It was a singularly erotic ride for both of them. Morgan could feel the horse's powerful movements beneath him as Tempete moved easily through the gloom of the woods, and there was Leonie's provocative body in his arms, her breasts brushing across his naked chest where his shirt hung open, her soft thighs thrashing across one of his and with half her hip, half her stomach pressed against his groin, he thought he would go mad with longing.
For Leonie, it was just as evocative. There was something wickedly exciting about being held so close in his strong arms, to be aware of the horse beneath her and of the hard body of the man who held her captive, his mouth teaching hers the pleasures that his drugging, passionate kisses could bring. She fought, and yet as they rode deeper into the silent, sun-dappled forest, she discovered she was fighting her own treacherous body as much as she was him.
As they rode, passing towering oaks and pecan trees, the occasional willow and myrtle, and the stands of pungent pine, Morgan's mouth never left hers. He continued to kiss her so hungrily, so devastatingly, that a burning wave of excitement and pleasure swept through Leonie's body, draining away her urge to escape. A delicious languor invaded her limbs, and instead of beating against his broad back, her hands betrayed a deplorable tendency to tangle in his thick, black hair, to pull his head down closer to hers, her mouth softening and eagerly accepting the invasion of his.
When Tempete finally stopped of his own accord, it was several moments before Morgan became aware that the stallion was no longer moving, and reluctantly raising his mouth from the sweet challenge of Leonie's, he glanced around in blank surprise, every fiber of his being having been engrossed with the enchanting body in his arms.
The sight that met his eyes brought a pleased half-smile to his lips, and sliding from the stallion, he pulled Leonie with him, saying huskily, "M'lady's bower awaits her."
Like one coming out of a trance, Leonie glanced dreamily around, not quite noticing the beckoning crystal blue of the water with its tinkling waterfall at one end. She was too conscious of Morgan's warm, muscled length next to hers to pay any attention to her surroundings—only half-aware of the clearing in which they stood, only partially aware of the remainder of the forest that gently encircled them, turning the pool and waterfall into a place of enchantment, a garden of Eden.
Unhurriedly, Morgan took her into his arms, his mouth once again seeking hers, his strong arms crushing her pliant, unresisting body up next to his. For Leonie, reality vanished; this was her husband who was kissing her, her husband whom she had thought she despised, and yet with every touch of his mouth and hands, something deep within her struggled to be free. It was not hate that fought so desperately to break free of the chains she had imposed upon it, but an emotion far stronger and more enduring.
Sweeping her up into his arms, his lips moving urgently over her mouth and slender throat, he carried her under the shady umbrella of a huge, spreading sycamore and gently laid her down on the soft, spring clover that grew beneath it. Lowering his body next to hers, his mouth slid down her warm skin to taste the soft flesh that rose temptingly above the old, green gown.
The material proved a frail barrier and with insistent hands he eased the gown from her shoulders, baring the loveliness of the small, proud bosom, his warm fingers softly caressing the rosebud nipples until they were throbbing and rigid under his touch. Unable to help himself, his lips moved like a scorching flame up to her mouth, once again kissing her with all the demanding passion that blazed within him. His hands cupped the small breasts, delighting in the satiny feel of the smooth skin, and needing the taste of her, his head dropped, and gently his mouth closed over a tempting nipple.
Leonie's breath caught in her throat at the touch of his warm tongue curling so intimately around her breast, and instinctively she arched her body up to his mouth, the desire he had evoked destroying the control she had on herself. There was no reality at that moment, there were just the two of them in that secret, welcoming glade—Morgan's mouth, hands and body being all that existed in this sensual world into which he had taken her.
For Morgan nothing mattered but that the lovely body so near his respond to his touch and that the dark magic that seemed to flare between them continue. His clothes became an obstruction he would not tolerate, and with an almost angry motion he lifted his head and ripped off the confining shirt. The breeches would have gone then, but Leonie, unaware of anything except the fact that he had stopped his intoxicating caresses, gave a small moan of distress and instantly Morgan lowered his body to hers once more.
