Her Wanton Wager (23 page)

Unbuttoning his jacket, he placed it over her shoulders. "There's a gazebo up ahead," he said. "We'll stop there."

She nodded. Kicking at pebbles as they walked along, she slid him a glance. "Why aren't you crowing about Portland? After all, you were right."

"About what?"

"About me being a silly chit who mistook infatuation for love," she said gruffly.

Her candor drew forth a surge of tenderness in him. Never before had he experienced this desire to soothe a woman, to protect her from all ills. "Come now," he said, "'tis not so bad."

"I feel like an idiot," she said.

His lips twitched. "You'll get over it. Blows to the pride don't last long."

She seemed to mull it over. "I suppose you're right. It certainly doesn't hurt anywhere else." Shaking her head, she said, "Why is it that you seem to understand me more than I understand myself?" 

Because you're mine.
The possessive certainty gripped him, yet he managed to say in calm tones, "I understand ambition. You're too spirited and intelligent to follow the herd. You need to find your own purpose."

She glanced at him. "Like you did?"

"As I did." Perhaps it was the dark or the intoxicating scent of her perfume that drew more out of him. "I wasn't always a successful business owner. There was a time when I barely scraped by, making a hard living in the streets. For years, I worked as,"—he cleared his throat—"a guard-for-hire."

A polite term for a mercenary. But there hadn't been many other options open to a scarred ex-criminal. If nothing else, the hulks had given him a talent for violence.

"No wonder you fight so well," she said. "How did you find that line of work?"

He cast her a swift glance; there was no trace of mockery or disdain in her expression. Could it be that she did not judge him for his past? "I hated it," he said. "But I invested every guinea I earned, and when I had enough, I bought the club."

The years of brutality had paid off; he'd never forget the feeling of walking into his own property for the first time. From that moment on, he'd vowed to dictate his future.

"You remind me of my papa," she said, surprising him yet again. "He came from poverty too and built an empire out of nothing." Her gaze dropped, and her slipper chased away another stone. "Whereas I grew up with every privilege and have done nothing of worth with my life. Sometimes I think I'm not much more than a spoiled miss."

Once, he had thought the same of her. Knowing her now, her courage and loyal heart, her untamed spirit … nothing could be farther from the truth.

"You have had material advantages," he said. "That does not make you spoiled."

She shot him a troubled glance. "Does being headstrong? In the end, the only thing Papa asked of me was to be a good daughter. To have the kind of life he could not, even with his fortune. That was his dream for me—for our family."

It all made sense now. Why Percy would try to be someone other than who she was. She'd tried to hide her true self not because of middling class hypocrisy, as he'd originally assumed, but because of ... love. The desire for her family's approval.

"Your father wanted you to have a position in society," Gavin said.

She gave a forlorn nod. "With Nicholas' title, it should have been so easy. I have everything—money, access to the best circles. But I still couldn't do my family proud. Because I am a hoyden who has no business masquerading as a lady."

For once, the mention of Morgan did not affect Gavin. He was too angry with so-called polite society for making this lovely, sensitive girl ever doubt her own worth.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he said roughly.

The path came to a small gazebo. They entered under the sloping roof, and she went to look out at the dark vista. She kept her back to him, her gloved fingers trailing along the railing. "The truth is … they were right. I am
not
a lady."

"That is utter bollocks."

"No, it's true. From the time I was a child, I've been getting into scrapes. I've had more tutors than you could count on both hands, yet I cannot claim a single accomplishment." Her shrug was nearly obscured by his jacket, which dwarfed her and made her look like a little girl in a game of dress-up. "I don't know why I thought I could suddenly transform into a paragon."

"You can do anything you put your mind to." He hated that she thought differently, hated that the world could crush her spirit. Her beautiful exuberance. The need to protect her clawed at his insides. "If you had truly wanted Portland, you would have figured out a way to snare him," he said. "Or any one of those fine prancing bastards."

She swiveled and looked fully at him. Her expression made his breath catch. "But I don't want Portland," she said softly, "or any of those gentlemen. I realize now that I don't give a damn what the
ton
or anyone else thinks. For the first time, I know what
I
want."

