A Hellion in Her Bed (25 page)

But over the course of the evening, something had changed.
He
had changed. And after all he’d said, after how he’d softened …

“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I pay my debts.” When he flinched at the word
debts
, she added hastily, “You may not think me honorable, but—”

“It’s got nothing to do with honor, Annabel.” Every line of his body was tense, every feature looked carved in stone. “I’m absolving you of any responsibility for your
debts
. As the winner, I can do that, you know.”

“I don’t
want
you to do it!” she protested. “I chose to make that wager, and I won’t have you ‘absolving’ me of responsibility for it simply because you pity me.”

“And I won’t have you sharing my bed as part of some foolish bargain.” He rose to lean over the desk, his eyes stormy.
“If I ever take you to bed, it will be because you choose it—not because it was some fruitless ploy to save your family or your brother or your damned brewery.”

In a flash, she understood. She’d hurt his pride. She should have realized it when he’d said those cutting words about her using kisses and caresses to “reel him in.” He might not want to marry her, but clearly he didn’t like thinking that she saw him only as a means to an end.

Inexplicably, that warmed her. If he cared even that much … “What if I’m not doing it as part of a bargain?”

He froze, and for a moment she wasn’t sure if he’d understood. Then she saw the muscle ticking in his jaw. Oh yes, he understood.

“What other reason would you have?” he asked in a deceptively soft voice.

Heat rose in her cheeks. “Must you … make me say it?”

His expression was steady, but his eyes flared with hunger. “Yes. I’m afraid I must.”

Briefly she contemplated running. He would let her go if she did—she knew that now. And the desire that his need kindled in her terrified her. She’d never felt anything like this with Rupert. The last thing she needed was this handsome, arrogant lord dragging her into the luxuriant flames with him, to be consumed by a blaze she’d avoided half her life.

But the blaze was already out of control within her; she doubted that running would extinguish it. And she
had
promised, after all.

She stood to round the desk on shaking legs. “It’s been nearly thirteen years since I lay with a man, and in all that time, I told myself I didn’t miss it. I told myself that I was content, that I had no need of a man’s kisses or caresses. And then you came along and … and everything … changed …”

Her voice faltered as he shoved away from the desk to come meet her.

“Go on,” he said in a husky rasp that turned her knees to jelly.

He was inches away from her now, his hand stretching up to brush her cheek, then down her neck in a slow, sensual caress that made it nearly impossible for her to think.

“I-I want you,” she admitted as her gaze locked with his smoldering one. “I want you to touch me. I want you in my b—”

His lips were on hers before she could finish. He splayed his fingers across the back of her head to hold her still for a kiss that was as fiery and consuming as it was tender. His kiss ravaged like a conqueror of old, scorching the earth it left behind as he laid claim to every part of her mouth.

Curling her fingers into his coat lapels, she pulled him closer, which only made him more ravenous, until he was driving into her mouth in a frank mimicking of what they were soon going to do.

As his mouth plundered hers, he lifted his free hand to tug her sleeve down. It took little effort, since her gown had been made back when bodices barely clung to one’s shoulders, and within moments, he had her breast bared for his teasing fingers.

The shock of pleasure his caress sent through her reminded her of where they were. Though she knew the brewery was empty, she didn’t like the idea of his touching her in front of a window that anyone could see through. “Wait,” she drew back to whisper.

“Not on your life, my pretty pixie,” he growled. “You had your chance to escape, and you didn’t take it.”

“Who said anything about escaping?”

His gaze turned white-hot, searing her with its intensity. With her heart thundering in anticipation, she seized a candle holder and took him by the hand to lead him to a door at one end of the room. When she opened it to pull him inside, he gave a low chuckle, no doubt surprised to find himself in a small room fitted with a single bed and a writing table.

“When the brewery was running at night,” she explained as she went to light a fire in the grate, “Mr. Walters used to nap in here. We haven’t used it recently, but it’s clean. And it has to be more comfortable than the desk.”

She walked back to put the candle on the writing table, and he came up behind her to slip his arm about her waist. “No wonder you wanted to have this card game at the brewery.” He pressed a kiss into her hair. “You were planning ahead, I see.”

