by Cheryl Bolen
Jessie frowned. “He’s a rude, contemptible boor!” she told him with conviction, taking the seat across from him.
Jean Paul watched her with probing blue eyes, as though to see through her words. He chuckled softly. “Yes, I know… but do you love him, cherie? That was the question.”
“Nay!” Jessie said much too quickly. She shook her head emphatically. Perhaps a bit too zealously, for something in Jean Paul’s expression told her that he did not believe her.
Suddenly Jean Paul slapped his hand down upon the table. “I see,” he said, smiling slyly.
He nibbled at the side of his mouth for a moment as he stared at her. “Very well then.” He nodded, rising from his chair, obviously through with his interrogation of her, brief as it was. “Yes, I do think I know what must be done then, demoiselle. And you are quite certain you do not love him?”
Misunderstanding his question, Jessie shook her head, and then realizing what she was saying, nodded at once with a certainty she didn’t quite feel.
Jean Paul chuckled, giving her a conspiratorial wink, and Jessie had the most awful premonition as he turned to leave, yet before she could question him about it, he was gone. She spent the rest of the afternoon worrying over Jean Paul’s strange visit, wondering at his cryptic remarks.
That night, however, her curiosity came to an end when the door to the cabin burst open and slammed shut behind Christian.
The room was pitch black, the lanterns having been snuffed for the night, but Jessie knew it was him. Her skin prickled, and gooseflesh erupted.
“Why isn’t the door bolted?”
Jessie didn’t have time to reply to his question before he spoke again, this time his tone somewhat less angry, though ominous still.
“That whoreson cousin of yours!” he muttered irately, his words slightly slurred. “And that damned Jean Paul! Those two are enough to tax a dead man’s soul! I swear before God, woman, did I remain one more instant in that bloody cabin with those two bickering idiots for company, I would like to have shot them both again!”
He turned to her, searching the darkness as though to be certain he was not talking to himself, for Jessie had yet to give him indication she was awake. She knew the moment his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw her, for his scowl immediately disappeared.
His features softened, illuminated by the light from the window, and the strange tenderness evident in his gaze gave lie to the brutality of his words.
“Say one word against my presence, and you shall find yourself overboard in a twinkling!” Having said that, he lapsed into a strained silence as he proceeded to tug off his boots. They fell to the floor, each with a thud. Without preamble, he began removing his breeches, then deciding against it, left them on, but unclasped. His shirt, which was already gaping, he removed quickly. Jessie thanked God for the shadows that concealed—to hide not him, but the flush that even now was burning through her body.
And then he asked, more softly this time, as he wadded his shirt and hurled it to the floor, “Why in bloody blue blazes wasn’t the door bolted, Jessie?”
Jessie tried, but couldn’t find her voice to speak.
“You were perhaps expecting someone?” He stood there, awaiting her reply, and when it was not forthcoming he demanded, “Scoot over.”
Apparently Jessie didn’t move quickly enough for him, for he very nearly lay upon her as he plopped himself down next to her upon the bed. She did scoot away then—at once—to the far, far side of the bed.
Christian gave her a cynical little laugh. “Can’t bear to touch me, love? Damn, but you are a deceiving little prude. Pardonnez-moi,” he said scornfully, “but I’ll bloody well not sleep on the floor for you, so you might as well bear my presence as best you can and simply go to sleep.”
With that, he promptly snatched the pillow from under her head. Jessie’s cheek hit the bed with a soft thud as he then proceeded to pound the pillow with his clenched fist, as though to remove all trace of her presence from it. She didn’t bother protesting. It wouldn’t have done any good. The man was an insensitive oaf!
“Bon nuit,” he whispered “Pleasant dreams, mon amour!”
Tears filled her eyes, and she cursed herself, for it seemed with him, she was always weeping over something. She tried to stifle her sobs, but they seemed to find a way of their own, forcing themselves through her throat in pitiful little whimpers.
