Kathryn Smith (29 page)

“No,” Rachel whispered. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Closing her eyes, Rachel lost herself in the touch of his hands on her bare skin. Her knees straddled his hips and the velvet of his dressing gown caressed the sensitive flesh inside her knees. The hair on his legs tickled the back of her thighs, and all the while, his fingers stroked her hips and thighs, coming close to that eager place between her thighs, but never quite touching it.

Slowly, his hands slid up, following the curve of her hip to the indent of her waist and out again to the swell of her ribs. Underneath the fine lawn of her nightgown, Brave’s thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts. Her nipples tingled and tightened in response. Her breathing quickened.

He knew exactly how to touch her. It was as though her
body and his hands had been made for each other. Every touch only served to heighten her awareness of him, to make her want him more.

His hands cupped her breasts. Rachel drew a shaky breath as his thumbs grazed the hardened peaks with a touch as gentle as the brush of a butterfly’s wings. It was just enough to tease her, to sharpen the ache, but not nearly enough to content her.

“Untie your robe.” His voice was low and deliciously hoarse. The command sent a thrill of desire through Rachel’s heavy limbs. How she managed to lift her hands, she didn’t know, but suddenly they were there, her fingers fumbling with the bows that held her wrapper closed as Brave’s fingers expertly coaxed her nipples into exquisitely painful arousal.

The wrapper fell open and Rachel knew the thin material of her nightgown hid very little from his hungry gaze. His hands came out from underneath the froth of linen and went to the gown’s neckline. With one tug he pulled it down enough to expose both breasts. He pushed them up so that the stretched neck cupped them, offering them up like some kind of exotic delicacy for him alone.

Rachel couldn’t help but watch as he lowered his head to first one then the other. The tip of his tongue flicked one swollen nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure from her breast straight to the juncture of her thighs. Her body throbbed in response.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pressing his head against her as he licked and suckled her breasts. His tongue swirled and flicked around her sensitive flesh until her hips arched and she moaned aloud.

Suddenly, she was yanked upright so that she sat straddling his lap. Her wrapper slid off her arms as Rachel’s head swam with dizziness. “What are you doing?” she demanded when he pulled the nightgown up over her head and tossed it
to the side. She was the one who was supposed to be in charge!

He only smiled and smoothed the hair back from her face.

She was naked. Completely bare, and something hard and velvety was pressed very intimately between her legs. Instinctively, Rachel spread her thighs wide, lowering her weight onto that delicious pressure.

Brave gasped and grabbed her by the arms. His hips lifted against hers, pressing his hardness flush against her. Heat and longing coursed through her and she reached out blindly for something to hold on to, seizing the soft lapels of his robe.

He kissed her, his lips demanding as they moved on hers. Willingly, wantonly, Rachel opened her mouth to his, sighing when he slid his tongue against hers. Nothing else existed outside of this moment. The touch and taste of their bodies was the only thing that mattered. Nothing had ever felt so right to her in her life. She’d never wanted anything so badly.

Her tongue swept against his. He tasted of wine and something that was inherently Brave, something hot and sweet. Her hands traced the line of his lapels, down to the ties that held his robe closed. With surprising deftness, she released the knot and lifted her hands to push the heavy fabric off his shoulders so that he was left as gloriously bare as she.

His flesh was warm and taut beneath her hands. The knobby bones of his shoulders were hard against her palms, and the smooth planes of his back flexed as he slid his hands to cup her buttocks. Rachel gasped against his lips as his fingers kneaded her sensitive flesh.

The hair on his chest rubbed along her torso, teasing her nipples and abrading the delicate skin of her breasts. She pressed against it, reveling in every sensation. The head of his sex pushed against her, hot and insistent.

Reality stepped in.

For one brief moment Rachel panicked. “Brave—”

“Ssh.” He silenced her with a kiss. “It’s all right. I’ll take care of you.”

And she knew he would.

He slid a hand between their bodies, easing a finger into the damp cleft between her legs. His thumb brushed her most sensitive spot. A shudder wracked her and she clung to him, biting her lip to keep from crying out.

“You like that, don’t you?” His breath was hot against her lips as he teased her most sensitive spot with his thumb. She pressed down with her hips, increasing the pressure, spreading herself farther for his hand.

Groaning, he slid a finger inside her. “Trust me,” he murmured, his finger sliding in and out of her while his thumb caressed that sweetly tight bud with maddeningly controlled strokes. “I would never do anything to hurt you, Rachel. I promise.”

And she believed him, believed him as wholly and as powerfully as she needed him inside her. The rhythm of his thumb increased, stoking the fire within her until she thought it might consume her.

And then his hand was gone, and she was left wanting with dampness on her thighs and her body humming with tension. Crying out at the injustice of being brought so close, Rachel opened her eyes and met his black gaze.

