Irresistible

by ROBARDS, KAREN

  Never in her whole life, she realized, had she felt the way she felt with Hugh.

  The wantonness that had so shamed her, the wantonness that she could not quite stamp out no matter how hard she tried, the wantonness that was apparently an integral part of her nature, had reared its head again, and her heart quickened along with her body as she faced the truth.

  She could not go home to England, to the sisters she loved, to her barren life with David, without ever having lain with Hugh.

  Taking a deep breath, she mustered all the courage she could find, and grabbed for the one thing she had suddenly realized she wanted above all else.

  “It’s wrong, I know,” she said steadily, her eyes holding his. “But—if we need not part till dawn, I would ask you to stay with me tonight.”

  20

  His fingers tightened on hers. The tiny twin flames in his eyes flared, then were as quickly hidden by his lowered lids as he looked down at their joined hands.

  “If you’re wanting to while the night away with pleasant conversation, I’m not able to do that, I’m afraid.” His voice was courteous but distant. He looked at her again, and the flash of heat was gone. His expression was coolly remote.

  She took a deep, steadying breath and willed herself to stay the course. His resistance was unexpected; she’d thought all she would have to do was give the slightest indication of willingness and he would tumble into bed with her so quickly she wouldn’t have a chance to take a deep breath, much less change her mind. But here was the opportunity for second thoughts—all she had to do was follow his lead in pretending that they both didn’t know very well what she’d really been asking for—and she realized that she didn’t want to change her mind. This was what she wanted—he was what she wanted—and she would fight for him if she had to. He was giving her no encouragement at all—other than that brief flare of passion she was sure she had seen in his eyes. But she knew—she knew—he felt the connection between them as strongly as she did. Something was holding him back. What? Honor? Chivalry? The thought of the man she had not long since considered a black-hearted scoundrel being deterred by either should have been humorous, except she had since learned that the villainous rogue was, at heart, very much a gentleman. Too much a gentleman to bed her? He had shown no discernible reluctance when he had kissed and caressed her on the Nadine. Of course, then he had been operating under the presumption that she was very likely a trollop and a spy. Now he was accepting her for the lady of quality she was, and it might be that which was giving him pause. To her, it didn’t matter. For once in her life, she knew what she wanted, and she meant to do her best to get it.

  But getting what she wanted required courage of a sort that she had never before had to ascertain she possessed. The courage to state plainly what she was asking him for and thereby suffer certain embarrassment and even, possibly, rejection. Her stomach knotted. Her heart quaked. But she took her courage in both hands and looked him squarely in the eyes.

  “You know very well that conversation’s not what I want.” If her tone was a little blunt for seduction, well, making such a statement was difficult for her. Never before in her life had she been the one to make the running after a man; always, always, men had fallen at her feet at her least glance.

  His lips twisted into the slightest of wry smiles. “Angel eyes, I’m not sure you know what you want.”

  “I do. I do.” She wet her suddenly dry lips and said it right out, boldly: “I want you to lie with me. I want to—to . . .”

  Despite her determination, words failed her at the end, and she blushed.

  He looked her over for a moment in silence. His jaw tightened, and a tiny muscle began to jump at the corner of his mouth. She saw those as signs of resistance, and felt her cheeks grow hotter. He seemed to be on the verge of saying no. Her blood drummed in her ears and her stomach sank as she watched him. He seemed to be steeling himself against her. Then suddenly the flame in his eyes returned, only now it burned so hot and so bright that there was no mistaking it for anything but what it was. Still he hesitated, making no move to come any closer, or to draw her to him. His fingers were rigid as they held hers in a grip that she suspected would be unbreakable if she tested it, but she wasn’t testing it. She didn’t want him to let her go. Not now. Not ever.

  “You don’t even know the words.”

  There was the slightest edge to his voice. She could feel the tension in his hand, see the rigidity in his stance. His eyes were blazing steadily at her now. Whatever was keeping him from her, it was not lack of desire, she could tell. Men had been looking at her like that for most of her life, and she knew what those leaping eyes meant.

  But this was the first time in her life she had ever truly desired someone back.

  “Intimate congress,” she said. “I want to engage in intimate congress with you.”

  It was a throaty whisper, because her throat had almost closed up from the embarrassment of being so explicit, and slightly defiant in tone.

  He made a sound that was part laugh and part groan. “God, you are so young and so sweet you break my heart.”

  The heat in his eyes scorched her face, and his fingers tightened almost painfully on hers. Yet still he looked oddly irresolute, standing there with his eyes burning her everywhere they touched and his body as still as if he’d been turned to stone.

  “Claire . . .” There was a world of warning in the way he said her name. Claire’s gaze met his and clung as he continued, his voice now husky and very low. “Puss, think well. I would crawl over a sea of hot coals on my hands and knees to climb into bed with you, as I suspect you’re very well aware. But you—tomorrow night, you’ll be safe at home in England with your husband and family. I don’t want you to do something in the heat of the moment that you’re going to regret, maybe for the rest of your life.”