Christian heard her and fury gripped him.
“Christ! What have you to weep over now, woman!”
With a snarl of disgust, he reached out for her, snatching her into his arms, hating his body’s reaction to her even as he did so. She screeched and tried desperately to move away, but he was too strong. Her back to him, he wrapped his arms about her, holding her close, imprisoning her within them. And no sooner was she within his embrace than he felt himself pulse and swell against her luscious little bottom. He closed his eyes, grimacing, trying to ignore the reality of her within his arms... after so long... trying to ignore his raging desire for her.
It had been so bloody long.
He held her tighter, closer, but her wails only increased, and so did his need, for she was squirming without mercy against him. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs, commanding restraint of himself, but her hair smelled so very sweet... like lilacs and fresh sea air combined; the two shouldn’t have mingled so exquisitely, but they did.
Unable to stop himself, he pressed his lips to the back of her head. He was quickly losing himself, losing his will. He moved to her neck, feeling the strands of her silky hair brush between his heated lips, and he took a deep breath, never releasing it, for he could have sworn she trembled within his arms. It took very little, just that simple gesture to remind him of the passion she’d once shown him. Her sobs ceased at once and she froze, bringing a measure of sanity to his fogged senses.
Perhaps she feared him instead?
He exhaled finally and breathed in deeply the scent of her. Christ, she smelled so devilishly good. He’d consumed an entire bottle of whiskey tonight, straight from the flask like a mindless drunkard, before coming to her in hopes that he would be numbed to her presence beside him. What was it about her that made him buckle to such weaknesses? Maxwell Haukinge had been a bloody sot—his brother Philip as well—and he loathed them for their condescending arrogance and their flaws, yet here he was, no better than they, in truth.
His breathing quickened and he groaned, holding her closer as he tried to regain his reason. She was no good for him, he argued. He was no good for her. But it was no use, the noble gentleman had fled, probably cowering in some dark corner, terrified of the beast within his soul.
It was about time, he thought grimly.
It felt damned good to have himself back.
His hands unlocked and roamed her body at will, her breasts, her belly, her thighs, and then slid between them, committing the feel of her to his memory.
He wouldn’t be denied, not this time, he swore... not this time...
Christian turned her so that she faced him in the darkness. His hand went to her face and he caressed her lips, her soft cheek, moving down to her chin, slowly, taking his leisure. She let him. Holding her delicate chin between his thumb and forefinger, he stroked it with his thumb as he lifted her shadowed face for his kiss.
She didn’t resist him, and victory, sweet and potent, swept through his veins in that instant—along with it, a hunger more compelling than the physical, a yearning so deep and fierce that his mind went blank of all thought save for that of the woman in his arms. When his lips met hers at last, he found them trembling sweetly for him, and he couldn’t help himself, his fevered tongue thrust within, tasting and taking with a delirium he’d never experienced before.
In that moment, as their tongues met and sparred, he found the sweetest taste of paradise, discovered a glimpse of heaven and beyond... and knew instinctively it was a place he would never see... save through her.
God, he wanted her s
o much... so bloody much...
And this time, he was not going to stop.
God Himself couldn’t keep him this time.
He’d waited far too long already—honor be damned! Conscience be damned! If he should burn in hell the rest of eternity for this night, then it was a penance he would eagerly pay.
And curse her, for she responded much too wantonly to his every thrust, his every touch, moaning and undulating for him so wildly, in such sweet abandon. Aye... she was fiery heat in his arms, and he reveled in the reality that she desired him, as well.
Christian felt her body shudder at his touch, heard the passionate little whimpers she made, and saw himself suddenly tearing the bodice of her gown in his fierce need to taste her, to suckle the sweet buds, not recognizing himself or his actions anymore.
At the instant, he felt as savage and ruthless as he was reputed to be.
Jessie whimpered, though not from pain or fear, but from a longing so great, she could scarcely comprehend it, much less deny it. Her sanity was swept away, and she could only feel—couldn’t think, only feel...