“I want to be inside you,” he told her, and her entire body clenched as if he already were plunging within her.

“I want you inside me.” Something wild and primitive within her didn’t care what happened after this night, didn’t care what the consequences were, just wanted release. Now.

The head of his sex probed the entrance to her body. It was big and blunt, but she was too far gone to be afraid of it. In fact, it took every ounce of her control not to just impale herself on it.

“Go slowly,” he cautioned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Rachel could scarce believe this was happening as she began lowering her body by agonizingly slow degrees. The head penetrated her. There was a twinge of sharp discomfort and Rachel stilled, waiting for it to pass, fearful that it wouldn’t.

As if sensing her discomfort, Brave cupped one of her breasts, raising it to his mouth. Gently, he grazed the nipple with his teeth, sucking it until the incredible sensations caused by his mouth began to overpower everything else.

His hand was between them again, his thumb finding the center of her pleasure effortlessly, teasing the nub into full arousal with one stroke.

With such promise driving her toward fulfillment, Rachel lowered herself farther onto Brave’s shaft, feeling herself stretch to accommodate him. It burned a bit, but the burning mingled with the insatiable ache, creating the most intense sensation of pleasure/pain she’d ever experienced. She threw herself against it, opened her body to it, until sweat beaded on her brow and blackness swamped the edges of her mind.

Brave’s hips rose to meet hers. His mouth had left her breast and his head rested back against his shoulders, his expression one of such intent concentration that Rachel quickened her movements, wanting to break it, wanting to watch as he lost himself as completely as she was about to.

The tension mounted, shaking her as a storm flails against a tree. Rachel gave in to the tempest, thrusting her body against Brave’s hand, shoving herself down onto him until the burning became a fire and her body exploded into a cascade of sparks.

It raged through her, tightening her muscles as she wrapped her arms around Brave’s neck and screamed against his flesh, half pleading for it to stop and half begging for it to go on forever.

A ragged cry tore from Brave’s lips as his hips lifted in a powerful thrust. Holding her tightly by the waist, he plunged
deep within her, filling her with warmth as his own release shook his body.

Weak and exhausted, Rachel clung to him. The room was quiet save for the heavy sound of their breathing and the crackling of the fire. Rachel didn’t mind the silence. She was his now. And he was hers. What more could there possibly be to say?

H
e’d just taken his wife’s virginity on her bedroom floor.

And instead of being upset about it as he assumed most virgins would be, Rachel was draped bonelessly against him, her arms hanging limply over his shoulders, her head nestled in the hollow of his neck.

“You all right?”

Her hair brushed his jaw as she nodded. He felt her hum “Mmm” against his flesh.

Brave couldn’t help but chuckle. His little seductress was exhausted—not to mention well on her way to becoming thoroughly foxed.

Gingerly, he withdrew his body from hers. She mumbled in protest as he did so and wrapped her arms even tighter about his shoulders, as though she was afraid he would leave her completely.

The gesture touched Brave. She could cling to him all she
wanted. He wasn’t going anywhere. There was no place he’d rather be.

He maneuvered her so that he could scoop her up into his arms as he rose to his feet. His knees screamed in protest as they unbent, stiff from having been locked in one position for so long.

“Where are we going?” Rachel asked in a sleepy voice.

“You’ll see.”

He carried her into the dressing room, where the bath he’d taken before coming to her awaited by the dying fire. The water was still warm as he stepped in. Kneeling, he lowered both of them into the water, positioning them so that Rachel reclined lengthwise in the bath while he knelt between her legs.

“This feels very familiar,” she purred, flipping her hair over the side. A spray of water flew up into Brave’s face from the wet strands as she did so.

Chuckling, Brave wiped the water from his cheek and reached for the bar of soap on the side of the tub.

“I like it when you smile,” Rachel remarked, her gaze lazy.

Brave’s heart swelled painfully. “You make me want to smile.” Lathering a cloth with the soap, he leaned toward her.

“What are you doing?”

He set the soap aside and ran the cloth along the top of her breasts. God, she had incredible breasts!

“Washing you.” He brushed the cloth across one pale pink—not rose but a soft petal-pink—nipple.

“Why? I’m not dirty.”

Staring at the delicate bud that puckered and hardened at his attentions, Brave smiled. “I want to.”

Transferring the washcloth to his other hand, he ran the pad of his thumb across the tip of her breast, feeling his own flesh tighten in response when Rachel moaned.

She was so responsive, as though her body had been specifically designed for his touch. Reaching below the surface of the
water, he pressed the cloth against the juncture of her thighs.

“Are you sore?” The last thing he wanted was to hurt her, but he knew that was often inevitable the first time.

Her gaze met his, heavy and bold from the wine she’d drunk. “Some spots are tender,” she replied. “Others aren’t.”

