaned down and claimed her lips. But rather than pull away, she leaned into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist as she came up on her toes again to be closer still.
A desperate need wrapped its claws around his heart and for a moment he forgot about everything. Where they were and why. Nothing mattered but that he taste this woman. His woman.
Oh hell. His woman. The phrase echoed through his skull and reverberated in his heart. She was his. She always had been and she always would be. But not as some figurehead of a wife. He needed her to be his wife in every sense of the word.
He pulled back slightly to tell her exactly that. There was every chance he was risking rejection. She could take what he was offering and throw it in his face. But it was a risk he had to take. For the first time in his life he knew what he wanted. He knew how to fill the void he’d created in his life.
It was her. It had always been her. She was his life force. Her laughter was in his blood and her strength was his greatest pride.
He cupped her face in his palms, ready to tell her everything. About to ask her to be his bride.
But before he could, he was knocked to the side, toppling to the ground with an oof as a solid weight landed on top of him. Instinct had him grappling, throwing punches as he deflected a blow.