At first all she could hear was the thunderous pounding of her own heart, but then she made out the soft sound of light, steady breathing from the bed.
It was now or never. Seize the moment—or die a lonely widow. Cassandra sucked in a deep breath and let the dressing gown slide from her shoulders to leave her clad only in her silk chemise. The chilly air rushed over her bare skin, making her shiver.
Before she could flee, she rushed to the waiting bed and climbed up onto the high mattress. The warmth of a man’s sleep-hot skin crept out to wrap around her, and her heart ached to be so near another person like this again. Her bed had been so cold for so long.
Her husband had been quick in his lovemaking, kissing her, lifting her gown and finishing. But she remembered the things she had wanted to do with him, dreamed of doing. Things her married friends whispered about. Things that lately she had dreamed of doing with Ian. She gathered all her scattered courage and reached out to lightly slide her hands over his shoulders.
His bare shoulders. By Jove, he slept naked? She hadn’t even thought men did such a thing. His skin was warm and slightly damp, like smooth satin over hard iron muscles. Lord Phillips was stronger and larger than she had imagined. Fascinating. She traced the tip of her finger along the groove of his spine to where the sheet draped over his lean hips, hiding the rest of him from her.
Was he taller, as well? How could that be?
A rough groan broke the silence of the room. “Cassandra,” he muttered, and suddenly he rolled over and caught her around the waist, carrying her down to the bed. His body was hard and heavy over hers as his mouth closed over hers in the darkness.
Cassandra couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She gasped, and his tongue took advantage of the small sound to slide deep against hers, greedy, hungry. It was overwhelming, overpowering….
Wonderful. She couldn’t believe anyone could kiss like this. Why, oh, why hadn’t she tried kissing strange men sooner? His teeth nipped lightly at her lower lip then his tongue soothed the tiny sting and all she knew was the delicious fire that swept over her skin at that touch.
He tasted of wine and mint, of something dark and rich, and he smelled of sandalwood soap….
Sandalwood? For one flashing instant she remembered the way Ian always smelled, so clean and exotic at the same time. The way his hair felt under her fingertips. Soft, like raw silk. Just like the hair that slid over her skin now as his open mouth traced a hot ribbon of kisses down her neck, over her bare shoulder.
But Lord Phillips’s hair was close-cropped.
Her eyes flew open and she stared down at the head against her shoulder. The dark head. She froze in panic.
“Cassie,” he muttered. “What’s wrong?”
What was wrong? She was in bed with Ian, that was what was wrong!
And yet it felt so horribly, wonderfully right.
Cassandra pushed him away with a shriek. Startled by her sudden move, he fell off her body back to the bed and she sat up straight. She jerked up the sheet to cover herself in her thin chemise, but that unfortunately left Ian quite naked. The beam of moonlight turned his lean, glistening body to pure, molten silver.
And, damn him, he didn’t seem in the least bit concerned that he was naked. He sat up beside her and knelt back on his heels, staring down at her in concern. His hair was tousled from the touch of her fingers.
“Cassie?” he said hoarsely.
“You— What are you doing here?” she stammered.
Much to her horror, a grin touched his lips. “I think that was obvious. I was kissing you, until I was rudely interrupted.”
“But you—you…” Cassandra had no idea what to say, what to do. Nothing in her oh-so-proper upbringing, or her equally proper marriage, had ever prepared her for a situation like this. Finding herself in bed with the wrong man.
The man she had secretly wanted to be in bed with more than anything.
Ian slowly stretched out on the mattress again, his head propped on his folded arms as his beautiful body was spread before her. His broad, smooth chest, tapering to a lean waist and narrow hips, his long, hair-dusted legs, the hard evidence of his arousal…
No! Cassandra snapped her eyes closed. But she could still see him there.
“Expecting someone else, were you?” he said, and he sounded so infuriatingly satisfied with himself.
“This isn’t your room,” she said.
