“Had I known you were a virgin, I’d have assuaged your fears.”
Easing down, she lowered his trousers, inhaling the musky, heady scent of him. When he stepped out of the cloth and nudged it aside, she glided her hands up his muscular thighs.
Slipping his hands beneath her arms, he brought her up. “You can explore later. For now I’m going to share with you what I was too selfish and consumed with need to share earlier.”
Once more, he lifted her up and set her on the bed, only this time he placed her along its length, her head coming to rest on a pillow. Stretching out beside her, he took her mouth so gently that she almost wept. Always there had been so much hunger between them, clawing at them, and she knew that he was tamping it down, striving to make amends when there was nothing which required recompense. Yet neither could she deny that she liked the slowness of his tongue stroking hers. She wound her arms around his shoulders, relishing the closeness of him.
Taking hold of her wrists, he pulled her hands over her head and clamped one hand around the fragile bones. “No touching,” he ordered. “This is all for you.”
“But I enjoy touching you. I take pleasure from it.”
His face hovering mere inches from hers, his gaze delved into her eyes. “You’re remarkable.”
“Surely other ladies have wanted to touch you.”
“More out of obligation, I think. Because it was expected.”
She gave him a sultry smile. “They may have wanted you to think that, but I suspect they were quite delighted at the opportunity to run their hands amok over you. You’re quite splendid.”
His eyes narrowed.
“It’s not flattery when it’s the truth,” she added.
“For now simply relish what I am about to bestow.”
Releasing his hold on her, he grazed his mouth along her chin, down her throat, eliciting tiny bubbles of pleasure that caused her toes to curl. He licked his way along the center of her chest, between her breasts, lapping at her skin as though it were coated in sugar.
She tried to keep her hands where he’d placed them, to grant him that bit of abeyance, but when he cupped her breast and closed his mouth around her nipple, she couldn’t help but bury her fingers in the thick strands of his dark hair. Nor could she stop herself from moaning low, from arching her back. He suckled, lathed his tongue over the taut peak, suckled again, all the while kneading gently.
It was so marvelous, how he could touch her in one place and yet she seemed to feel it everywhere. She thought she might go mad with the sensations, and perhaps that was his intent: to drive her insane so she could no longer look out for herself, so she would have to surrender to his care for the remainder of her life.
What a silly thought. He didn’t want her forever. He’d made that clear enough. He wanted her for only a week, seven nights. Then he would be done with her. Then she would stagger from his residence, a woman forever changed.
But she would neither resent nor regret it.
Not when he had the power to carry her to such heights as he had that night in the coach, as she suspected he intended to take her now. With him she could fly, she could be free as she’d never been before.
Once more, he placed her hands on the pillow. She almost cursed him. No doubt she would when she left. He would ruin her for anyone else, and a small voice echoed through her mind that that was his plan. To give to her as no other man ever would. To take from her as no other man had the power.
He shifted that incredible body of his, and she watched the play of muscles with his movements. The bunching, the knotting, the smoothing out. She wanted to see him without clothing, engaged in every sort of activity imaginable. He was perfection, the possessor of a body that did not betray. If she believed in gods, she would believe him blessed, but she had looked in his eyes and she knew he was not a stranger to betrayal, that he carried the scars deeply within him. Yet for all the darkness that hovered below the surface, still he had the ability to gift her with the beauty of pleasure.
Wedged between her thighs, he folded his hands around the curve of her hips and trailed his lips over her stomach, licking, kissing as he progressed to her navel. He circled it with his tongue, dipped it inside.
“I’ll have brandy here later,” he rasped, and heat coursed through her with the image of him lapping at her flesh. Then he inched farther down until his breath was stirring the curls at the apex of her thighs.
It seemed decadent to see the top of his head between her parted legs. Reaching down, she threaded her fingers through his hair. She’d resisted touching him as long as she could.
Then his tongue laved a provocative path between the folds of her womanhood, and she pressed her thighs against him, tightened her hold on the strands of his hair. She’d thought he’d use his fingers again. Hadn’t expected him to fairly worship her with his mouth. He nibbled, nipped, drew her in, tugged gently. Her head came off the pillow, her shoulders rolled forward.
“Avendale, what are you doing?”
He lifted his head. Within his smoldering dark eyes, she saw passion, desire, and possession. He owned her at that moment and he damned well knew it. “What I should have done earlier. What I want to do now. What I intend to do a hundred times before you leave.”
“It can’t be proper behavior.”
“Do you want me to stop?” The challenge was there, but so was a flicker of doubt. He would cease his ministrations if she but asked.
She didn’t trust him with her heart, but that wasn’t fair because he didn’t know it was part of the bargain. She trusted him without reservations when it came to her body. “No.” It was a breathless sound, lower than a whisper, and yet it seemed to echo through the room like a shot fired from a rifle.
He gave her a devilish grin. “Then enjoy.”
