by Mary Campisi
Madeline glanced at the book propped on his stomach. “I daresay, I understand your sleepiness.”
The history behind pyramids was fascinating, but to engage in that exchange would only heighten her curiosity and cause her to question his sincerity in regard to sleep. Therefore, he merely shrugged.
“Simon.”
Why did she have to say his name like melted chocolate drizzled over strawberries? “Yes?”
“You were right earlier when you said I placed men in the same category as donkeys.”
“I believe I said four-legged animals.”
Her lips twitched. “Very well, those are my words but your meaning was much the same. In the past I have found it difficult to look upon the male species with anything other than annoyance. Most men do not live up to their commitments or their word.” Her gaze met his and jolted him like two punches to the gut. “Until you.”
Oh, damn.
“You have your faults. Many of them.” She lifted a hand and began ticking off the list. “Arrogant. Insufferable on occasion. Overconfident. Presumptuous.”
Douglas let out a breath. Good, she did not think him a reprobate. “Demanding?”
The smile spread and she turned the most delicious shade of pink. “Very demanding.” Her voice dipped and pulled him in, “But you are a most honorable man.”
He stared at her, a calm expression frozen on his face. She thought him honorable. No, she thought Simon Schilling honorable. Douglas Fontaine? She considered him a reprobate, a liar, conniver…capable of all manner of thievery, lying, and treachery.
“Simon? You are as white as flour.”
“Headache,” he muttered. He would tell her he had the blasted plague if it would get her to leave.
She spotted the lie. “Interesting how you conjure up a headache at will. I should like to acquire such a skill.”
He scowled. “I am not conjuring up these headaches.” He rubbed his right temple for added benefit. “They are real and most likely brought on by strain and stress.”
“Hmmmph.” Madeline planted her hands on her hips and said, “Or me.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “or you.” He would not let on the strain and stress centered in his crotch and not his head.
“I apologize for causing you discomfort.” Her chin hitched a notch. “I shall leave you to your rest and repair.” She squared her shoulders and turned.
Damn but he had hurt her feelings. Let her go. You have no business touching her again until you solve the dilemma of Douglas Fontaine’s arrival.
“Good night, Simon.”
She had reached the door, her hand on the knob…turning it…Do not go to her. Do not do it, his brain commanded, but his heart pounded, Do not let her go. Not now. Not ever. “Wait.” Douglas bound off the bed and reached her in five strides. Madeline stilled, her hand resting on the knob. “Don’t go,” he whispered, moving closer. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his chest against her back. “I have a confession,” he murmured, resting his cheek against her fragrant hair. “I do not have a headache. Nor did I have one last night.”
She stiffened, a sign she did not appreciate a falsehood. “Pray, why did you tell me you did?”
Honesty presented the only path to Madeline’s trust. Soon, he would figure out a way to tell her about Douglas Fontaine and Simon Schilling. But not tonight. He would, however, shed truths on other matters, namely the undeniable attraction he felt for her. “I conjured up the tale to preserve your honor.”
She moved out of his grasp and swung around. “My honor? My honor does not need preserving.”
“Oh? What of your exploration last evening? I assure you, young maidens who engage in that type of exploration are not maidens by night’s end.”
An enchanting shade of pink swirled from her neck to her cheeks. “Mayhap that was my goal.”
“Indeed?” Could she speak the truth? Her next words created even more confusion in his addled brain.
“Or mayhap I determined you were a gentleman and my honor was safe.”
Douglas pulled her to him. “Do not toy with me, Madeline. I am still a man,” he said inching toward her mouth. “A flesh and blood man who wants you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life.”
Those blue eyes widened. With shock? Desire? She opened her mouth and he could do no more than stare as her tongue wet her bottom lip. Slowly. With intimate precision. What he would not give to have that tongue on him. Slowly. With intimate precision.
“Mayhap, I feel the same way.”