“It is now. And I was just wondering if I should go knock on your door when I fell so inconveniently asleep.” She felt his hand brush lightly over hers where she clutched at the sheet. “I confess, I don’t think I’ve ever been awakened in such a delightful manner before.”
Cassandra shook her head. He sounded like the old Ian again at last, teasing, flirtatious, comfortable. But there was something else there, as well, a dark tension she had never heard from him before. It made her tremble.
“But you don’t want this,” she whispered.
In answer he gently took her hand in his and pulled it away from the linen. He pressed her fingers over his erection, and it felt so hot and velvet-smooth under her touch.
“Does it feel like I don’t want this?” he said hoarsely. “Damn it, Cassie, but when you touch me…”
She could scarcely believe this was happening, that she was with Ian, touching him so intimately. And he was so hard for her. If this was a dream, she didn’t want it to end. Not yet.
She slowly slid her fingers down over him, tracing the length of his manhood before she moved back up again, a bit harder. He groaned, and she felt him jerk against her hand.
“Oh!” she gasped.
“Yes—oh,” he answered, his voice harsh. He twined his fingers in her hair and drew her closer to him, his open mouth pressing to the sensitive curve of her neck just below her ear. “Damn it, Cassie, but you taste delicious. Like vanilla custard.”
“Va-vanilla custard?” she said. Her head feel back, her eyes sliding closed at the feeling of his mouth on her skin. It was so wonderful, it made her feel hot and shivering all at the same time. Her hand fell away from his erection and she braced it on his hair-roughened thigh to keep from falling.
“Mmm-hmm. I always did have a terrible craving for sweets.” Ian trailed a hot ribbon of kisses along her collarbone to the curve of her shoulder as his hand slid over the strap of her chemise. He eased it away from her body, baring her skin inch by inch.
Something deep inside of her screamed at Cassandra that this was Ian touching her naked body, kissing her. Hard for her. That something seemed to watch from a distance as their bodies slid together on the bed, completely aghast at what she was doing. But Cassandra could only hear those protests as a vague murmur. She could only feel Ian’s long, strong fingers on her skin, his mouth on her. Could only want more.
Ian eased her back down to the pillows and drew her chemise over her head, leaving her lying naked beneath him. She had never been completely naked in front of any man before, not even Charles. Her husband had usually lifted her nightdress just enough to bare what he needed, being far too polite to really look at her. For a moment, shyness washed over her and she tried to cover her bare breasts with her hands. Ian had surely seen many beautiful women. What if she disappointed him? She was too thin, her breasts too small.
But he caught her hands in his and held them to the bed. His eyes grew hooded, dark, as he looked down at her. It felt as if he touched her physically with his gaze and she trembled.
“You are so beautiful, Cassie,” he said, in a voice she had never heard from him before. A rough, harsh voice, as if he held himself on a tight tether. His arms tensed on either side of her as he held her hands down, the lean muscles rippling under his smooth, damp skin.
And then he touched her in truth, gently caressing her naked breasts. His fingertips trailed over their curves, slightly callused on her soft skin. His touch swept closer and closer to her aching nipples, teasing and retreating. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, begging him to touc
h her.
She let her breath out on a sigh when he finally caught one of the pink, hard nipples between his thumb and forefinger, lightly pinching, rolling. Waves of pure, hot pleasure swept through her and her back arched off the bed.
“So beautiful,” he said. “I’ve waited so long….”
He bent his head and caught the nipple he caressed deep in his mouth, sucking, licking. He cupped her other breast on his palm, his fingers teasing its crest. Cassandra cried out, her head tossing on the pillows.
She twisted her fingers in his thick, rough-silk hair and pulled him up to her, sighing as his mouth claimed hers in a fierce, hard kiss. His tongue slid past her lips to taste her and she met him eagerly. He tasted delicious, just as she remembered and had dreamed of ever since that kiss in the rain. She felt a rush of pure, raw joy that he was in her arms again when she had been sure it would never happen.
How could she keep him from escaping again?
But any thoughts fled before the feeling of his mouth on hers, his tongue twining with hers. He made her feel dizzy, giddy.