“Christian… please...” She wanted to plead with him never to stop, but her voice failed her, and she closed her eyes to savor his touch instead. “Please...”
“Nay,” he growled, “I cannot—God curse me, but I cannot! I want to see you, Jessamine... all of you... kiss you everywhere... ah, Christ,” he hissed, leaving her lips and touching his burning mouth to her throat. “I’ve waited so long, Jess...”
Arching for his lips, Jessie moaned. It felt so blessed good to be kissed and loved by him... but then, he didn’t love her, she had to remind herself. And still... if she would be condemned for this weakness all the rest of her lifetime, then let it be so, for she could not deny him—nay, she could not deny herself! When his warm lips closed over and suckled at her breast, she thought she would die from the intense pleasure it gave her. “Please...”
“Please what?” His breath was hot against her flesh as he moved lower still, tasting her as he ripped the gown further from her body, reducing it to little more than tattered rags... like her will.
“This, Jessie?” he asked softly, touching his lips to her body in that most private place.
“Yes,” she hissed, undulating and twisting with the sheer pleasure of it. “Yes...” She moaned, her eyes closing tightly as she cherished his loving. She wanted to remember forever every detail of this night, every sensation he roused within her. The passion in his hands; the way he touched her as though he adored her. “Yes,” she murmured, her body responding with tiny little shudders.
“Jessamine,” he whispered hoarsely, sliding up, bending low over her and burying his face within her hair. “I’m not going to stop this time...”
His whispery breath was velvety soft and blazing hot against her ear.
Christian lifted himself above her, waiting for her to reopen her eyes before continuing, wanting to know that she’d understood him clearly, wanting her to understand that it was to him she gave herself... not Ben.
She lifted her dark lashes at last, relief and anguish both evident there in the brilliant green of her eyes. They seemed to glow in the darkness, beckon him on...
She watched without moving as he tugged down his breeches, shrugging them off.
Her gaze met his and his lips turned ever so softly as her eyes lowered to that very erect male part of him. Her gaze flew once again to his.
He made some sound, part chuckle, part groan, at her reaction, for through the years Christian had lain with many women, all with diverse personalities, each with varying degrees of experience, but never had he been privy to such an expression as that Jessie gave him now. It was obvious to him that she’d never seen a man unclad before, and that knowledge gave him pleasure like no mating ever could have.
“Wh-What are you d-doing?”
“Making love to you,” he answered huskily, leaving no doubt as to his intent, and then his hands were moving across her once more with an urgency he could no longer restrain. Not gently at all, he jerked the last threads of her gown from her body, revealing her completely to his scrutiny.
“My God...” He swallowed with difficulty. “You are... more than I’d imagined...”
Jessie’s heart squeezed at his words.
Suddenly she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only feel... His hands moved over her, searing her flesh, and then he cupped her breasts with his warm palms, kneading them gently beneath his expert fingers, as he bent to kiss her once more, his tongue delving deeply, possessively.
In the next instant his mouth left her lips to replace his hands at her breast, suckling her like a babe at his mother’s bosom, and Jessie discovered some heretofore unknown connection between that part of her and the other.
And then he knelt above her once more.
Heat flared in the innermost reaches of her body as she felt his hand slide like molten fire between her legs. She moaned as one large finger thrust within her body, exploring the depths of her, and in response her legs lifted of their own accord. His body shuddered violently in answer to her instinctive invitation. Seeming to have found what he sought, he tensed over her, staring at her through the darkness as though he were overwhelmed by his discovery. Jessie could not tell his expression for the shadows, but his hand arrested there in the very depths of her. Then, all at once, she felt his finger stroking deep within her as his body quivered once more.
In an instant, he withdrew, covering her, his weight pressing her into the bed, and all the while he continued to adore her flesh, with his hands and his lips and his tongue. He was a man driven, it seemed. His arms slid behind her knees, and then it seemed he was parting her, separating her legs, lifting her. She obliged, wrapping her legs about his hips.