Brave jumped as her fingers closed around the hardening length of his erection. “You’re very bold, Lady Braven,” he teased, pushing his hips against her hand.

She stroked him, instinctively knowing just how to drive him mad with desire. “I know. Do you not like it?”

Washcloth forgotten, Brave used his fingers to part the delicate flesh between her legs. Bracing the other arm against the rim of the tub, he angled himself over her, finding the hardness he sought within her.

“I love it.” Gritting his teeth against the heavy pressure building between his legs, he flicked his fingers against her, rapidly bringing her to a keening climax.

The sound of her cries were almost his undoing. Jerking free of her hand, he jumped to his feet, sloshing water over the side of the tub and almost losing his balance. He climbed out of the tub, grateful for the chill that hit his wet skin.

“Where are you going?” Rachel demanded, resting her chin on her forearms on the rim of the tub. Obviously, her second orgasm had revived her somewhat.

Brave hauled her to her feet. More water sloshed onto the floor as he swept her, squealing, up into his arms.

“We’re going to bed,” He informed her as he carried her, dripping bathwater, into his bedroom. “This time I’m going to make love to you properly.”

And he did. Slowly, tenderly, Brave entered her, bracing his palms on either side of her head so that he could watch her face as he filled her. He swore he would stop at the first sign of discomfort, but he saw none. Nothing but sensation and pleasure flickered across her delicate features.

He made it last as long as he could, until his arms trem
bled with the strain and Rachel begged him to give her the release she wanted—until he couldn’t hold out any longer. And then he quickened the pace, bringing them both to a shattering climax that rendered him incapable of thought and made colors dance before his eyes.

Afterward, he held her against him, breathing in the scent of her hair as sleep started its mellow assault on his senses.

“Why did you come to me tonight?” he asked, brushing his lips across the velvety softness of her cheek. “What made you do it?”

It shouldn’t matter, he knew, but he wanted to hear. He wanted her to tell him that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, that she was as powerless against him as he was against her.

“Wanted to,” was her sleepy reply as she snuggled against his chest.

Smiling, Brave wrapped his arms around her.
Wanted to.
That was probably the best answer he was going to get out of her that night.

Darkness closed in on him. Yawning, he tucked her bottom into his groin and pressed his chest against her back.

“Wanted to…thank you.”

His eyes opened, his whole body became very still. She’d wanted to thank him? Is that why she’d let him make love to her?

“For what?” It was hard to speak with the icy band that tightened around his chest.

Rachel sighed, burrowing further under the blankets. “For today…for Sir Henry.”

He’d been trying to get drunk for two days.

Sitting in his study, with the door locked against the outside world, Brave nursed a bottle of brandy. He’d given up on using a glass the day before. Getting foxed wasn’t as easy as
he remembered. No matter how much he drank he couldn’t seem to reach that mind-numbing blankness that made thought impossible.

On the contrary, the more he drank the more he seemed to think about things, specifically Rachel. He thought about her face, her voice…

The fact that she thanked him for kicking Sir Henry out of his house by giving him her sweet, tight body. He thought about that a lot. It had a decidedly sobering effect that made him wish he could stop thinking about it, especially since her “thank-you fuck” was the one thing he was drinking to forget.

Raising the bottle to his lips, Brave drained the last few swallows of brandy from it.

Now what? All his liquor was gone, and short of ringing for Reynolds to bring more, there was nothing he could do but face sobriety like a man.

Damn it.

Something tapped against the window closest him. Closing his eyes, Brave sighed in frustration. They’d given up knocking on the study door the previous evening. His mother, Rachel, Reynolds…all of them had professed to be terribly worried about him. Bollocks. They just couldn’t stand not knowing what he was doing.

When they realized he wasn’t going to answer the door, they tried other inventive ways to get his attention. It was a sad state of affairs when a man couldn’t get drunk in his own house without his butler trying to sneak in through the secret passage in the wall.

Brave had to put all his weight against the panel to keep the little bugger from getting in, too.

Now, turning his head toward the window and the over-cast morning outside, he saw his wife’s face pressed up against the glass.

He should just shut the drapes, he thought as he reluc
tantly rose to his feet. The world tilted and swayed a bit before falling back into place. He was a little drunker than he thought. Excellent. He staggered toward her.

Rachel’s expression was one of disappointment and concern. The concern didn’t bother him; he rather liked it. It was the disappointment that rubbed. He didn’t like knowing he’d disappointed her. But she had disappointed him too, damn it!

He was tempted to run up to the glass and press his mouth wide against it and blow—puffing his face up like something out of a traveling sideshow. That would teach her to come knocking on windows.

Flicking the latch, he pushed the window open. She had to jump back to avoid being hit by it.

“What?”

