Nicole Jordan (14 page)

But then he deliberately took control from her. He reached out to cup her breasts, the heat from his palms searing her skin. Her nipples changed in a rush, answering the caress of his hands.

When she would have pulled back, his fingers tightened on the stiff crests, sending shocking waves of sensation rippling through her. Her resolve weakening, she shut her eyes and let him have his way.

His touch was magical as he continued to stroke and squeeze her throbbing breasts, arousing her with controlled expertise, obviously skilled in the art of prolonging pleasure. Then drawing her forward, he bit her nipple with his teeth, hurting her and yet not hurting her.

With a moan, Raven arched against his mouth, offering herself to him. As if he knew what she needed, he sucked her nipple, his tongue lightly flicking the turgid peak. Then without breaking contact, he reached down and slipped his hand between her thighs to touch the swollen dampness there. She was slick with her own desire, Raven realized as his touch dredged a whimper from deep in her throat.

She almost came off the bed when slowly he slid two fingers inside her, penetrating her heated tightness. Her thighs closed reflexively around his hand, and she squirmed restlessly, remembering how he had done precisely this last night. But this time she was totally aware of the man who was giving her such pleasure.

In a slow, tantalizing rhythm, his deft fingers withdrew and penetrated again. Breathless, she clutched at his shoulders, incapable of defense against the explosive sensation centering in the shimmering core of her body. His thumb found the dewy bud of her sex then, stroking, teasing, while his fingers continued gently thrusting, urging her closer and closer toward the edge of an orgasmic precipice.

The sensual pressure built relentlessly until her hips writhed, until she thought she could bear no more.

“Now, vixen,” he commanded, his dark eyes glittering in the firelight.

She needed no further encouragement. Almost blind with need, she straddled his hips, instinctively trying to avoid putting pressure on his wound.

His palms shaped the backs of her thighs, lifting her up, positioning her where he wanted her, the searing tip of his shaft poised at the very heart of her.

Fierce, urgent longing gathered in the pit of her belly. She held her breath as he gripped his hard shaft and very gently eased its silken head into her quivering flesh, growing rigid when he lowered her slowly onto him, guiding her.

She gasped at the alien feel of him, at his fullness stretching her, and gave a soft cry at the moment of sharp pain. Instantly he stilled, waiting for her to become accustomed to the penetration of his rigid flesh.

“Steady,” he murmured, moving one hand to gently stroke the base of her spine while his lips pressed light, soothing kisses over her face. “Try to relax.”

She was panting softly, but he held her still, letting her accept his invasion. And in a short while the pain began to fade.

“Better?” he asked softly, as if reading her expression.

She nodded, staring into eyes that seemed to scorch her with searing heat. Those burning eyes were so much like her pirate’s, and yet her imaginary lover had never made her feel this particular way…stunned, breathless, overwhelmed by sensation…as if she might erupt in flames at any moment.

Reaching down between their bodies, he cupped her soft triangle of curls and resumed his delicate tormenting, caressing that wonderful point of pleasure with his circling thumb.

She couldn’t fight the growing rapture; she could only cling to him, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Holding her hips steady, he pressed upward with his rampant length, urging her thighs wider to take more of him. And then he kissed her, his tongue plunging deep while his tumescence seemed to swell inside her, filling her to near bursting.

This is what I have been missing, she thought, dazed.This incredible intimacy, this joining, this merging with a passionate man made of real flesh and bone . A magnificent lover she could feel and taste and smell. His very heat ignited fiery sparks in her blood….

The primal force of it excited her beyond anything she’d ever known. The fierceness rising in her made her arch and mold to him, as if she could make him part of herself.

Gritting his teeth, visibly striving for control, he thrust upward one last time. The sensual fury that seized Raven was so intense, she shuddered and cried out, shaking in spasms of ecstasy.

Beneath her his body clenched as he was caught in the wild delirium. At the last instant, though, he lifted her up urgently so they were no longer joined. His seed spurted explosively onto her belly, while contractions continued to convulse his lower body.

