Pursuing Lord Pascal (14 page)

This close, she caught his delicious scent.
Clean male with a hint of healthy sweat. Lemon soap. Horses.
Leather. Wilfred had smelled like an old man—an old, sick man
toward the end. Gervaise smelled like a vital male in his
prime.

Amy surrendered to wanton impulse and leaned
into him, breathing deeply. She pressed her lips to his chest,
tasting the salt on his skin. The tickle of his hair against her
face reminded her that this was no fairytale, but a deeply carnal
encounter.

Suddenly it felt like they had all the time
in the world. He held her hips, but seemed content to let her
continue to take the lead, despite her inexperience. Languorously,
she stroked his chest, then unbuttoned his blue silk waistcoat. Her
fingers remained steady and sure as they slid the waistcoat off his
shoulders.

Gervaise reached for her, but she stepped out
of reach. “Let me do this.”

“You’re driving me mad,” he groaned. Standing
before her in his loose white shirt and fawn breeches, he looked
disheveled and gorgeous.

“Good. I want you so much.”

His smile was wry. “Not as much as I want
you.”

When she glanced up at his face, stern and
beautiful as a Donatello carving, she almost believed him. “I’ve
been plotting to get you to myself since I was fourteen.”

“If only I’d known.”

She didn’t waste time on regrets. They’d met
again at the right time. He wrenched his shirt over his head and
hurled it into the corner.

The superb view made the breath snag in her
throat. “Dear God, you’re magnificent.”

“Amy…” he began, but when she raised her
hands to release her hair, whatever he meant to say was lost as he
watched her draw the pins free. At the sight of her hair tumbling
about her shoulders, his eyes flared with hunger.

She stepped forward and twined her arms
around his neck. She could hardly bear to go even an instant
without touching him. “Kiss me.”

Luscious, dark, succulent cooperation left
her head swimming and her knees weak. Slowly he lifted away, as she
struggled to remain upright on legs that threatened to fold beneath
her.

“My turn?” he murmured.

Reluctantly she opened her eyes. His taste
lingered on her lips. “Not yet.”

He bit back another groan and buried his
hands in her hair. “Have pity.”

“Oh, no.” Amy ran her hands over his skin
again. It was such a luxury, touching him like this. The firm
chest, the wide shoulders, the powerful back. At his sides, his
fists opened and closed, and by the time she scored her nails
across his nipples, he was shaking.

Who would have thought she could make this
sophisticated man shake?

Power surged higher. Daringly she released
the buttons on his breeches. The intriguing bulge inside them
beckoned. With trembling hands, she revealed his hardness.

At first sight of him, a gasp escaped her.
Gervaise’s virility awed her, and the nerves that she hoped she’d
conquered jumped up to snatch away her confidence.

She’d reached to touch him, but galloping
uncertainty made her pause. Before she could withdraw, he caught
her hand and pressed it against him. Every drop of moisture
evaporated from her mouth, as she held his heat and power.

“Like this,” he murmured, shaping her hand
around him. He jerked under her tentative caress, and she
instinctively tightened her grip. A low growl of masculine pleasure
was her reward.

It turned out her confidence hadn’t fled
after all. His response did wonders for her self-assurance. With
voluptuous pleasure in what she did, Amy began to stroke him.

As he grew larger under her brazen caress,
she watched his face. His eyes were half-closed, and a hectic flush
marked those slashing cheekbones. A frown drew his eyebrows
together, as if what she did tested the outer reaches of his
limits.

When she squeezed, he opened his eyes fully.
The dilated pupils took over most of the blue and betrayed his
excitement. “Let me touch you,” he grated out, his usually
melodious baritone as rough as gravel.

“Yes,” she whispered, swaying forward. She’d
reached a point where she didn’t want to tease anymore. She just
wanted Gervaise. “Touch me.”

“Amy…” he groaned and caught her hand,
crushing it against him for one last breathtaking moment. He hauled
her into a kiss so urgent, it left her gasping.

Remaining still under Amy’s touch pushed
Pascal until he teetered on the edge. What a glorious surprise she
turned out to be. He’d expected to need to coax her into revealing
her sensuality. Long ago, he’d realized that for a widow, she was
close to innocent.

So when she’d tugged off his neck cloth and
kissed his bare chest, his heart slammed to an astounded stop. Then
he’d stood trembling as with unashamed enjoyment, she touched him.
Finally she’d laid her hand on his cock, and the pleasure
threatened to immolate him.

All impulse to prolong the preliminaries into
the evening vanished. He’d never wanted a woman as much as he
wanted Amy Mowbray. Now, praise God, he was going to have her.

He drew out of that blazing kiss and stepped
away to sit on the bed. Clumsy with urgency, he yanked off his
boots and flung them aside. Then he stood and directed his
attention to unwrapping this incomparable gift fate had given him.
Quickly he unlaced the pretty rose-pink dress and let it fall to
the floor. Her filmy undergarments soon followed.

When at last she was naked, he released the
breath he felt he’d held all day. She’d led him such a chase, he’d
never been sure of her. Even when he’d carried her upstairs. But
her melting expression now told him she cast aside reluctance and
offered him everything.

The compulsion to rush to the end while she
was here and she was his set his blood alight, but he made himself
linger to admire her. “You’re temptation personified.”

Her body was lithe and graceful, more
athletic than he’d imagined in those feverish nights when he’d lain
awake wanting her. Full, high breasts. Rich, female curves. Long
legs.