The touch of his hair-roughened chest against her breasts was deeply erotic, and with a little sound of pleasure, she pressed her body even closer to his, longing for him to continue to caress and touch her, to give the pleasure she only half-sensed he could. All the sweet passion of which she was capable had been fully aroused for the first time in her life, and she was like someone half-drunk, her body instinctively seeking more of the exquisite sensations.
Her response to his caresses was everything Morgan could have wished for, and driven by the increasingly urgent hunger that ate at his loins, with trembling hands he lifted her and in one sure moment swept the hindering clothes from her body. His own followed, and blindly he pulled her naked body next to his, groaning with pleasure at the softness of her stomach and thighs against his hard, muscled length.
Leonie could feel the cool softness of the sweet-scented clover against her nude body, and it, combined with the warmth of Morgan's body as he leaned over her, was a sensual delight. Errant shafts of yellow sunlight through the wide-spreading branches of the sycamore caressed their naked bodies and the hum of honeybees droned in the background as his hands explored her slim, golden body.
Morgan took his time, delighting in the silken warmth of Leonie's skin beneath the palm of his hand. She was so lovely, he thought with awe, as he raised his head and glanced along the slender length of her, noting the rose-tipped nipples, the narrowness of her waist, the gentle flare of her slender hips, and the delicate golden curls at the junction of her slim legs. Bringing his gaze back to her face and seeing the half-closed, cat-shaped eyes drowsy with desire, the tawny hair spread out like a golden-brown cloak of curls against the green clover, and the passion-bruised softness of her mouth, with a groan he buried his lips on her throat and muttered, "Witch you may be, but God help me, I want you... no matter who you are or what you've done."
His words made little sense to Leonie; she was in the grip of the first awakening of her deeply passionate, sensual nature. And aware only of the stirrings and demands of her body, she gave herself up to him eagerly, freely, holding nothing back. Her fingers clenched pleasurably in the crisp blackness of his hair, and unconsciously brazen, she brought his mouth back to hers, wanting to know again the sweet fierceness of his kiss.
Morgan did not deny her, his mouth devouring hers hungrily, his hand leaving her breast to travel lazily down the flat stomach to the golden, beckoning triangle between her thighs. With a soft growl of anticipation, his hand slid through the soft curls and then gently sought out the place he hungered for, his fingers seeking and exploring with blatant intimacy the most secret part of her.
Leonie stiffened when she felt his hand between her legs, her body racked with a delicious surge of pleasure and yet mingled with fright. The last time a man had touched her so, it had hurt, and in that second, the enormity of what she was doing burst in her brain. With a whimper half disgust, half despair, she made an attempt to free herself, but Morgan would have none of it.
He was too aroused to think coherently, and his only thought was that he was moving too fast for her, that she wasn't quite prepared for him yet. His lips against her mouth he whispered thickly, "Don't close your legs against me, Leonie. I won't hurt you, sweetheart."
Unerringly, Morgan had chosen the right words to soothe Leonie's fear, and with his mouth and hands holding her prisoner, there was no escape anyway. Intent upon pleasuring her, his teeth teasingly grazed her thr
obbing nipples and his hand brought her unimagined pleasure as he knowingly caressed her. With a shudder of surrender, Leonie stopped her attempts to free herself.
The probing touch of Morgan's hand was a sweet agony, the gentle motion of his fingers creating a feeling of such intense, aching pleasure that Leonie thought she would cry aloud with the physical gratification they gave her. But it wasn't enough, she wanted more, wanted something she could only guess at, and as the tormenting longing for more seared through her blood, unconsciously her hips began to move in a dance as old as Eve and she pushed up frantically against Morgan's hand, her body trembling with the force of the emotions that he had unleashed.
But Morgan deliberately held back, fighting the screaming demands of his own body to take her, to lose himself in the hot, satiny sheath he knew waited for him. It was an exquisite torture for him, his manhood ripe and swollen with desire, and yet he denied them both the pleasure their joining would bring, wanting first for her to know the exploding sensations of release his hands could give her.