And then suddenly she felt it, the delicious pressure as he eased that part of himself within her, impaling her. Moaning, Jessie instinctively lifted against him, accepting him even as her body refused him entrance.
Cursing, Christian withdrew just a little, but the incredible tightness was his undoing. It seemed he’d waited for this moment a bloody lifetime.
A lifetime too long.
Crying out hoarsely, he lost control, surging down against her, tearing her maiden’s flesh in one fell swoop.
The fierceness of their joining drowned Jessie’s pleasure with such unbelievable pain that she instinctively recoiled with the shock of it. “Christian!’’ she cried as he began to thrust wildly. “Christian! Oh God!” But he would not stop. His movements were swift and hard and his handsome face contorted as though in pain.
Suddenly Jessie felt the heat again, and understood completely this deep joining of the flesh, for he’d somehow touched her all the way to her womb... and it seemed to ease the bittersweet ache so deep within her.
He filled her completely, her body, her heart, her soul.
His hands moved to her buttocks, lifting her slightly, as though to raise her more evenly for his thrusts, holding her immobile as he pumped savagely, furiously, within. Jessie tried to give back full measure, but he was too strong and too quick, and his thrusts too unbearably sweet, and then he stopped, crying out savagely, casting his head back to reveal the taut cords of his neck. He held her so tightly that she thought he would crush her as his body shook, violent spasms wracking his entire form. After an eternity, he fell listlessly atop her, though he supported the majority of his weight upon his arms. His cheek was to her bosom, his breath ragged and spent.
She wanted to demand that he continue, for she’d been on the brink of something wonderful, something exquisite, but the muscles of his jaw tautened against her breast, and he whispered fiercely, gravely, “Pardonnez-moi... pardonnez-moi... forgive me, Jessie.”
And then the warmth and the need were suddenly gone, replaced by an anguish and disappointment so great that Jessie could scarcely bear it. Her heart hammering without mercy, and anger surging through her veins, she shoved him from atop her. He went willingly enough, giving
a low, tormented growl as he turned from her to face the door.
Frustrated, and too furious to care that he was angry once again, Jessie turned her back to him, facing the blasphemous window. As she stared out at the inky black sky and pale moon above the oak tree, ignoring the figures beneath, she felt more bereft than ever.
Chapter 22
The rap upon the door awoke her at once—or so Jessie thought, for when she opened her eyes she saw through the shadows that Christian had already readied it and was turning the knob. She wondered then if he’d slept at all.
Frantically she searched out the discarded sheet to cover her nakedness. Scarcely had she found it and shielded herself when the door opened. The light from a single lantern spilled into the cabin. It was McCarney. A frisson passed down Jessie’s spine as the man spoke.
“Hawk, ye asked me to tell ye when we’ve arrived at the mouth o’ the Ashley. We’ve come in as silently as the mist, as ye said we should—none ha’e seen us, I’m certain.”
Christian nodded. “Lower the boat... we’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Aye, sir, will do.”
When McCarney would have peered into the cabin, Christian slammed the door in his face. Turning to the bed, he saw that Jessie was sitting, facing him, the sheets pressed protectively to her bosom. His head pounded fiercely—his conscience worse. Unable to face her, he turned from her, seeking out his breeches in the darkness, not bothering to light a lantern.
The less light, the better, for they were not so far from land that they might not be discovered yet.
“Get up and get dressed.”
“I don’t understand... It is the middle of the night,” she protested.
“Just do it,” he directed. “Or I shall do it for you.”
She moved hesitantly from the bed, drawing the coverlet away, and came away with a torn fragment of her gown within her hand. Her face contorted, and his heart twisted. “Why must we go about in the dead of the night, when only thieves and rogues prowl about? I cannot bear to be part of such depravity!”