Douglas cursed. There were too many ‘mayhaps’ floating from her lips to determine if her words were mere conjecture or truth. His inability to glean the truth unsettled him. “If we are to engage in bedroom games, I would prefer they not be verbal ones.”
She nodded. “I agree.”
Had she just leaned toward him? Yes, he believed she had, which would indicate submission on her part. But submission to what exactly? Damn it, he could not tell. Douglas clasped her shoulders and forced out the words, “You should leave. Now. Open the door and lock it behind you.”
She gazed up at him, her expression a mix of desire and innocence. “And if I do not?”
Hell and damnation , she would not make it easy for him to play the gentleman. She wanted truth? He would give her truth, perhaps more than she wanted. “If you do not, I will carry you to the bed, strip you naked, and ravish you. Several times.” He frowned. Those words coupled with his fierce expression would send any young lady bolting to her room.
But as he had learned from his very first encounter with her, Madeline was not just any woman. This one possessed spirit and a fearlessness he both admired and dreaded. At the moment, he was not certain if admiration or dread were foremost in his mind.
“Will you be gentle?”
She was actually considering his barbaric offer. “I will try.”
She chewed on her bottom lip and fixed her gaze on something in the room, probably the bed. “Will you be patient?”
He nodded. She was going to say yes. Now, everything would change. Tell her you are Douglas Fontaine, right now, and that you will not kick her out of Lingionine. Tell her how you feel about her…tell her—
“Will you make love to me, Simon?” She smiled up at him. “Please?”
His brain clogged with desire, snuffing out logic and thoughts of playing the gentleman. Nothing mattered but making love to Madeline with the greatest of patience, skill and gentleness. Douglas ran a hand along her cheek, settled on her shoulder. Oh, yes, he was indeed up for the task. The rest, the details of his true identity shriveled beneath her request. He would make love to her, well and often and with such skill she would forgive him anything, even feigning an imposter.
Douglas cupped her face in his hands and placed a soft, chaste kiss on her lips, the last pure action he would have for the remainder of the evening. “As you wish, my love. I will endeavor to please.”
Chapter 14
Simon scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed that had once been Weston’s but from this day on would be the haven where she and Simon had made love. Oh, but she should leap from his arms and race to the door. I have had a change of heart, she should say in a firm voice. This was a momentary lapse in judgment and I have reconsidered. Madeline glanced at the naked chest, the bulging arms, the narrow waist. She grew lightheaded and over warm as though she had run across the field on a summer’s day wearing too much clothing. The man was glorious and half-naked, an aphrodisiac she had read about in ancient times.
He brushed aside a lock of her hair and kissed the spot on her neck just below her ear. Oh good gracious heavens, but the sensation made her long to throw her arms about him and press her body close. Skin to skin. Correction. Naked skin to naked skin. She sighed and turned her head to allow him greater access to the sensitive flesh. His low rumble of approval tingled from her breast to her belly and oh dear, further still. Could she give him such pleasure? Would he prefer she remain
still so he may enjoy her body or would he prefer she participate? He seemed the type of man who would welcome participation. She would much prefer to touch and explore but then, would he consider her wanton? What a perfectly ridiculous question—of course she was wanton. If she were not, would she lay spread on the bed in a state of dishabille with a man licking her neck with promises to ravish her before daylight? And would she be anticipating said promise with great delight?
Definitely not. The acknowledgement made her longing to touch Simon acceptable, even commendable. She could not wait one moment longer to learn the feel of him. Madeline flung her arms about his back and pulled him close. The weight of his body pressing hers into the counterpane made her dizzy but not due to lack of air. The heady sensation was primal and needy, and oh so very delicious. Simon ran his tongue along her ear to her neck, then to her mouth where he claimed her tongue and stole all thought and reason save the need to join with him.
Madeline trailed her hands along his back, reveling in the ripples of muscle and taut flesh. Soon there would be only skin against skin, melding into one another, in desire and need, his body sinking into hers, claiming what she so willingly gave.