Like a wild thing, Leonie twisted under his probing caresses, her blood surging madly through her veins, every nerve shrieking aloud for relief from the tight, almost painful knot of pleasure that seemed centered under Morgan's hand. And then, just when she thought she could bear it no longer, when she was certain she had gone mad, there was such an explosion of pleasure that her entire body arched uncontrollably with it, a moan of astonished delight escaping from her.
Dazed by what had happened, she lay on the soft clover staring up at Morgan's dark face. There was an intent hungry look in his eyes, and the full, chiseled mouth was frankly sensual as he stared back at her. He had never before wanted to please a woman as much as he did this one, and both satisfaction and a queer possessive excitement blazed in his eyes as he noted the soft, surprised expression that was obvious in the slanted, drowsy green eyes.
Her mouth was half-parted and unknowingly provocative, the high cheekbones of the delicate features giving her a catlike look of satisfaction, and as his eyes fastened hypnotically on those rosy lips, Morgan could restrain himself no longer. With a soft groan of impatience, he eased his big body between her thighs.
Still half-dazed by what he had done to her, Leonie was only vaguely aware of what he was doing at first, the weight of his body pleasant as he rested gently on her for a moment, the hair of his chest teasing her nipples. Insistently, his knees nudged hers apart, his hands slipped under her hips to lift her to him, and then with a sensation of stunning pleasure, she felt her body widening, stretching to accept the hard, warm length of him. Their bodies locked together, in a welter of confusion and spiraling, heady emotion, Leonie felt her body burst once again into flames as urgently Morgan began to move on her, his body thrusting into hers.
His hands held her hips prisoner to him as he drove deeply into her silken softness, and compulsively his mouth caught hers, his tongue filling her mouth even as his body filled hers. Lying beneath him, unbearably conscious of the heat of his chest as it pressed against her breasts, of his warm hands as they cupped her buttocks, and of the seductive movements his body made as it moved on hers, Leonie was staggered to feel her own body respond wildly to him. With helpless abandon, she arched to meet the thrust of his body into hers, moaning with pleasure as he pressed urgently deeper within her. Incredibly, the same spiraling sense of exquisite, aching, ecstasy formed again, and softly sobbing her gratification, she once again felt her own body contract and leap with pleasure.
Lost in a world where nothing existed except himself and the soft, arching body beneath him, Morgan was aware that he could not bear the pleasure she gave him much longer. His entire body ached with the need to release the pent-up desire that surged through him, and when Leonie's body trembled and leaped with the force of the shattering sensations which exploded within her, he could hold back no longer. Kissing her even more deeply, his hands tightened convulsively around her hips, his movements became almost violent as he too at last knew ecstasy.
Leonie was only dimly conscious of what happened to Morgan, but as she drifted hazily in the new sensual world he had taken her, she was aware of his body lying next to hers, his hands still lightly caressing and touching her.
Time seemed suspended as they lay there together in the leafy glade, the sunlight gilding their bodies while the blue pool of water shimmered in the distance. Dazedly, Leonie looked up into Morgan's dark face as he leaned over her, almost as if she were seeing him for the first time. How could I have ever thought of him as weak, she wondered confusedly, her eyes lingering on the hard, chiseled mouth and strong, almost arrogant chin and jaw. The prominent cheekbones and the proudly jutting nose reinforced the impression of power and ruthless vitality, and staring into that dark, harshly handsome face, she was suddenly overwhelmingly conscious... conscious that against her will, she had, somehow, fallen in love with her husband.
Chapter 16
The remainder of that afternoon passed in a blur for Leonie. She vaguely remembered that Morgan had carried her to the pool and tenderly washed her body in the cool, reviving blue waters. A blush staining her cheeks, she remembered too the way he had helped her with her gown, his hands displaying an alarming tendency to wander over her body. The ride back to the house was hazy. She knew he held her in front of him on the big, blood-bay stallion and that he had kissed her with devastating intensity just before the stallion had left the forest and they had approached the house, but beyond that, the entire incident had taken on a dreamlike quality.
