Blackthorne's Bride (15 page)

In the gray darkness, it was just the two of them, alone in the world. Nothing else mattered.

"I won't touch you again," she said, "not if you don't want me to." But even as she said it, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer. She couldn't tear her eyes from his, and so she saw the way they darkened at her touch.

Touch me, Jack. Quick, before the sun rises.

"And what if I want you to touch me again? What if I want to touch you?"

Yes, please. Hurry.

Maddie licked her lips. "I suppose it's only fair."

"Fair?" Jack chuckled. "Oh, I'm not going to be fair." And he dipped his mouth to hers.

She tasted like candied plums. Her mouth was ripe and sweet, and Jack couldn't get enough of it. He couldn't get enough of her, and she must have felt the same because she pulled him tighter against her.

He was already hard. He'd wakened when she had, felt her stirring beside him, felt her breathing change, and he'd instantly left sleep behind. His cock must have wakened even earlier. No surprise, considering that he was pressed against a warm, female backside, his hand cupping an ample breast.

Jack's first instinct had been to move closer to her, come as near to burying himself in her soft flesh as he could without divesting her of her clothing. His second instinct was to fondle the flesh cupped in his hand.

He did neither. Instead, he lay unmoving and waited for the urges to pass. He tried to think of something innocuous and boring. He attempted to focus on tax reform then the price of corn and had turned, desperately, to the war in the former colonies, when, much to his surprise, she turned toward him and touched him.

He could handle her touch, if he concentrated on George Washington, but when those sweet, candied lips latched onto his, that was the end of his self-control. George Washington be damned.

He had to have more of Maddie. He'd been wanting more of her since the first moment he saw her, his need poking him like a jutting spring in a worn chair.

Now, he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, expecting to be rebuffed, expecting resistance, but she offered none. She opened for him, invited him in.

No time to question, Jack accepted the invitation and stroked her tongue with his. She shuddered again, and he felt his own arousal double at her excited response.

His arms were already wrapped around her, and now he moved one hand to cup her breast again. Her nipple was hard in his hand, thrusting temptingly through the thin fabric. He flicked it with one finger, then ran his palm over it.

Under him, Maddie squirmed and pressed closer. His erection was suddenly surrounded by the warmth of her thighs, and it was pure torture not to toss up her skirts and plunge into what he knew would be slick, heated flesh.

But he held back, pulling away, trying to wrest control from his body and put it back in his mind.

George Washington. Think of George Washington.

But she wouldn't allow him to retreat. She moaned low in her throat and followed him, her tongue invading his mouth with sweet urgency.

"Oh, God, Maddie," Jack growled, cupping her head between his hands and kissing her deeper. "You don't know how much I want you right now."

"I can feel how much," she whispered against his lips, and then, a moment later, must have realized what she'd said because she pulled back, a horrified look in her eyes.

"What I meant was—"

"I know exactly what you meant, sweetheart," Jack answered. The dawn, gray with a tinge of rose, was beginning to break, and the soft light played on her face. The colors dancing over her golden complexion took his breath away. She was so beautiful, so sweet, so innocent.

He shouldn't be the one lying with her, touching her.

"Touch me," she whispered.

"What?" Jack jerked back in surprise.

"Don't make me say it again," she said. "I feel how much you want me. I want you to know how much I want you, and I—I'm burning up. I need you to touch me. Hurry."

Jack closed his eyes, rested his head on her shoulder. "Maddie, I'm not the man who should be touching you. You're innocent. You don't know what you're asking me."

He felt her smile and looked at her face. "I may be innocent, but I'm not uneducated. I know what happens between men and women."

"No." Jack shook his head, but bastard that he was, he didn't move away from her. "I can't be the one to take your innocence."

"Then don't take it," she murmured into his ear. "Give me an introductory lesson. Touch me, Jack."

And as though her words alone wouldn't have tempted a saint, her hand found his hard length and stroked it through his trousers. Her dark blue eyes met his. "Do you like this?" she asked. "Do you want me to touch you, skin against skin?"

Oh, God, yes.

"Oh, God, no." He'd never be able to deliver her to Dover as a virgin if he allowed that. He didn't know how much longer he could trust himself as it was.

He eased himself away from her and grasped her hand when she reached for him again. "Speaking of fair, it's my turn to touch you." He raised her hand until it was resting beside her head. "Give me your other hand, sweetheart."

He saw the question in her eyes, but she didn't ask it. She gave a quick glance at the lightening skies, then lifted her other hand to his. Amazing. She wanted this as much as he did. He imprisoned both of her hands under one of his and held them loosely.

For the moment she was his, entirely in his power. He saw her realize it, and her breath quickened.

Keeping his gaze locked on her dark blue eyes, he lowered his free hand to her bodice. He'd been dreaming about this, and he took his time drawing the material down over her thin chemise.

The more he revealed, the faster she breathed, until her breasts heaved against the flimsy material. Jack leaned down and placed his mouth over the exposed half-moon of flesh. She jerked, and when he didn't release her hands, she moaned.

"Hurry, Jack. More. Hurry."

Jack frowned. Most women liked it when he moved slowly. But he wasn't going to argue. Instead, he used his teeth to lower her chemise and stays, and her breasts, already straining, came free.

In the cool morning, her dark, round nipples were hard and taut. Her breasts were large, almost more than could fill his hand, and her skin was honey-colored. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered, allowing his breath to skate over her flesh.

