by Stacy Reid
Fear snaked through her, and arousal stabbed into the heart of her at his words. He was the most sinfully alluring man she’d ever met, and somehow, he knew how she reacted to him. After their night together, he would not be in doubt. Her arousal dampened between her thighs with shocking speed, and she fought to keep her face blank. “You could try, but I would not allow it. I do not want more than the one night we had, Elliot.”
He stiffened. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you only wish for one night with me?”
The question made her chest ache.
He leaned his hips against the mantle by the fireplace, his stare unswerving. Was it that he wanted more than one night? Her mind dismissed the possibility. Yet after a few seconds, she arrived at the same conclusion. The idea was so preposterous, so frightfully appealing she glared at him for eliciting the powerful need, excitement, and doubt mashing painfully together inside. “What do you want from me?” she whispered instead of answering his question. I know your intent to marry…
“Did you not declare to Anthony your plans to court Lady Andrea. The perfect debutante of this season?”
A frown chased his features. “I have no intention to court her or anyone else. I know the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with if she will grant me the honor.”
Emma stared at him with a mixture of dread and fascination, and a peculiar weight filled her heart, and a lump grew in her throat. “I ask again, Your Grace, what do you want from me?”
Somehow, she got the impression he was nervous, and that was an even more preposterous idea. Elliot Winthrop was never nervous. He had grown into the poise and confidence of a nobleman who was well aware of his worth in society.
“More,” he said softly.
Emma swallowed. “More of what?”
He stepped closer, and she moved back. He faltered, but his eyes never left hers. “More of you, more than one night, forever.”
She put some safe distance between them, anger whipping through her blood. “Why are you saying this? You haven’t paid any addresses to me in eight years.”
He glared at her, seemingly waging an internal war. “Did you want me to?”
Yes…no. “If you had wanted me, why did you stay away for so long?”
“Staying away from you has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. You rejected my offer of marriage three times…and my heart and pride were wounded. Each letter you sent to me was a twisting knife in an open wound that had no chance of healing. I had to distance myself from you to preserve my sanity. I never thought I had another chance with you until you came to the masquerade ball.”
The air heated and tension arched from him to her.
“I’ve stayed away over the years…but I will not continue to do so. Please give me a chance.”
After years of hopeless longing to hear such renewed sentiments, how strange his expressions did not fill her with relief, more like despair. “No.” Her refusal sounded so weak. Wanting to be firm she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.
“Why not?”
“If I had not come to you last night, would you have ever approached me?” she asked softly.
He shielded his eyes, but not before she saw the flash of guilt and torment.
“Eventually I would have come for you.”
She stared at him in ill-concealed disbelief. “You expect me to believe this? You have only been a shadow in my life since the last time you made an offer, that was eight years ago Elliot, only a few months after you became a duke. And I know why you stayed away, it was because your offer for marriage had been out of pity for my circumstances.”
The soft rhythm of his breathing fractured. “Emma, each time I visited, no matter how briefly was about seeing you, always you. Every single visit was about being near to you, seeing your smile and laughter, being a part of your happiness, sharing your doubts and fears. Last night…last night you destroyed my world and restraints from simply pressing your lips to mine. Last night inspired me to hope for a forever with you, because you turned to me, Emma.”
She held up ineffectual hands, hoping to stem the tide of words that she knew had the power to break her, but he continued, “I stayed away because you were convinced you were broken, that I could not manage your pain and hopes, that I did not love you enough to see you. You’ve shown me you crave me as much as I yearn for you.”
Her breath hitched. Please stop talking, her heart screamed. His words were a massive hammer to her resistance. “I have always wanted you, Elliot, you know that. Last night was wonderful for me, and I will cherish the memory forever. But I only did it because I thought it would remain my secret. I simply wanted a night for me, to indulge in desires I have long held, and I chose to have that experience with someone I knew and trusted. I never realized you knew.”
“So, you only wanted to use me?”
“Use you?” She searched his face wildly. Emma hoped he did not believe her capable of treating him so callously. Anger burned through her. He had easily succumbed to her charms and had taken her more thoroughly than she had used him. “Who was taking advantage of whom, Elliot? Within less than half an hour I was in your bed. If Anthony had not gabbed to you…you would not even know that it was me.”
“Is that what you believe of me? That I easily take women I do not know to my bed? I recognized you the moment you stepped into the ballroom, Princess.”
The breath rushed from her lungs, and with sickening clarity, Emma knew he had known. He had referred to her more than once as princess….in that same mocking tone he had always used. She had not been overly paranoid this morning when the awareness had settled in her heart.
“You knew?” She could not wrap her thoughts around his revelation. My goodness, but it made sense. Her conquest had been easy. The tenderness she felt from him at times, the gentle way he had cleaned her after. Even when he had ridden her hard, testing her limits, he had seemed so wonderfully sweet. He had been gentle, caring, soothing, and her heart had tripped in her chest in wonder, pain, and jealousy. Thinking he was this way with all his lovers. “Oh God.” She suppressed the joy that tried to swarm her.
His expression became guarded. “Why are you so afraid?”