  She rose to her knees, her hand clinging to his, uncaring as the modesty-giving quilts fell away. Awkward on the too soft mattress, hampered by the trailing end of her nightdress, which got caught up beneath her knees, she moved toward him. He caught her other hand to steady her, then held both her hands in a tight grip that, she thought, deliberately kept a modicum of space between them. They were still some few inches apart when she stopped. She was kneeling before him clad only in the loose white nightdress, her black hair streaming like a whisper-soft cloak over her shoulders and down her back, her eyes fixed on his with a whole world of longing in them.

  “My only regret,” she said softly, “would be if all we had was this one night and we didn’t do this, and then I went the rest of my life without ever wanting to be with anyone as I want to be with you.”

  His breath caught, and his eyes as they moved over her face blazed so hot that they seemed to sear her skin. His hands flexed as if in involuntary reflex, and then his fingers twined with hers. Claire felt the warmth and strength of those hands, the slight abrasiveness at the tips of the long fingers imprisoning hers, and imagined them touching her. At the images that conjured up, she felt a shivery anticipation that at any other time would have made her hang her head in shame.

  But not tonight. Not with Hugh.

  “Now that,” he said, his voice grown faintly unsteady, “would be a shame.”

  Then he gave up his unwinnable fight. Claire knew the moment he did, because his mouth twisted as if in defeat and his eyes flashed at her like black diamonds. Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest as she watched his head bend toward hers, slowly, as if he would give her one last chance to call a halt if she would. But she would not. This was what she had wanted, dreamed of, for years. To have the question answered: What was it that her body longed for? What did she yearn for instinctively without really knowing what it was? The thought that Hugh had the answers was tantalizing, tempting her beyond what she could bear. The fire that had leaped at her from his eyes had entered her blood, and now she was burning too, aflame with need. The wantonness that she had done battle with for years took up arms again, and thi
s time she didn’t even try to fight it.

  Her head tilted up in heady anticipation. Her lips softened and parted before his ever touched them. When at last they did she quivered and closed her eyes, loving the firm warmth of his lips, the way his mouth moved gently on hers, the sweet invasion of his tongue. He tasted of wine, and she guessed that the men had been drinking while she was upstairs. It was a soft kiss, a lover’s kiss, and the wonder of it made her ache. But she wanted more, much more, so much that she felt almost greedy with need. He lifted his head, looking down into her eyes with an expression that combined desire and tenderness in a way that made her head spin.

  “I want you more than I have ever wanted a woman in my life,” he said. For all the passion that darkened his face, his expression was also faintly—was it rueful?

  “So take me.” She managed the tiniest of smiles. The ruefulness vanished, and he looked down at her almost gravely. Then he bent his head again as if in answer and took her mouth.

  This time, the kiss was not nearly so gentle. His mouth slanted over hers, hard and demanding, and she loved the fierceness of his kiss. The rasp of his unshaven chin against her soft skin made her toes curl. Claire swayed against him, making a little sound like a moan deep in her throat as his tongue slid between her lips. His mouth was hot and wet and demanding. His tongue touched hers, stroked it, coaxed it to come out and play. She responded mindlessly as he taught her more about the fine art of kissing, and the result was all she could have wished for. She put her tongue in his mouth, and felt her loins tighten. She touched his teeth, the roof of his mouth, his tongue, just as he was doing to hers, and felt the tightening turn into a quake. She stroked his tongue with hers, and the quaking intensified until her insides were reduced to pure jelly and she had to free her mouth from his to breathe. But the temptation of his long hard mouth hovering just inches above her own was too much to be borne, and within seconds she was kissing him again, greedily, pressing her mouth to his and eagerly employing the lessons he had taught her.

  During the course of that kiss, she rediscovered that his chest was firm with muscle and radiated heat, and that when she pressed close against it her breasts seemed to tingle and swell. His thighs were solid and powerful against the curving slenderness of hers. Above them, pressing into her stomach, she felt a bulging hardness. As she identified it as the tangible evidence of his desire for her, her throat went dry.

  She felt almost dizzy with the sheer pleasure generated by the contact of their bodies. When he let go of her hands to wrap his arms around her waist, then pulled her closer yet so that she was plastered right up against his body from her knees to her breasts, the sensation was so intense that she almost forgot to breathe. She could feel the warmth of him, the steely strength of his muscles, the steady beat of his heart, and each, separately and together, made her head spin. Sliding her arms around his shoulders, intoxicated with the sheer sensuous pleasure of running her hands along their well-muscled width and then touching the silk of his hair and the warm satin of the back of his neck, she locked her hands behind his neck and kissed him back with abandon.

  When he lifted his head at last, she opened her eyes. His face was close, so close, and he was breathing as if there were not enough air in the whole world to fill his lungs. His eyes were heavy-lidded and hot as he met her gaze.