He bent to the valley between her breasts, kissing her there, and inhaling the sweet fragrance of her skin, of her. Moving his mouth to one side, he laved the rounded flesh, inching higher and higher until she whimpered and pushed against him, all but giving him her nipple.

He took it eagerly, licking the large round nub, making it harder, tighter, sucking it, until she strained against him and cried out, "Hurry!"

Jesus! Demanding little chit. How was a man supposed to employ any skill with this kind of pressure?

But, obediently, he moved to her other breast, sucking and nibbling until she was crying out again. And then just when she would have urged him to hurry, he lowered his free hand and cupped her between her legs.

That silenced her.

In fact, she opened her eyes, which had been tightly closed, and stared at him. Her pupils were dark and large, those blue eyes dominating her face.

Without looking away, he let his hand fist around the material of her dress and tug it upward. Inch by inch the fabric revealed more of her body. He ached to look, but he kept his gaze locked on hers, watching as her eyes warmed to liquid sapphire.

Finally, he held the hem in his hands. Slowly, he released the material, leaving his hand free to cup her in truth. She'd told him she was burning up, and she hadn't lied. She was so hot, he almost jerked away at first.

Like the rest of her, the skin here was smooth and soft, the curls at the juncture of her thighs damp with her need. He stroked her outer lips, feeling her body shake and tremble as he did so.

And then, ignoring her previous orders, he moved as slowly as he could, parting those lips and slipping one finger inside.

Molten heat.

That was all he could think. She was so slick and ready for him. He pushed his finger deeper inside her, and she cried out, her eyes going so dark they were almost as black as his own.

And then he had to see her. Dragging his gaze from hers, he took a leisurely perusal of her, starting with those glorious breasts, spilling out of her bodice. The nipples were still hard and now wet from his ministrations.

His gaze traveled down her white gown with its little lavender bows. The bows were bunched up along her waist, and he could see her stocking-clad legs tangled with his.

And then his gaze fastened on her bare hips and thighs, the soft chestnut curls between her legs, and the tender pink skin where his finger moved in and out. Her hips rose to meet his movements, her body moving instinctively in that timeless rhythm.

Jack slid into her again and imagined all the ways he could give her pleasure. He felt her tighten around him and knew it would not be long now until she exploded.

"Oh, no!" Her voice was anguished, regretful. "We have to stop."

Her hands pushed against the hand holding her prisoner, and he freed her, slipping his finger out of her as she sat and began to right her clothing.

"What the hell—"

"I'm sorry," she said rapidly, not looking at him. "It's dawn. The sun is rising. We should— we should start moving."

"But—" His brain was still far behind hers, and his cock throbbed insistently. "So, just like that, we're done?"

He sat beside her, and she stood, jerking her dress down and covering those shapely legs. Her hands were shaking and she looked a bit unsteady on her feet. "Sir, we can't afford to lie about all day. We have to find Ashley and Mr. Dover."

"Sir?
Sir?"
Jack knew he sounded surly, but he felt surly. "What the hell's going on? One moment I have my hand—"

"Lord Blackthorne!"

"Fine. But why the rapid about-face? When you said to hurry, I thought you meant—"

"I think it best if we don't discuss the matter any further," she said, lifting her trembling hands to her hair. "Do you have any suggestions for locating the others without alerting Lord Bleven or my father or anyone else following us where we are?"

Jack frowned. She was fully dressed and had even pinned her hair up in some sort of order. She really was done with him. What the hell had he done wrong? One moment she'd been moaning and pressing against him. The next she was on her feet, pulling her shoes back on.

"Lord Blackthorne, I asked if you had any suggestions."

Jack raised his eyes to hers. They were clear blue, no trace of the haze of desire from a moment before. "I have a suggestion. Take that dress off and get back down here."

She shook her head. "Please be serious. In fact, be truthful. What did you do to the Duke of Bleven to anger him so?"

Reluctantly, Jack rose to his feet and began brushing off his trousers. The woman was obviously through with him. She'd dismissed him faster than a courtesan with money in her hand. "I didn't do anything to Bleven," he said. He'd left his boots on, in case they needed to run in the night, and now he leaned against the tree, pried one off and shook out the dust and pebbles.

"But if you didn't do anything to Bleven, then, why—" Her big blue eyes widened farther. "Lord Nicholas."

"Bang on the mark. My darling brother"—Jack slid his boot back on and stomped his foot back into it—"publicly insulted the duke. The duke was not pleased."

"But why would Lord Nicholas do that?" She was watching him struggle to pull off his second boot.

"He was protecting a woman's honor."

"I suppose it's justified, then."

"Nick insulted Bleven on my behalf as well. Called the duke a filthy whoreson scoundrel."

"Oh, Lord."

"It's a bit late to start praying."

She looked about, spotted the horses he'd tethered the night before and marched toward hers. "We have to go. Now. We have to find Ashley and Mr. Dover. I want no part of this feud with Bleven."

Jack shook his boot out and dropped it on the ground. "You should have thought of that last night. After that stunt you pulled, you're involved whether you want to be or not. Might I suggest, you and Dover retire to the Scottish countryside. Permanently."

"Don't be rid—" But she looked at his face and swallowed.

"I've heard the Americas are lovely this time of year."

She blew out a breath and closed her eyes. He heard her whispering something. It sounded like, "Everything will work out. Everything will work out."

Jack shook his head. Everything work out? That would be a first.

* * * * *

Maddie knelt beside Jack and tried to hold her breath. Jack's horse stank. She didn't know what the animal had gotten into the night before, but whatever the beast had eaten wreaked havoc with its digestion.