She twisted her fingers even deeper into his hair as his hands slipped down to grasp her hips and tilt her body tighter against his, until she spread her legs and wrapped them around his waist. Kissing him like this, as if they were starved for each other, her body so close to him, she knew she had never felt so very intimate with anyone before in her life.
Desperate to hold on to that connection, she kissed him back even harder and slid her hips over his, making him groan when his erection brushed her trembling inner thigh.
“Cassie,” he whispered. He kissed the soft curve of her shoulder, licked lightly at the hollow of her throat. His lips traced the soft valley between her breasts, the curve of her waist and the flare of her hip. “Cassie.”
She closed her eyes tightly as he kissed the top of her thigh, the crease below her hip. Cassandra gasped, and she felt his smile against her skin before his lips trailed over the back of her leg and he kissed the vulnerable spot at the underside of her knee. She hooked her other knee over his shoulder and when he groaned with the harshness of tightly leashed need, she felt truly beautiful for the first time in her life.
It was Ian who knelt so intimately between her legs. Ian who wanted her.
And then she felt his tongue touch her there, teasing that tiny, sensitive spot. Then his tongue plunged deep, rough and delicate at the same time. It was the most intimate thing she had ever dared to imagine. She cried out incoherently at the rush of pleasure. She couldn’t make any words, think any thoughts but of him.
Afraid she could take no more, she tugged hard at his hair. His mouth eased away from her to press a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh. He rose up above her body until his lips claimed hers in a hard, possessive kiss as he lowered his hips against hers.
Cassandra wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on tightly as he slid inside of her, all hot, damp friction. She pushed up to meet him and he thrust forward until he was joined to her completely.
Ian drew back and thrust forward again, faster, harder, his arms braced to the bed. He caught her moans with another kiss, and deep inside she could feel a pressure grow—hot, sparkling, sizzling, something just beyond her desperate reach. But she reached for it anyway, reached for it harder and harder….
One of his hands reached between their joined bodies and he rubbed his fingertip over that one most sensitive spot, and it felt as if she leaped free into the sky. The knot of hot pleasure exploded into a thousand fiery shards.
“Cassie!” Ian shouted against her shoulder as he thrust into her. His head fell back and his whole body tightened as his hips went still against hers.
Then he collapsed onto the bed beside her. She tried to draw air deep into her lungs, to breathe again. She held onto Ian tightly. She didn’t want to let him go yet, she didn’t want the cold world outside to encroach on this dream. It frightened her how much she had forgotten everything else here in his arms.
She felt him bury his face in her shoulder and press his lips on her damp, trembling skin. His arm looped over her waist, almost as if he didn’t want to let her go either.
Cassandra sighed and glanced at the window. It was still night-dark outside, but the falling snow cast an otherworldly silver glow. She stroked the sweat-damp strands of his hair and felt the softness of his breath on her bare skin. She closed her eyes, wanting to cling to him and flee all at the same time. What had she done?
“I should go back to my chamber,” she murmured.
Ian’s arm tightened around her. “Stay. Just for a little while longer. Please, Cassie.”
Just a little while longer. She wanted to stay forever just like this, wrapped in his arms. But he had left her before, after just a kiss.
Now that she knew the full force of his passion, and her fiery response to it, how could she lose him again?
Chapter Four
The light from the window pierced through Ian’s dreams, pulling him up out of the darkest, most peaceful sleep he could ever remember having. He groaned and rolled onto his back, throwing his forearm over his eyes to block that icy-white light.
The rumpled sheet slid low on his naked hips and he caught a hint of lilac perfume from the soft linen folds. Cassie. It hadn’t been a dream. It had been wonderfully real, Cassandra under his body as he slid over her, inside of her, as she came apart with pleasure around him.
“Cassie,” he called as he pushed himself up. But the bedchamber was empty and cold.
Ian rubbed his hand over his bristled jaw. Maybe it was a dream, born of the lust he had tried to suppress for her for so long? Yet his body felt relaxed with the perfect satisfaction that only came from sex, and there was that perfume. No dream could be that vivid.