Her flesh continued to pulse sweetly long after the moment of climax. Raven was dimly aware that she had fallen limply against him, her face buried in his throat. But it took longer for her to realize why he had withdrawn from her. He hadn’t wanted to get her with child.

A strange twinge of sadness pierced her, before common sense caught up with her. She wouldn’t want a child, not if it meant bringing one into the world with an uncaring father.

There had been no chance for her to discuss the matter of children with Kell, Raven reflected. Indeed, she’d been so overwhelmed by the disastrous change in her future that the issue hadn’t even occurred to her until just now. But she doubted the man she had just married would want to be a father to her child. He didn’t even want to be her husband.

Nor, after tonight, her lover.

He was lying still beneath her, his heart thudding against her breast, each beat slow and heavy. Eventually she felt him stir, felt his fingers brush a tress back from her forehead.

“Tell me, does that compare to your fantasy?”

She was startled by his question, spoken in a low husky voice. She was more unnerved to realize her answer. The passion she’d felt a moment ago was more intense, more powerful, than anything she’d experienced during her most erotic sexual fantasies with her imaginary lover. Kell had driven her to a place of wild abandonment, pushing her headlong off the dizzying cliff of desire and need.

Deploring what he had made her feel, she eased off him and onto her side, wincing at the raw ache between her thighs. “I believe I prefer my fantasy,” she prevaricated, avoiding his penetrating gaze. “Illusion is less painful.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No…not really. At least no more than I expected.”

“Your next time won’t be as painful.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

When she reached down to draw a sheet up to cover her nudity, he stayed her. “Wait a moment.”

He rose from the bed and went to the washstand, returning with a basin and cloth. To Raven’s keen embarrassment, he tugged the sheet from her grasp and used the cloth to clean away the evidence of his seed and her virginity, first from her body and then his own.

His tenderness was at odds with his dark expression, yet other flashes of memory assailed her—of him soothing her the previous night during her drugged fever, of him gratifying her desperate carnal need again and again. The reminder of his searing sensuality set a new throbbing ache pulsing between her thighs.

She was glad when he was done. He allowed her to pull the covers up as he disposed of the basin and turned down the lamp. The red-gold glow of firelight was the only illumination when he returned to bed.

Raven stole an unwilling glance at Kell. He wasn’t her pirate lover, no matter how intimately his dark eyes reminded her of her fantasies, how devastatingly sexy his mouth was, how vulnerable he made her feel.

And the longing he stirred in her was a graver threat than even the scandal she faced. She’d hoped to salvage a shred of reputation from this disaster by wedding him, but it would all be for naught if she fell prey to the madness of desire.

He didn’t look at her as he joined her. Instead he lay back, lacing his hands behind his head, staring thoughtfully up at the brocade canopy.

“You honestly intend to embrace a life of celibacy?” he asked after a moment.

“Yes. Why do you find that so surprising?”

“Because no matter how vivid your imagination or erotic your reading material, it can’t compare to real passion. I’ll wager you will eventually come to regret what you’re missing.”

“I doubt it. My fantasies will be enough.”

He turned his head on the pillow to appraise her. “You realize, of course, that there is such a thing as passion without love?”

“Perhaps, but I don’t intend to take the risk. I won’t take a real lover.”

His mouth curled at one corner. “I suppose that as your husband, I should be gratified. I wouldn’t relish being cuckolded.”

“You needn’t worry on that score.”

“But you don’t expect your proscription against taking lovers to apply to me?”

“No. I have said so more than once.”

Hearing the sincerity in her voice, Kell felt an unaccountable stab of resentment at her tolerant attitude, especially since he couldn’t reciprocate. He couldn’t feel at all tolerant about her making love to other men.