Her breath grew ragged as his mouth found the tender skin just beneath her jaw, where the pulse beat a frenzied drumming. “If you will remember …” she choked out, “I didn’t expect you to win.”

“I think you did.” He skimmed his hands up to cup her breasts, making her blood run even higher. “Tell me, Miss Lake, did you
let
me win that game?”

“What?”
She twisted in his arms to face him, a hot retort springing to her lips until she saw the dark gleam in his eyes. In a flash, she remembered what she’d said to him that day at the London inn.

Shrugging out of her sleeves, she arched one eyebrow. “Now why would I do that, my lord?”

His gaze flared hot as it fixed on her exposed corset. “Because you want the hellion in your bed more than you’ll admit.”

“Are you really such a hellion?” she asked seriously. “I think you’re more of a gentleman than you’ll admit.”

He turned her around so he could loosen the fastenings of her gown. “You’re the first woman to think so.” He dragged her gown off of her, letting it drop to the floor.

When he brushed kisses along her bared shoulders, she shivered deliciously. “But not the first woman to … share your bed.”

His fingers paused in the course of unlacing her corset. “No.”

“How many have there been?” she asked, wanting to remind herself that this was nothing special to him. Because if she let herself believe that it was, she was sure to be hurt when she discovered it wasn’t.

“Hundreds,” he said sarcastically as he freed her corset and tossed it aside. “Thousands.”

“That many?” she said, matching his light tone.

“Half the women in London, if one is to believe the gossips.” He skimmed his hands down her sides to her hips, and his voice fell to a jagged whisper. “But none as lovely as you.”

“Now
that
is a lie if ever I heard one,” she said as she pivoted to face him.

But the dark intensity of his gaze as he raked it down her thinly clad body made her wish it were not. “I never lie to a woman,” he said softly.

Her heart pounded in her throat. “Never?”

“There’s never been a need.” His expression was deadly serious. “The women I bed are most often taproom maids and ladies of easy virtue who don’t expect or require promises and soft words.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “It’s all about the pleasure to them. Or the money.”

She found it hard to breathe. “And which of those two am I? A taproom maid or a lady of easy virtue?”

“Neither.” He flashed her a rueful smile. “You’re in a
category all your own.” He reached up to thread his fingers through her hair, tugging it loose of its pins. “Country goddesses. Goddesses of the harvest, perhaps—Ceres or Demeter.”

“They’re also the goddesses of fertility, so I don’t think that’s a good choice, given what we’re about to do,” she said dryly.

He laughed.

“If I must be a deity, I prefer Minerva. She’s clever and beautiful, and she’s the goddess of commerce.”

“Sorry, but that one’s not a choice,” he said as he spread her hair over her shoulders.

“Because she’s a virgin?” she said, disappointed.

“Because my sister is named after her.” He untied her shift. “And what I’m feeling for you isn’t the least bit brotherly, dearling.”

Dearling.
His use of the endearment, even after all that had happened today, made a lump catch in her throat.

He started to push her shift from her shoulders, but she caught his hands. “Not yet. Your turn.”

Eyes alight, he tore off his moleskin coat and striped waistcoat, then tossed them onto the writing table. His cravat and braces swiftly followed. When he removed his shirt, she caught her breath at the sight of his naked chest with its sprinkling of dark hair, the muscles clearly defined. It wasn’t the body of the indolent aristocrat that she’d expected. He was rapier-lean and fit, a Greek god in the flesh. Apollo himself could not rival his well-hewn body.

“Like what you see?” he asked roughly. He threw his shirt aside and sat down in the chair to tug off his boots.

“Perhaps,” she teased.

His eyes darkened. Leaning back in the chair, he spread his legs. “Come here, you coy minx.”

Her throat went dry at the sight of his rampant arousal straining against his moleskin trousers. “I thought I was a goddess,” she said lightly as she did his bidding.

“Ah, but we haven’t decided which one.” When she got close enough, he leaned forward to pull her between his legs. “I begin to think that Venus suits you best.” He teased her bare breast. “The goddess of beauty.”