Words seemed to stick in his throat. "What is that?"

She came closer to him, her eyes luminous. Captivating. "Adventure and passion, for starters. I've started writing again, you know, and this time I want my life to inspire my work."

Adventure and passion. He swallowed. Aye, he could give her that.

"I want to live without regrets." She stopped in front of him, the tips of her slippers nearly touching his boots. "I want to experience everything I've ever dreamed about and more."

A smile curved her lips, and in that single, awesome moment she transformed before his eyes. From lovely girl to a sultry, bewitching woman. A siren of indescribable power.

"I fear I would shock even you with my true wicked nature," she said.  

"Wicked, you say?" He cleared his throat, trying to think. It was difficult, seeing as how all the blood had drained from his brain and gone straight to his cock. "Wickedness is my stock in trade. Trust me, nothing you could say would shock me."

Yet he froze when she lifted one palm then another to his chest. Her light touch burned through his waistcoat. "So you would not be shocked if I said … I desire you, Gavin?" Her bottom lip caught beneath her teeth. In a trembling voice, she confessed, "That I'd want to be with you, even without the wager?"

Arousal knifed through him. White-hot, alarming in its intensity. In spite of loyalty to her brother, she wanted to be with him … He forced himself to inhale and exhale. "Not shocked, no." He ran his knuckles softly along her cheek. "Grateful, definitely."

That caused her to grin. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, with a bold feminine desire that washed heat over his insides. He'd been with lusty women before. He'd fucked women who screamed with pleasure and demanded more. But this was different. He'd never felt
desired
as he did now. As if he was more than just a randy beast, an obliging cock. A handful of gold.

As if Percy wanted
him
. Just ... him.

Her hands slipped under his waistcoat, making his heart pound even faster. "Before we go on," she said, "I wish to clarify a few matters. About our bet."

"Yes, buttercup?" he managed.

"I assume you're not willing to forfeit at this point?"

Instantly, suspicion and mistrust mangled inside of him. Instinct whispered in his ear:
Is she trying to manipulate you, use your attraction to her to get what she wants?
Though he told himself Percy was not capable of such underhandedness, his jaw tightened.

"I am not," he said flatly.

"Can you tell me why? It's not only about the money, is it?" Her eyes searched his. "Gavin, I just want to understand ..."

He dragged a hand through his hair. Mayhap trust
was
possible for him after all, for he believed her sincere intentions. A small part of him even considered telling her about the past; the wiser and larger remainder balked at the notion. Her ties to Nicholas Morgan were too strong, her bond to Gavin too tenuous. When it came down to choosing, at this juncture he knew where her loyalties would lie. He would not risk losing her or compromising his well-laid plan for revenge.

"I always collect my debts. That will not change," he said.

I do not know how to make it change.

For a minute, she said nothing. Sudden panic gripped him. Would she walk away? Leave him to his own devices? Anger followed swiftly. Like hell she would. He'd never let her go—

"Well, I'm not going to forfeit either," she said, popping a button free on his waistcoat.

Relief and desire spun his head. "So where does that leave us?" he rasped.

She slid another button free. "At a standstill in the matter of my virginity. However, according to the terms of your truce, there is much else to explore. And I want to." Her tremulous smile curled in his chest. "I want to make the most of the next three nights with you, Gavin—"

He didn't let her finish. He couldn't.

With a growl of pure need, he captured her lips. She tasted of nectar and sunshine, everything he'd ever hungered for. And she yielded her sweetness so readily. Her lips parted, her tongue welcoming him inside her warmth. Nothing in his life had come without a struggle, a price. Yet Percy, who had every reason to distrust him, to despise him, was offering him her luscious self. Did she
know
what a gift that was?

He backed her against one of the poles of the gazebo, his mouth coursing greedily along her neck. With possessive hands, he cupped her breasts, finding the stiff peaks beneath the fabric. "You were made for loving, Percy," he said, "and I'm going to show you just how much."