She slumped back down, stared at the velvet canopy above, as his tongue circled and swirled. She didn’t want to take with her memories of velvet. She wanted memories of him. Lowering her eyes, she relished the sight of him between her spread thighs. Heat fanned out from her core to envelop her. Pleasure spiraled.
Sliding his hands between the mattress and her bottom, he lifted her slightly as though he were offering himself a tasty feast, and sensations zagged through her as though he’d delivered a lightning strike. She tightened her fingers in his hair. Her breathing became shallow, harsh. The pleasure ebbed and flowed as though he were the commander of the tides of hedonism.
She whispered his name, then screamed it as a tide of ecstasy enveloped her, carried her under, then lifted her up. She shuddered with a force that threatened to unhinge her bones. “Oh God, oh God.”
Sliding up her body, he took her into his arms and cradled her close, burying her face in the curve of his shoulder, running a hand along the length of her spine. After all he’d given her, how could she find even more pleasure in something so simple, so comforting?
She was lethargic, and had been almost correct about her bones. They had dissolved. She’d never be able to leave this bed. Somehow she managed to drape her hand over his hip. “You should be . . . inside me,” she forced out.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Later.”
“But I want you.”
“I told you: this time was for you. I won’t be so unselfish again, so make the most of it. Drift off to sleep in a sated state.” He squeezed her bottom and said in a low voice, “It’s the best kind.”
In the coach, she thought she’d experienced the pinnacle of pleasure. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or terrified to discover she’d been wrong. Before he was done with her, she thought she might very well die from all the sensations he was so skilled at delivering.
His body ached with the need to be buried inside her. He was not in the habit of denying himself what he desired, but then where she was concerned, it seemed all his habits were doomed.
He’d always enjoyed pleasure for pleasure’s sake, but with her there was another element that he couldn’t quite identify, that he didn’t want to examine too closely. Examining her, however, was another matter entirely.
Holding her so near, he was well aware of her languid muscles relaxing even further as she succumbed to the lure of sleep. He did what he should have done earlier, and gingerly unbraided her hair, gently combing his fingers through the long strands without disturbing her. He could still barely fathom that she had marched into his sanctum—had convinced his housekeeper to unlock the door so she could—as though it were as much hers as his. With no other woman had he ever felt on such even footing.
He found that aspect to her as tempting as the alabaster skin which he’d revealed when he finally took the time to bare all of her to his appreciative gaze. They were going to have an incredible week together, although he already regretted that it wouldn’t be longer.
Her soft breathing stirred the fine hairs on his chest. Her hand on his hip went limp, her fingers twitched. Never before had he noticed so much.
He could have had her for half the amount, could he?
He’d almost confessed that she could have named any price and he’d have paid it.
Moving slowly so as not to disturb her, he reached down, grabbed the covers, and brought them over her. Then as gingerly as possible he eased from the bed, retrieved his silk dressing gown, slipped into it, and walked to a table near the fireplace. After pouring himself a glass of scotch, he sat on the sofa and watched the embers dying on the hearth.
Who was this woman and why was he so obsessed with her? He had a million questions he wanted answered, and he knew she’d answer nary a one. He thought he could be with her for the remainder of his life and still he wouldn’t know everything about her.
Why a dwarf? Why a giant? Why London? Why him? Who all had she swindled before? Why had she stepped onto that path?
He considered asking James Swindler of Scotland Yard to make inquiries, to discover what he could about her. The man was skilled at ferreting out information, but that way might lead to her incarceration. Besides, he didn’t want another to provide the details of her life. He wanted her to do it.
Leaning forward, he planted his elbows on his thighs, held his glass between two hands, and stared more intently at the smoldering heat. What did it matter who she was?
It mattered.
As nothing else in his life ever had.
She mattered.
He didn’t want her to. He didn’t want her to provide anything other than surcease. He wanted her to be what every other woman in his life had been: a convenience.
But damnation, she was most assuredly not that.
Tossing back his scotch, he set aside the glass and stood. He was unaccustomed to deciphering relationships. This one would be short and sweet. They’d have no time for delving beneath the surface. Nothing would come of it if they did. She was a criminal, a swindler . . . a woman with secrets.
He had enough secrets of his own.
Rose awoke to darkness and luxurious warmth, a large body curled around hers, a chest at her back, strong arms holding her near, a hand pressed to the flat of her stomach. He’d undone her hair. It would be a tangled mess in the morning. She didn’t care. He made her not care about anything beyond the pleasure he was so skilled at delivering.
Up against her backside, the hard, thick length of him stirred.
She twisted her head back as far as she was able. “Are you awake?” she asked quietly, not wishing to disturb him if he wasn’t.
“Mmm. I am now.” The rasp of his voice sent pleasure through her. Everything about him sent pleasure through her. Moving her hair aside, he pressed the heat of his mouth to the nape of her neck. “Are you still sore?”
“No.” It was a small lie, but worth the reward of him rising up and slowly turning her over. He was a silhouette encased in shadows, with only pale light sifting in through the windows, but she was able to follow the outline of him as he lowered his mouth to hers.