  “Your kissing has improved out of all recognition.”

  The huskiness of his voice did not match his crooked smile. He was trying again for a certain lightness, she thought. But the intensity of the emotion that shimmered between them would not be denied.

  “My tutor is very good.” She, too, replied lightly, but her eyes stayed fixed on his, and her lips, parted and tremulous, gave her tone the lie.

  “Is he now?”

  Still he smiled, even as his eyes scorched her. Then, moving slowly, oh, so slowly, he lifted a hand to touch her mouth. Just the faintest butterfly touch, his thumb rubbing over the soft curve of her lower lip, which was still damp from his kisses, but it was enough to make her tremble.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  “No.”

  Claire drew in a deep, shaken breath as she made the admission, knowing what it implied.

  “Ah,” he said, and kissed her again. This time the kiss was harder, deeper, compelling a response that she was only too ready to give. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his and kissed him as if she’d been dreaming of this moment all her life, which, indeed, she had been.

  When he lifted his head again, they were both shaking. Claire felt the fine tremors in the arms that locked her to him, heard the harsh rasp of his breathing, saw the deep color that had risen to stain his cheekbones, and thrilled to the knowledge that he was as deeply affected by her kisses as she was by his.

  “Cold?” she whispered, echoing his question to her.

  His answering smile was no more than a flicker.

  “No,” he said.

  He bent his head, but this time his target was not her lips. Instead his mouth found the sensitive skin just below her ear. Claire practically swooned as he ran his mouth down the side of her neck, pressing tingly little kisses to her soft skin. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, and finally her ear. The rasp of his beard was as arousing as the hot trail blazed by his lips.

  By the time he sought her lips again, she was breathing erratically and clinging to him as if she would collapse if she let go. He kissed her, his tongue staking bold possession of her mouth, and she was happy to be possessed. Then his hand came up to cradle her neck, stroking the fragile cord he had just kissed, before sliding down over her collarbone, over the front of the thin nightdress, to close over her breast.

  Claire gasped. The feel of his big hand holding her so intimately jolted through her body like an earthquake. She arched her back, pressing up against that caressing hand quite shamelessly. Her nipple was erect and so sensitive it almost ached as it thrust against his palm. He tightened his grip, and she thought she would die with the sheer wonder of it.

  When he removed his hand from her breast, she felt bereft. She was breathing hard, as hard as if she’d danced for hours, and her legs were so unsteady that, when he took a step back, it was all she could do not to sink into a little heap right there in front of him.

  “Let’s have this off you, then.” His voice was a husky murmur.

  His fingers trailed around the neckline of her borrowed nightdress, just brushing her skin but making her acutely conscious of his touch nonetheless. He was watching her, waiting for her reaction, she thought, and she managed to nod. Her heart pounded so hard that it threatened to burst through her chest. Speaking was now, she feared, beyond her. He set both hands to her waist, lifting her from the bed and setting her on her feet. Claire swayed toward him instinctively, but he shook his head at her, smiling a little. Then his hands came up to cup her face, and he dropped a quick hard kiss on her lips before reaching for the buttons that fastened her gown at the neck.

  He made short work of them, and then without another word he reached down and pulled the coarse linen garment up and over her head. With that single fluid movement she was naked. The slide of her hair falling back against her bare breasts startled her. Then she became aware of the cool air caressing her skin—and the hard glitter in his eyes as they moved over her.

  Following his gaze, she instinctively glanced down at herself. Her breasts were perhaps a little larger than oranges, firm and full, creamy white crested in rose with small nipples, erect as soldiers at attention, that seemed to yearn toward his chest. Her waist was narrow and shapely above gently flaring hips and a flat stomach punctuated by a neat round navel. Below that, the velvety black triangle of curls that hid the delta of her sex topped legs that were long and slim and pale.

  She had seen herself naked many times, in the bath and when she dressed. Ordinarily she never even thought about her body or how it looked. It was something on which to put clothes, and she liked its shape, which she knew was quite good
, because she liked lovely, fashionable gowns and the way she was made helped them to look as they should on her. But she had never expected to be standing bare as the day she was born in front of a man, a man, moreover, who was to all intents and purposes a stranger, with his eyes touching her with appreciation all over and lingering with transparent pleasure on her most private places. The knowledge that he was looking at her naked made the insistent quaking in her loins grow almost urgent. Her reaction embarrassed the life out of her—and excited her as well.

  But even as she acknowledged that, the precepts with which she had been raised won out over the wantonness that she considered her greatest fault. Claire blushed under his roaming gaze, and instinctively brought her hands up to cover herself in the age-old gesture of a modest woman.

  As her arms covered her breasts and the black nest of curls, he looked up, meeting her suddenly shy gaze.

  “You,” he said, in a voice so low and scratchy that it didn’t even sound like his voice at all, “are so beautiful you take my breath away. Do you have any idea how much pleasure just looking at you gives me?”