She gave a little sigh of pleasure. "Like you did the last time?"

"Liked that, did you?"

"Very much so." She smiled up at him shyly. "It felt so wonderful, only ... "

Only?
His brows raised. "You shuddered in my arms when you came for me."

"Oh no, that part was perfect." Even in the moonlight, he could see roses in her cheeks. "It's just that this time ... well, I was wondering ..."

"Yes?"

"If I could ... return the favor?"

Her earnest request blazed heat straight to his groin. His prick throbbed with the unqualified answer, his balls drawing taut.
Holy hell
, could she. But she was a virgin. Even though he was no gentleman, he'd thought to ease her into the business of lovemaking. To make her comfortable with her own response first before introducing her to—

Her hand feathered across his crotch, and all his good intentions vanished.

"Do you want to touch me, sweet?" he said hoarsely.

Her curls wobbled as she nodded.

Praise God.
With hands that shook slightly, he undid the fasteners of his trousers and shoved the layers of fabric past his hips. His cock sprang free, the shaft thick and upright, the flared crown brushing his abdomen. Below the jutting instrument, his stones hung heavy and swollen with seed. He watched her intently, wondering what his little miss thought of his rampant erection.

"Oh." Her eyes were wide and curious. "It's, um, rather
forthright
, isn't it?"

Beneath her scrutiny, the randy monster swelled further.

"It gets that way around you, sweetheart," he said wryly.

Despite the desire straining every muscle, he forced himself to wait. To let her decide what she wished to do. When she gently curled her hand around him, his breath hissed between his teeth. The sight of her delicate, satin-covered fingers petting the dark, rearing beast was beyond erotic. She explored him with a torturously light touch, the pressure nowhere near enough, and yet pleasure shot to his toes, hotter than anything he'd experienced before. 

"How am I doing?" She sounded as breathless as he felt.

He answered her with a ravenous kiss. "You, my sweet Persephone, are heaven and hell," he whispered against her lips.

Her forefinger dipped against his cock slit, rubbing gently and sending another blast of heat through his veins. "Heaven and hell?" she said. "What does that mean?"

"Let me show you." He drew up her skirts, nudging her thighs open with his own. He found her pussy through her drawers and groaned at the dampness of her flesh. "You're drenched for me already. Does it excite you, touching my cock?"

Biting her lip, she nodded. Her grip on his pulsing rod tightened.

The admission filled him with heady triumph. "That pleases me," he said. "It makes me big and hard and yearn to be inside this sweet part of you." He slid his middle finger down her lush slit, finding her opening. He pushed upward and her virginal muscles gave a little, clamping onto the very tip of his finger. By God, she was tight. His lungs worked harshly as he strove to hold onto his self-control. "I want to bury my cock inside. I want to be as deep inside you as possible ... and I can't. That is hell."

"Gavin," she whimpered.

The sound of her voice saying his name burned through his blood like an aphrodisiac. Whether or not she was aware, she'd begun to squeeze his shaft more tightly, pumping him in the instinctual motion. 

"Good girl, you know just how to frig me, don't you?" Her lashes gave a sultry sweep at his guttural praise. Simultaneously, he penetrated her quim more deeply. "This is how we're going to find heaven together. What feels good to you feels good for me. When you hold my cock so sweetly, it tells me what you want, doesn't it?"

He saw understanding enter her expressive eyes. The next instant, her satiny fingers began to slide harder, faster against his turgid stalk.

"More," she sighed, devastating him. "I want more."

He drove his finger home, swallowing her cry as he did so. He fucked her slowly at first, then quickened the rhythm as her pussy softened, wept into his palm. He gave her another finger, and she took him eagerly, her plush heat whirling his senses, her grip wild and passionate upon his prick. He pumped himself into her soft hands, her exquisite sex, half-mad with the intensity of his lust. His longing. Pressure mounted in his stones, and he knew he couldn't hold back much longer.

He found the center of her pleasure with his thumb. Her response was instant, her sheath pulsing around his plunging digits, her hips angling to take him deeper.