And in the familiar surroundings of her rooms much later that afternoon, she stared intently at her naked body in the cheval glass, puzzled that there were no outward changes to reveal the shattering metamorphosis she had undergone in her husband's arms. She had known a man's passion once before in her life, and yet Leonie had been completely unprepared for the exquisite pleasure Morgan's fervent lovemaking had given her. The abandoned reaction of her body bewildered her, almost as much as the knowledge that somehow, incredibly, she had managed to fall in love with Morgan Slade. Which event astonished her more would be difficult to decide, and the confusion she felt was obvious in the depths of the golden-flecked green eyes as she continued to peer at herself in the mirror, almost as if seeing herself for the first time.
The tawny mane curled and tumbled about her shoulders, one gleaming strand resting on the nipple of her breast, and remembering Morgan's mouth on that same nipple, Leonie's cheeks went red with embarrassment. Almost tentatively she touched her small breast, aware of the warmth and satiny texture of the smooth skin, wondering with a curious tingle in the pit of her stomach if Morgan would want her again. To her astonishment, she discovered that just thinking about him and what they had shared provoked a wild response within her as a warm wash of anticipation flooded through her body, her nipples hardening even as she stood in front of the glass.
Suddenly shy at what was happening to her, she spun around and hastily shrugged on her soft, white chemise and then put on the same lavender gown she had worn the night of Morgan's aborted betrothal to Melinda Marshall. The limitations of her scanty wardrobe were becoming obvious even to Leonie; there were only so many ways in which to disguise that one was wearing the same gown to dine in night after night. She and Yvette were both in the same position, and even trading off gowns and shawls and what little jewelry and bits of frippery they owned could alter their appearances only so much.
It had never bothered Leonie before that she possessed the barest essentials when it came to clothes, but tonight as she dressed to join Morgan for dinner, she wished passionately that she had something else to wear. None of her well-worn, everyday gowns would be suitable, and for reasons she could not even identify, she had put off wearing the dress she had been married in. As a matter of fact, both girls avoided the beautiful, rose satin gown, Yvette steadfastly refusing Leonie's generous offer of the dress. The brown eyes faintly puzzled, Yvette had said time and time again, "But it is your wedding gown, ma petite!
I could not wear it! It would be bad luck, non?" Leonie didn't agree, but she could not force Yvette to wear the gown, and consequently in languished in shining splendor at the back of Leonie's meager wardrobe.
Usually Mercy attempted to help Leonie dress, and Leonie found it infinitely amusing that after all these years of doing practically everything for herself, including some rather back-breakingly hard work, that now she had at her disposal a servant whose only task was to see that her mistress was properly attired. Considering the size of her wardrobe, Leonie found it silly for Mercy to fuss around the room, acting as if there were any choice in what she would wear that evening. Tonight, she had not even waited for Mercy's unnecessary help and was already dressed. She was just brushing a final curl into place when Mercy arrived.
Mercy eyed the lavender gown with disfavor, but she did not immediately launch into her accustomed argument about Leonie's avoidance of the rose satin gown. Instead she chose to be offended that Leonie had not waited for her services and muttered dire threats about what fates befall certain young ladies who had gone against the wise advice of their trusted servants. Leonie grinned at her, blew a kiss, and skipped out of the dressing room.
It wasn't quite time for dinner, and finding herself unsettled, she walked through the French doors in her room which led to the veranda. Blankly she gazed out over the lush, newly scythed carpet of grass and the neatly trimmed shrubs of Le Petit, suddenly longing for the untidy, scraggly and dearly beloved grounds of Chateau Saint-Andre. Le Petit was everything that any woman could wish for, and yet Leonie longed unbearably for the unkempt, faded glories of her home. And perhaps it wasn't so odd that tonight of all nights she yearned for it with a fierce intensity.
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