His brows narrowed in a frown. There was a reasonable explanation for his proprietary feelings toward Raven: it was no more than pure primal instinct. By taking her body, by being the first to claim her, he’d created an intimate bond between them as old as the laws of procreation—the primitive animal hunger of a healthy male for a ready female, the exultation of the conqueror. It was only natural that he would feel a certain possessiveness toward his beautiful new wife.

Scoffing at himself, Kell abruptly changed the subject. “We should establish some other rules for our relationship,” he said brusquely. “I have a house in London. You may use it as it suits you, but eventually you will want to find one of your own.”

Her blue eyes searched his. “You don’t mind if I live with you?”

“Whether or not I mind, we will have to reside together for a time if we want to keep up the pretense of a love match. Afterward we can go our separate ways. I will take you there tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?”

She turned over, giving him her back, her hair a curtain of tousled silk that flowed to the pillows.

It was a long while before Kell heard her breathing soften into a low and even rhythm, longer still before he could relax the tension in his own body.

Despite his exhaustion, however, sleep eluded him, for his thoughts kept returning to their consummation. What should have been a perfunctory coupling had turned far hotter than he’d anticipated—and it had dismayed the hell out of him. Raven was so exquisitely responsive, so startlingly vibrant that he’d wanted to bury himself endlessly in her.

He’d fought his desire. It had taken every ounce of control he possessed to resist her wild sweetness and withdraw from her. That brief, explosive encounter hadn’t been enough to sate him, either. He could still feel the lushness of her slim body moving against him, the hot, soft tightness of her virginal passage as he sheathed himself inside her, the way she fit perfectly in his arms.

The savage rush of hunger that memory inspired made Kell curse.

Unable to help himself, he reached out and caught a stray lock of her silken hair, letting it drift through his fingers.

Raven Kendrick…no, she was Mrs. Kell Lasseter now, his wife. And she was an enigma. A vixen whose spirit and sensuality concealed a deep wariness. If she could be believed, she feared any man whose touch could arouse her passion.

He feared her as well. He’d been shaken by the experience of making love to her. Shaken by her mouth, her touch, her scent. By his own need.

She was a supremely dangerous temptation.

He had no difficulty understanding how she had attracted so many ardent suitors. He could fall for her without much effort—

God, what a disaster that would be!

He would have enough trouble dealing with the aftermath of their sudden marriage. He dreaded having to tell his brother that he’d wed the very woman Sean had once professed to love. And given Raven’s reputation for breaking hearts, his brother’s included, he would be a fool to allow her any further chance to get under his skin.

In that regard, he regretted having to offer her the use of his London house. The last thing he wanted was to be forced to share his home with Raven, where he would be enticed and tormented by her nearness.

Thankfully they needn’t be together often, or in any intimate way. They could ignore each other for the most part. And he could take refuge in his gaming club much of the time.

Turning over, Kell forced himself to close his eyes. Tomorrow he would deliver Raven to his town house, and then he would be done with his duty. Afterward he should be able to dismiss her from his thoughts and focus on his brother. His chief priority would be determining what to do with Sean, Kell reflected grimly.

It only remained for him to crush his unruly feelings for Raven before they grew into something he could no longer control.

Chapter

Eight

Raven found herself alone when she woke the following morning, much to her relief. She was glad she didn’t have to face her new husband. It was difficult enough to ignore the memories of his exquisite lovemaking.

The twinging ache between her thighs and the tenderness of her nipples brought to mind all too vividly images she would rather forget—of Kell’s burning lips and magical hands and hard, muscular body. Experiencing his passion had far exceeded her expectations and made her long for the familiar safety of her fantasy lover.

Kell had already breakfasted and ordered the horses made ready, she learned when she came downstairs, so she hurriedly swallowed a few bites and joined him at the carriage.

The brief, dismissive glance he gave her set the tone for their relationship and Raven’s mood. Their marriage was to be merely one of convenience, she had to remember. They might be husband and wife, but they would not share confidences or friendship or passion. Evidently Kell intended to begin as they would go on, with a distant civility—which suited Raven perfectly, even if the notion was unaccountably depressing.