Simon lifted his head and gazed down at her. “Enjoying yourself, my sweet?”
“Immensely.” She sighed and toyed with the waistband of his breeches. “You have quite a way of making a woman want—” she paused “—things she ought not want.”
His lips twitched. “Madame, making you want things you out not want is my specialty.” He eased off her but before she could protest the loss of his warm body, he tugged at the laces of her nightgown and slid his fingers between the thin fabric to cup her breast. “You should not want to know the feel of my tongue on your nipple,” he said as he pushed the fabric aside and brushed a finger over the tight bud. “But you do.”
Oh yes, indeed. Ten thousand times yes. Touch me. Please. Taste me. Simon planted the softest of kisses on her nipple. “Oh.” The murmur turned to a moan as he bent to the task in earnest, licking and kissing her nipple until she had to bite her lower lip to keep from shouting her pleasure.
“And you should not wish for me to suck the tender bud—” he covered her nipple with his mouth and sucked. Over and over, increasing the intensity and with it the pleasure strumming through her, bee-lining to her woman’s heat. “But you most definitely want me to.”
She swallowed. “Yes. Most definitely.” She pushed the words out from an addled brain that could process nothing but sensation…flesh sensations…between a man and a woman… No wonder women lost reason once they shared such intimacies with a man. How would she remember to order flour for Mrs. Fowler and oats for Big Red when she would most certainly have licking and sucking smothering her thoughts?
Simon pushed the fabric aside and kissed her other breast. “You smell like raspberries.”
She was about to tell him the lotion had been a handmade concoction when that errant tongue began stroking and then Heavens yes, sucking, with such earnestness that all thoughts of lotion evaporated. “Oh Simon,” she breathed. “You make me feel…” How did he make her feel? Weightless? Heavy? Fidgety? Languid? Lord, he made her feel all of those things, all at once.
“Yes, love?” He slid his tongue from breast to breast and worked a slow path down her body, his hands and mouth stroking her naked flesh until she shivered. When he reached her stomach, he placed his large hand on it and met her gaze. The color of his eyes spoke of desire and need as he whispered, “Speak to me, Madeline. Tell me how this makes you feel.” Before she had a chance to gather her wits and form a coherent thought centered on desire and delight, Simon shifted her body and raised her legs until he was between them—down there, looking up at her from—good lord! She squirmed and tried to reposition herself but he placed both hands under her buttocks and murmured, “Trust me. There is no need for embarrassment or awkwardness.”
Easy for him to say. She was not the one between his legs. What the devil was he planning? Nothing she had ever heard of to be sure. Perhaps he wanted to examine her breasts from this angle. He could have asked and she would have gladly obliged without expecting him to become a contortionist. Would she ever figure out the man? Would she ever—“Oh!” She shot a glance at Simon who had his head precariously close to her private parts. “Simon, please.” This was most embarrassing. What on earth was he doing down there? “Simon?” She wriggled in an attempt to free herself from his strong grasp.
Something stroked her woman’s heat. Something wet and fleshy and very much like a tongue. Simon’s tongue! He was stroking her woman’s heat with his tongue! Lord have mercy, but he had to stop. The stroking increased sending prickles of sensation bursting through her body. He had to stop. Did he not? She opened her legs wider. “Simon,” she moaned. “Please.” He latched onto her swollen flesh and sucked. Yes, sucked! Oh, the wantonness of it, the disgrace. The deliciousness, like nothing she had ever imagined. Short, long, fast, slow, sweeping over flesh, diving into the very core of her. Good lord, that tongue.
It was too much. She jerked toward him. It was not enough. More. More. He had to stop. She wanted him to never stop. Madeline grasped his head, legs wide open, hands clutching him to the most intimate part of her body as her hips matched the rhythm of his tongue. She moved faster and faster, panting and moaning for an end to the sweet torment.
And then he stopped. Suddenly. Painfully. Simon met her gaze, his eyes dark and glittery. “Would you like more?”