Her pert little nose wrinkled as she took in his appearance. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Spreading his arms wide, he revealed the full glory of his sweat-and brandy-stained shirt. “As you can see, I’m fine.”

She pressed a gloved hand over her mouth and nose. “You stink.”

Perversely, Brave leaned out the window, letting the chilly breeze carry the full extent of his aroma to her offended sensibilities. “When one doesn’t bathe and wears the same clothing for two days, one tends to become somewhat fragrant. Does it disgust you?”

She lowered her hand, and, closing her eyes as though for strength, Rachel drew a deep breath. Brave smiled when she shuddered.

“Nothing you could do would disgust me, Brave.”

“What if I pulled you over the sill and took you right here where anyone could see?”

Her eyes flew open, and he laughed out loud at the shock on her face. She scowled at him.

“You’re drunk.”

Sadly, he shook his head. “Not as much as I’d like to be, I assure you.”

Another breath. Another shudder. “I can’t help but feel responsible—”

“Of course you can’t,” he cut in.

Rachel scowled again, this time so deeply her eyebrows merged into one blond “M.” “Can you deny that
this
”—she gestured up and down the length of him with an expression of dismay—“has nothing to do with the fact that you haven’t spoken to me since we made love?”

“Purely a coincidence,” he lied.

Her expression softened. Oh, he hated it when she looked at him like that. It usually meant she was going to say something that would make him want to hold her and tell her everything was all right.

“Then you’re not feeling guilty?”

Guilty? He wasn’t the one who had anything to feel guilty about!

“No. I’m not.” He leaned closer. “How ’bout you?”

She pulled back as his breath hit her. “Well, I do have to wonder if I’ve done something wrong.”

There it was. He knew she’d say something to tug at his heartstrings. How could he tell her she’d done everything right? Too right. That was why her thanking him had hit so hard. He hadn’t expected it. He’d foolishly believed she’d just wanted to be with him.

“You mean you don’t know?”

She paled. And Brave silently cursed himself. He hadn’t meant for it to come out like that.

“I see,” she replied, her tone as cold as the breeze that raised gooseflesh on Brave’s arms. “Obviously, I’ve intruded where I’m not wanted.”

He met her gaze as evenly as his swimming vision would allow. “Obviously. Now, if you will excuse me, I’d like to get
back to my drinking and stinking.” He reached past her for the handle. The movement shoved his armpit practically into her face. If possible, she turned even whiter.

Backing away, her eyes watering, Rachel looked at him. “What is
wrong
with you?”

Brave shook his head. If she didn’t know, he was in no shape to try to tell her. Let her figure it out on her own, the heartless wench. How could she not know? Unless she didn’t remember, in which case he wasn’t so certain now was the time to remind her.

He closed the window before she could say anything else. It was rude he knew, but if he talked to her any longer he was liable to make a fool—an even bigger fool—of himself again, and that was something he just didn’t care to do.

She watched him through the glass, and when he could bear the sad expression on her face no longer, he closed the curtains, blocking out the daylight and the sunshine that was Rachel.

Unsteadily, he made his way to the commode in the corner and removed the chamber pot from inside it. To his surprise, there was another bottle of brandy in there as well. The dust on it implied that it had been in there for some time. Why hadn’t he noticed it before?

After relieving himself, Brave and the bottle sauntered over to the chaise lounge underneath the Ingres on the far wall. Gabriel and Julian had written, announcing they would be arriving sometime that day, and so Brave reclined like a pasha awaiting his harem and drank, waiting for his friends to arrive and see how married life agreed with him.

Don’t you know?

She knew it was dangerous for her to leave the house alone, but she needed to talk to someone. As the carriage bumped and rolled up the lane to Belinda’s house, Rachel
pondered Brave’s cryptic remark for what must have been the tenth time since he uttered it not even half an hour earlier.

What did he mean, didn’t she know? Surely she would know if she’d done something to offend him. And since she didn’t know, why didn’t he just tell her? He was hardly in the right frame of mind to discuss anything just then, but why hadn’t he told her when she committed whatever offense he found her guilty of?

Had she done something wrong when they were making love? She was no expert on these things, but everything
felt
as she thought it should—better even. Good enough to make her blush with the memory of it.

Was that it? Had things gone too well? Had she not acted as a virgin should? Brave had said he never made love to a virgin before. Had her wantonness led him to believe that she wasn’t actually pure? Did he now lump her into the same category as Miranda?

No, that was unlikely, she thought bitterly. He’d loved Miranda.

It was unfair, she knew, to compare herself to the woman Brave had once loved and lost. Unfair, because Brave had never offered her love. In fact, he’d made it very clear that he wasn’t interested in the emotion at all. And it was unfair in more ways than one because Rachel actually loved Brave—something Miranda hadn’t had the good sense to do as well.