And the goddess of love
, she thought, though she didn’t dare say it. As his mouth closed over her breast, she didn’t even dare think it. Because he was being so tender, so passionate, it made her want to weep. It made him even more dangerous to her than when he’d been angry.

Clutching his head to her breast, she prayed she could spend this night with him and not lose her heart. He wouldn’t want it, and she couldn’t bear to have it trampled on.

He tongued her nipple, then tugged it with his teeth, sending a jolt of pleasure from her breast to her belly. As if knowing what effect he had on her, he slipped his hand beneath her shift and into the slit in her drawers, to find where she was already liquid and eager for him.

“My God,” he murmured against her breast, “you feel like hot silk, warm and ready for my touch.”

She wasn’t the only one ready. She brought her knee up to stroke him through his trousers. With a low moan, he pulled her to sit astride him until her tender parts lay flush against his trapped arousal. He rocked against her, and the feeling was exquisite, the silky fabric of his trousers like a caress.

He returned to sucking her breast, teasing it with teeth and tongue, then sucking the other with the same intensity. Meanwhile, he thrust against her over and over, heightening her enjoyment, making her go all fluid and hot inside.

Next thing she knew, he’d edged her back enough so he
could reach the little button of flesh between her legs that ached for his touch. His mouth and hands fondled her in tandem, rousing such intense pleasure in her belly, she thought she might scream. Soon he had her gasping and leaning into his hand, wanting more, needing more.

“Definitely Venus,” he growled as he strummed her like Apollo strumming his golden lyre.

“Jarret …” she breathed. “Oh, heavens.”

“I’ll give you the heavens, my beautiful Venus. That’s where a goddess belongs.” He slid one finger, then another into her slick sheath. “God, you’re tight. And so tempting, I don’t know how much longer I can wait to be inside you.”

“You don’t have to wait.” She reached down to fumble with the fastenings of his trousers. “There’s no need.”

His breath coming in great, hard gasps, he set her back and rose to shed his trousers, drawers, and stockings. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him—lean-hipped and sinewy, with a thin dusting of black hair. And between his well-wrought thighs …

Lord save her. She hadn’t seen his member half so well in the dim light of the barn, but now she was getting quite a good look. Fully erect, his rigid flesh sprang heavy and dark from a dense thatch of curls.

Rupert had been slender, his member long but barely over an inch thick. Jarret’s was easily twice that large, and beneath her gaze, it seemed to grow even more.

“Take off your shift and your drawers,” he commanded in a guttural voice. “I want to look at you, too.”

Though she slid out of her drawers and tossed them aside, she hesitated to remove her last piece of modesty. Would he be able to see the faint lines that her pregnancy had left on her belly? And if he did, would he realize what they meant?

It wasn’t as if she had a choice. If she continued to balk at removing her shift, he would wonder why. Perhaps the dim light would hide her sins.

Before she could act, he stepped forward to tug her shift the rest of the way off. “I never thought to see you shy, dearling.” He scoured her with a frank appreciation that made her breath stop in her throat. “And there’s certainly no need for it. You are even more lovely than I imagined.”

He slid his arm about her waist to pull her close, and his aroused flesh pressed into her below, reminding her that there was one thing she must make certain of before they went any further.

“You said you would take precautions,” she whispered.

“Ah, yes.” Releasing her, he went to the table and fumbled in the pocket of his coat.

“What are you doing?” she asked, bewildered.

He removed something and held it up to the light. “Taking precautions.”

She stared in confusion at the long silky tube dangling from his fingers. “But that’s not what Rupert … I mean, he …”

“Let me guess,” Jarret remarked as he slid the tube over his erect member. “He withdrew from you before spilling his seed.”

“Yes! He said that it would protect me from … having a child.”

“It’s not the best method,” he told her as he tied off the tube, then came toward her. “You were lucky that it worked. It doesn’t always.”

She certainly knew
that
to be true. Swallowing hard, she dipped her head to indicate his strangely garbed male member. “And does
that
work?”