Madeline nodded, trying to steady her breathing and the pulsing in her private area.
His gaze grew darker, his voice deeper. “Tell me, Madeline. Tell me what you want.”
“I want—” she licked her lips and concentrated on his mouth which held a light sheen to it, from her wetness and his saliva. “I want,” she began again, “to have you possess me again with your mouth. And your tongue.” She swallowed, her eyes narrowed on his lips. “Definitely your tongue.”
He smiled. “The lady’s wish is my command and my sincere pleasure to bestow.” With that, he buried his tongue deep inside her heat in a manner that told her pleasure was indeed foremost on his mind. Oh, but her very insides thrummed and threatened to erupt as the pressure in her woman’s heat simmered and bubbled. When he began making tiny circles on her swollen flesh with the pad of his thumb, she boiled over and exploded into a thousand bits of sensation, each stronger and farther reaching than the last. She moaned. She writhed. She held him between her legs. And sighed.
“Madeline?”
Simon’s voice drifted to her but the weight of spent passion held her down and rendered her incapable of thought. Who would have believed a tongue could prove so deliciously useful? Who would have believed a man would delve between a woman’s legs and be welcomed with great urgency? Who would have believed that she, Madeline Munrove would be such a woman? And Simon Schilling would be such a man? With her?
“Madeline?”
“Simon? Did you speak?”
He eased himself from between her legs and lay on his side. “I believe I have stolen your thoughts and rendered you speechless,” he said as he stroked a lock of hair from her face. “I shall endeavor to remember this tactic should I need to silence you in the future.”
“‘Tis a most effective form of silence. Mayhap there is an equally effective method to silence you?” Simon coughed and sputtered as though she had stuffed bits of dried chicken in his mouth. Was the idea repugnant? Were men the only ones who drew upon powers and pleasure to reign over their mates? The idea did not sit well. In fact, it sat in Madeline’s mouth like spoiled cabbage, which was far worse than dried chicken. “Well? Do you imply men are the only ones capable of distributing pleasure in immeasurable amounts?”
He shook his head, his face a deep rose, and coughed again.
“I should like an answer, Simon. Am I to let you pleasure me senseless and not return the favor?” Or the chance to render you senseless? The very idea enticed her immensely.
; “Madeline.”
She scooted onto her elbows and scowled at him. This lovemaking business must be about trust and compromise, two areas she and Simon obviously struggled in. “Fair is fair. You pleasured me—” she fought the blush spreading along her neck “—in a way I had not quite imagined before. Therefore, it is only fair I return the favor and the pleasure.”
“Meaning?” His expression remained blank save the tiny twitch on the right side of his jaw. Annoyance to be sure.
Was the man daft? Could he not conclude what she intended to do to him? She hazarded a quick glance at his crotch area which at the moment lay well concealed by his position. Nevertheless, she would have her way with him. “I intend to do what you did to me. With your mouth. And your tongue.” Though she had no idea how to proceed.
“You wish to do what I did to you?”
She nodded. “Exactly.”
“I see.” And then, “Do you know how to do it? The semantics of it?”
She sighed and blew out a breath. “I am not an idiot. I can figure it out.”
He stared at her as though he thought she were indeed an idiot. “Very well then.” He began to unfasten his breeches, paused. “Have you ever seen a male naked before?”
“Of course I have. I am not the demure maiden you might think I am.” Had she not tended to Gregory’s bath and such when finances dwindled and her mother released the nanny from Lingionine? She did know what male parts looked like. A child’s male parts, but parts were parts. A rose was still a rose even when it had finished blooming. Male parts were no different.
But when Simon unfastened the last button and released the giant monster from captivity, Madeline gasped.
“Would you like me on my back? Or should I remain on my side?”
She shook her head. “It is…you are too…it will never…”
His lips twitched. “There are many areas where I admit you best me, but at this moment, the bedroom is not one of them.” He grasped her hand and pulled her to him. “Admittedly, my member is very large but you have made it that way.”