He made no move toward her as if he knew she was on the verge of panicking and running. But she could see the control in which he encased himself. Her heart thumped a frantic tattoo against her breastbone. She lowered herself into the sofa, refusing to meet his gaze. “I am not afraid.”
“You are. The woman behind the mask was not a façade. She was not timid or repressed. She was bold and delightfully wicked. She took what she wanted. That woman was you, Emma. You took me. And you are not allowed to hide and retreat to the tidy and risk-free life your parents have placed you in.”
Shock roared through her, making her light-headed. Her lashes dipped. She wanted him to see her, but not too deep. “What do you want from me, Elliot?” She splayed her hands wide. “We both have wanted each other for years…and now that we have tasted of each other, we can move on with our lives.”
“Wrong,” he grounded out with enough force to have her surging to her feet once more. “You think after you have come to me…after you have shown me that you want me as much as I need you, I would ever allow you to leave the possibility of us?”
Her eyes widened. Allow? Fire sparking in her veins, she stalked toward him and jabbed him in the chest. The soft smile on his lips only infuriated her further. “Allow? I am tired of people telling me what I can and cannot do. I have the power to make my choice. No one will allow me anything!”
He advanced, backing her up until she was flush against the arm of the sofa. “Then why do you allow your parents to cage you from living, why are you running away from England?” he asked with a quiet intensity. “Why do you allow your fears to control your future?”
Her heart executed a sick flip of alarm. He saw too deep inside of her. She craned her neck to look at him. How could she mak
e him understand? He was her one night of passion. Her stolen moment. He was this beautiful fire she’d stepped too close to, and she was miraculously alive, and not singed to death. He was too overwhelming for her to be with for any period of time. He was a duke, and he would be expected to provide an heir, he would require a wife who was perfect and flawless to host his political parties, balls, and dinners. Elliot had always been so adventurous. Once they had ridden across the lanes, fenced, swam together. Everything had changed, and she was so limited now. Her life was now safe and predictable, and she liked it being that way. Elliot was dangerous and uncertain…now an exotic creature she could never hope to hold onto for any length of time. “I am not running.”
His narrowed gaze skimmed over her with renewed intensity. “Is that so?”
Her heart thudded, but she pressed on. “Yes. I am different now. A great night for me is curling by the fire and reading a book. I find joy in walking through the park with my sketchpad and capturing the beauty of life. I love riding gently in the country. I do not love the parties, and the glamorous life of the ton.”
He frowned, eyes searching her face. He cupped her face. His shoulder relaxed, and he closed his eyes with a sigh. “Emma?”
“Yes?”
“Marry me.”
Her entire body trembled.
He dipped his head and leaned in close, so their lips almost touched, their nose brushing. “Let me prove you are the only woman I want. Have ever needed. Marry me, my darling.”
The need to scream ‘yes’ welled inside her. “I…I may never be able to have a child. The doctors said—”
“I do not mean to dismiss your fears or pain, but the doctors also said you would never walk again. If we are not so blessed, we will comfort each other, but it is you I want, Emma, you.”
“But your dukedom—”
His thumb dragged roughly over her bottom lip. She caught it between her teeth and bit lightly. Not quite believing her own shameless intentions, she tried to step back. He did not allow her. He tugged her to him, and she willingly went.
“I did not expect this, Elliot. I never imagined—”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and her heart clenched, then melted. She fought to shore up her resolve. Though she badly wanted to say yes, it would be a grave mistake. One she would probably never be able to recover from.
“Say yes, Emma.”
She gently disengaged from him and tilted her head to meet his eyes. The need that glittered there tempted her to step off the cliff of insanity. “I can’t,” she breathed roughly. The doubts and fears had held her too long, for them to be so easily dismissed. She did not want to accept his proposal without careful consideration. How could he blithely dismiss his duty to the title? He would need an heir and a capable duchess by his side. A smile slanted his wide sensual mouth, turning his hard-edged masculinity to a charming male. “Do you have any idea how much I've wanted you?”
She shook her head, unable to speak lest she betrayed the need pumping in her blood, and beating between her legs for him.
“I’ve craved you, Emma. For years. Be honest with me, how much do you want me?”
The words slipped unbidden from her lips. “You threaten all the beliefs I hold about my expectations for my life. You make me burn to live.”
Approval flared in his gaze, then his lips took hers, and Emma stopped breathing. His dark head lowered over hers, he kissed her. His tongue slipped past her lips, swept over hers, and arousal burned through her. He got her wet so fast, Emma was almost embarrassed.
He pulled her against him, seducing her mouth with scorching expertise. She was painfully aware of the hard bulge against her stomach, and how secluded they were. He broke away from her mouth to bite the side of her neck. She whimpered, overwhelmed by the pleasure darting through her.
He stumbled onto the sofa, and she went with him, climbing onto his lap, arousal, need, and his hands directing her. No. She screamed inside, knowing her kissing him did not mean she was caving, but she was unable to stop licking his lips, to stop thrusting her hands through his thick hair.