He smelled of sleep, of dreams, and she wondered at her fanciful thoughts. Normally she was too pragmatic for such whimsy, but he made her wish for innocence. The lady he eventually took to wife would be. She would be of the nobility, Lady Something-or-Other. Never kissed, never touched. She would be innocent to the cruelties of the world, and Avendale would ensure she remained so. He would protect her, and she would cherish him.
Rose was certain his wife would do so, because already she herself was feeling the spark of caring for him as he came to rest between her thighs. He nuzzled her neck. It seemed so wicked in the darkness. But then everything about him was designed for wickedness. This time, she wouldn’t allow him to deny her everything, to deny her anything.
Working her hand between them, she felt the steel covered in velvet. She sighed as he groaned. Raising her hips, barely noticing the discomfort, she welcomed him sliding into the depths, stretching her, making her so aware of the fullness of him as he settled in. She pressed her soles to his calves as he slowly eased out, eased back in. Raised on his elbows, his hands cradling her head, he kept most of his weight off her as he continued to plunder her mouth.
Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she wondered if she would ever tire of his attentions. Each time was different, each time brought another aspect of him to her notice. The languidness of their motions made her wonder if perhaps they were both hovering on the twilight edge of sleep, where dreams beckoned.
She feared she might awaken to discover that he was a dream, that all of this was but fantasy.
Except the lovely sensations coursing through her assured her that everything was very much real. He tore his mouth from hers, his breath harsh in the quiet surrounding them. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, scraped her nails along his back. His guttural groan shimmered through her.
The pleasure built and built—
She cried out as the cataclysm rocked through her. With a feral growl, he threw his head back as he slammed into her, his back arching, his body going still. She could feel the tremors cascading through him. Without separating himself from her, he rolled to his side, bringing her in close, her leg draped over his hip.
Their breathing calmed, but she thought her heart might never cease its pounding.
“You shall be the death of me,” he said.
“But what a lovely way to go.”
“Much better than being a tiger’s dinner, I suppose.”
She nipped at his skin with her teeth. He merely released a tired laugh, drew her in more tightly against him, and held her as she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 10
When next Rose awoke, she found Avendale still with her, his hand splayed over her hip as though to keep her there beneath the sheets with him until he was ready to let her go. They’d fallen asleep without closing the draperies so sunlight spilled in through the many windows of a room that was nearly as large as the entire floor that housed bedchambers in her residence. He was facing her, his long dark lashes resting gently on sharply defined cheeks.
Striving not to disturb him, as unobtrusively as possible, she pressed the flat of her hand to the center of his chest, smiled as the hairs there curled around her fingers similar to the way he’d been curled around her for most of the night. She’d not expected him to stay with her, but then there was a good deal about him that she had not expected. A good deal about herself as well.
The gladness that swelled within her because he was still here. The joy frightened her because she knew at the end of her time with him, he would bundle her into the coach without remorse, without any thought of missing her. Yet she already knew that she would miss him dreadfully, that she would have numerous regrets, that there would be an agonizing ache in her chest.
He opened his eyes. The brown depths seemed warmer than she’d ever seen them. A corner
of his mouth tipped up slightly. “Hello.”
His voice, rough with sleep, shimmered through her. She swallowed. “Hello.”
He moved his hand over her bottom before gliding it up her back. “Are you hungry?”
If she were a light-skirt, he would probably expect her to say, Hungry for you. She almost said the words anyway, because she was, but they sounded so silly, so unlike her. “A bit, yes.”
“Then we’ll have breakfast in bed, shall we?”
She nodded. “That sounds lovely.”
Pressing the flat of his palm to her spine, he brought them closer together until their bodies were nestled together, but they could still look into each other’s eyes. “Are you still sore this morning?”
“A little,” she reluctantly admitted.
“Mmm,” he murmured as he leaned in and nuzzled her neck.
She sighed. “Not so very much.”
The barest of laughs escaped, his breath fanned over her neck. “After breakfast then.”
“Why not before?”
His laughter was deeper this time as he leaned back. “Because I want you to recover a bit more so you’ll enjoy it to your fullest. I’m not a complete bastard.”
“I enjoyed it very much last night.”
“I was in a haze of sleep when we started, with no strength to resist you.”
“Now you can resist me? Growing bored with me already?”
His mouth formed a wicked grin. “Not at all.” His hold on her tightened. “We’ll have it your way. Breakfast later.”
They made love slowly, tenderly. While she experienced some discomfort, it wasn’t enough to make her want to give this up. She loved the weight of his body over hers, the fullness of him filling her. She loved the sensations. She loved the sunlight for its gift of letting her see him clearly as he rode her, as he rode passion.
When they lay sated and content, she wrapped herself around him, held him near. Yes, she was going to have regrets when she left him, but they were the sort that in later years would make her smile with fondness. She should hate him for the bargain he insisted they strike. But then he should hate her for the advantage she’d taken of his generosity.
The Duke and the Lady in Red Page 12