He had to find Cassie.
Ian swung his legs off the bed and stretched. Pillows and blankets were tossed on the floor in a haphazard pile. Under the edge of one cushion he glimpsed a crumpled pale blue dressing gown.
He picked it up and ran the soft fabric through his hands, remembering the way Cassandra’s skin felt under his caress, her hair sliding over him. Her soft sighs and cries as he brought her pleasure. The faint scent of her perfume rose from the silk folds and made him grow hard all over again.
Ian cursed and tossed the gown onto the bed, turning away to stride to the window. He braced his hands on the polished ledge and stared out at the cold, white scene below. Snowdrifts covered the gardens like a soft, pale blanket, and the trees were coated with ice that sparkled like diamonds in the gray-bright sunlight. It looked like a different world outside—a new, clean, bright fairyland where anything could happen. Even the impossible—like him winning Cassandra.
He closed his eyes and saw again the first time he glimpsed her. Ian was a man who liked women, who enjoyed their company, and they enjoyed his, as well. Yet he had never been in love. He couldn’t even imagine what love could feel like. There were too many lovely, fascinating women out there in the world for him to think of settling on one. He was simply enjoying his life far too much.
Then he was invited to his friend Charles’s wedding. Charles had always been the most serious of Ian’s friends, so it was no surprise he chose to marry so young, and to one of an impoverished country earl’s four daughters, too. Ian waited with the rest of the congregation in that country church on a hot summer day, the scent of roses heavy in the air, the mother of the bride crying happy tears in her pew as Charles smiled nervously at the altar. Ian had shifted in his seat, wondering if he could possibly make it to a party that night to meet with the luscious red-haired widow he’d had his eye on.
The church doors opened, and a young lady appeared there on her father’s arm. She wore yellow muslin and white lace, like a ray of summer sunshine brought into the stuffy church. Her dark hair was loose on her shoulders, crowned with a wreath of yellow flowers, and she smiled shyly as she studied the gathering.
That was the moment Ian knew love was possible in the world. When
he looked at the woman who was about to marry his friend, and everything else went still.
He didn’t go find his widow after all. He spent that night getting quietly drunk.
In the years that followed, he pushed down and ignored his feelings, convinced himself they didn’t exist. He befriended Cassie, learned of her sweetness and intelligence, which only made her more beautiful. And he searched for solace in other beds, other pursuits. He almost convinced himself he didn’t care for Cassie in that way.
Until he kissed her in the rain, and all those feelings came roaring free. After making love to her, tasting her passion—passion that equaled his own—he couldn’t let her go. Even though he knew he should, that she deserved far better than a rogue like him.
He glanced back at her gown on the rumpled bed. She had run away from him last night. But he wouldn’t let her run for long.
Cassandra slid down low on the settee by the library fireplace and tried to concentrate on the book she held in her hands. She had thought she could hide in there, both from Melisande’s other guests and from her own worries over what she had done last night.
Everyone else was engaged in a wild game of hide-and-seek along the corridors and up in the attics, so they weren’t likely to look for her, especially in the library. But her own thoughts…those were harder to escape from.
Every time she looked at the page, she saw Ian’s face as he leaned down to kiss her. Instead of the warmth of the fire through her thin muslin gown she felt his touch. Last night had been wondrous, beyond anything she could ever have imagined. She had never known pleasure like that could exist in the world. And to find it with Ian…
Cassandra snapped the book shut with a sigh. Last night with Ian was perfect. But when she opened her eyes to the light of dawn and saw his peaceful, sleeping face on the pillow beside hers, she was beset with doubts and fears. What if it was too perfect? What if he turned away from her again?
So she fled to her own chamber, not even going back when she realized she’d left her dressing gown behind. She had to decide how to behave, what to say, when she saw Ian again. Running to him and throwing herself into his arms as she longed to do couldn’t be an option.
One Wicked Christmas Page 3