His fingers encircled her ankles, and pushed up, sliding against her stockings and taking her dress with it. Sensual weakness assailed her. He wrapped an arm beneath her hips, lifted her, and positioned her over his thick length. When had he opened his flap? His fingers traced the swollen folds of her cleft, and Emma gasped against his mouth as he parted her swollen flesh. He drew her down to meet the surge of his hip. She bit down on his bottom lip as he pulled her down. Though she was wet and welcoming the tight stretch was almost painful. A garbled whimper tore from her throat as his thrust impaled her deep and hard. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t think, only feel. “Elliot.”
He began a slow, rocking motion. “Emma, my darling, ride me,” he ordered roughly.
Lust poured through her bloodstream, heating her from the inside out as she obeyed his command and rode him. Her knees bracketed his hips as she, at first, very clumsily, and then with more grace moved up and down his length, controlling the pace, the burn, wanting them to conflagrate slowly. He gripped her hips and buried his mouth in her throat with a deep groan as she clenched on him.
“Ride harder.” His words were a guttural snarl, his eyes narrowed with need.
His dark golden eyes burned with passion, searing away the slow control she wanted to take him with.
“No,” she said, and took his bottom lip between her teeth again and nipped. Hard.
The moan that slipped from him enflamed her. Sensual power tunneled through Emma, and she slid down with excruciating slowness over his thick length. His hands tightened on her hips as his eyes narrowed even further. She almost smiled at the carnal grimace that twisted his lips as she rolled her hips, clenching her walls and bearing down on his cock, even slower than before.
“You are fucking with fire,” he muttered, his voice filled with need.
The crude word sent a flush though her entire body. She gripped his hair, tunneling her finger through his strands, feeling his scalp under her fingertips. “Strange, my duke, I thought I was taking you,” she whispered, her lips touching the underside of his jaw.
His gaze burned into hers, and as she watched the fight for control, sweet power shifted inside of her along with need. She had thought she would never have felt his wildness again, this daring to be free. But something about now was even more than the night before. He knows it’s me. Her throat burned, and tears pricked behind her lids.
“Sweet mercy,” he said, kissing her like a starving man.
Emma gasped and clutched his shoulders tightly. He made love to her mouth, and she rocked on him with exquisite slowness, but with depth. With such depth, her core ached, and her nub burned for release. He stood with her and spun, gently lowering her onto the sofa, but never releasing her. They remained like that, only kissing, but she could feel him getting harder inside of her though he was not thrusting. She squirmed, wanting him to move, but he only ravished her mouth. She had no other way to describe the deep thrust and curl of his tongue against hers. He was making love to her mouth, mating their tongues together, burning them alive with desire. Emma whimpered at the sharpness of the pleasure rising in her.
They pulled apart, breathing raggedly. His face suddenly took on a look of cruel sensuality as he looked at her. Their night of passion at the masquerade ball swirled in his gaze, and the memory of the ways he had taken her crawled through her.
“Elliot,” she whimpered, nervous despite the delirious pleasure filling her. He was so wonderfully intense.
Her eyes widened as he dragged her to the edge of the sofa. He lifted one of her feet and placed it on the edge of the sofa, while her other foot hitched at his hips. There was only the slightest pinch along her muscles of her leg. The position splayed her wide, and as she looked down, she could see where they were joined. Heat suffused her face, and her heart raced. He pulled from her until he was poised at her entrance. She clenched, f
eeling empty, wanting to be filled with him.
“Look at me.”
She met his intense gaze as he thrust into her in one smooth lunge. The hard, abrupt impalement had her crying out at the sensuous burn.
“Hold me, Emma.”
She slipped her hands around his neck. Before she could draw another breath, his hips recoiled, and he slammed into her hard and deep. She wailed against his kisses. A sound that shocked her. Not even last night she had sounded so broken with lust. Within seconds, he commanded a deep, powerful rhythm that had her gripping him and panting for breath. Emma lost herself, to pleasure, to need, to lust. “Don’t stop,” she moaned. “Please don’t stop.”
“Never,” he promised.
The perfect blend of bliss and pain as he took her had Emma shuddering and shaking as coils of need raked at her, shattering all control she had long abandoned.
“I love you, Emma,” he whispered against her lips.
Joy soared through her along with blinding doubt. Delirious pleasure swept through Emma as she shattered, and she rode the sweet wave of ecstasy trembling and moaning. With a deep groan, he thrust one more time and then tumbled with her.
“I cannot marry you, Elliot.”
It was probably not the most romantic thing to say after what they just shared, but it was blaring from her mind.
He stiffened, then cursed. He pulled from her, withdrew his handkerchief from his top pocket and cleaned her. Heat crawled up her neck. How difficult it was to meet his eyes.
“You could be with my child now,” he said softly.
Their gaze collided.
Tears filled her eyes as she stared up at him, trembling, terrified and hopeful in equal measure that he could be right. “Th…the doctors,” she stammered. “We—”
He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Hang the doctors. Anything is possible.”
God, what have I done? Why was it so easy to be free with him?
She pulled out of his grip, refusing to meet his gaze as she swiped at the tears that escaped her control and fell from her eyes.