Nervously Amy raised one hand to cover the
brown curls below her pale stomach. The other hand hovered above
her beaded pink nipples.

“I’ve…I’ve never been naked with a man
before,” she admitted in a cracked voice. “Wilfred came to me in
darkness, and we always kept our clothes on.”

How much she had to discover. How much he had
to show her. “There’s no need to be shy. You’re glorious.”

Despite her pink cheeks, she tilted her chin
and subjected his body to a thorough inspection. Heat sizzled
through him, and his balls tightened in anticipation.

“I want to please you.”

“You do.” He ran his hand down her arm,
delighting in her silky skin, and laced his fingers with hers. “You
will.”

Her fingers twined around his with a swift
trust that made his heart somersault. Pascal leaned in and placed
his lips on hers, leashing his ravenous passion.

She responded with the sweetness so essential
to her nature. Under his gentle exploration, she sighed, and the
tension gradually seeped from her body. Taking exquisite care, he
began to touch her, finding the places that made her tremble. His
hands learned the line of her back, the dip of her waist, the flare
of her hips, the lushness of her buttocks. Deliberately he avoided
her breasts and sex. His control balanced on a knife edge.

He nudged her toward the bed and broke her
fall when she tumbled back onto the sheets. She was panting with
excitement.

He pulled away to strip off his breeches,
until he, too, was naked. When she stared at him with what looked
like wonder, he blushed for the first time in twenty years.

“I’m a lucky girl.”

He gave a broken laugh. “Not as lucky as I
am.”

“We’ll argue about that later.”

“Much later.” He had difficulty summoning
coherent speech. The endless beat of desire was too powerful. He
came down over her, sliding his hips between her spread thighs. The
friction of skin on skin was delicious.

“Yes.” Readily she curved her hands over his
shoulders and raised her knees, cradling him closer to where he
longed to be. Her musky arousal mingled with the scent of the
flowers. For the rest of his life, he’d think of this as the
perfume of paradise.

When he bent to take her nipple between his
lips, she jerked and cried out, digging her fingers into his back.
He reached down to stroke her cleft, dipping his fingers into the
hot female honey.

When she was writhing in demand against the
sheets, he lifted his head to see her face. Her eyes were half
shut, and a flush colored her cheeks.

“Don’t stop,” she murmured, sliding one hand
up to caress his jaw. “I love what you’re doing.”

Ruthlessness tinged this kiss, then he took
her other nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it again
and again until she quivered and moaned. Between her legs, his hand
moved more purposefully. His thumb brushed the center of her
pleasure, and she released a sharp little cry.

Carefully he slid a finger into her. She
tightened in swift welcome, and he gritted his teeth against
spiraling arousal. How he longed to taste her there. To bring her
to climax with his tongue. But his primitive, irresistible need to
claim her made further delay unthinkable.

He caught her thighs and held them apart. On
a powerful surge, he rose and thrust forward. As he pushed into her
body, she hissed with satisfaction and dug her nails into his back.
The sharp sting heightened the avalanche of sensations overwhelming
him.

Tight, hot and wet, she clenched around him.
How could a man survive such bliss?

She arched up and kissed his neck.
“Gervaise.”

Just his name. No more. But it was enough. He
heard every ounce of her pleasure in the single word.

With heavy strokes, Pascal moved, staking his
possession with every plunge. The soft music of her moans, the grip
of her body, the flutter of her hands against the bare skin of his
back and arms, all fed his fierce arousal. His thrusts intensified,
pushing her into the mattress. Still she rose to meet him, lifting
her hips to take him deeper.

Her breath escaped in erratic gusts. Pascal
was so close, but through his approaching crisis, he held back. He
needed her to go first, to find what she’d never known before. She
jerked her hips higher, but still didn’t cross over into
release.

He shifted to lean on one elbow so he could
touch her and take her over. For a fraught moment, she tautened
into quaking stillness. He rose on his arms to slide into her
again, and she cried out in astonished discovery. The storm finally
broke and made her shake and sob under the onslaught of pleasure.
The eyes that met his shone liquid gold.

Through her shuddering peak, he poised over
her, battling to hold still. The moment stretched into rapturous
agony.

At last, with a guttural growl, he wrenched
free to spill his seed on the soft curve of her stomach.

In blind, primal release, he pumped his
passion onto her skin. Then he slumped beside her, burying his face
in the pillows.

Pascal felt elated, exhausted, free. While
some wicked, hungry part of him regretted that he hadn’t flooded
her womb with sweet heat.

* * *

Amy lay naked and shaking beside Gervaise, as
those unearthly, shattering feelings slowly ebbed. The peak had
flung her clear of the world and sent her soaring through blazing
light. She still felt lost among the stars. She’d had no idea. No
idea at all.

Now the world was made anew. And her
principal reaction was poignant gratitude. That fate had seen fit
to place her in Lord Pascal’s path. That she’d finally mustered the
courage to act on the attraction. That she’d had a chance to
discover the magic a man and a woman could conjure from two naked
bodies in a bed.

She spared a moment’s pity for Wilfred, who
had never known this ecstasy. The few times he’d come to her, their
union had been quick, fumbling. Hidden, because he felt ashamed of
wanting her, even though she was his wife.

There had been none of the unabashed
enjoyment Gervaise had taken in her. And Wilfred’s discomfort with
his physical needs had made her feel awkward and ugly, so she’d
never asked more from him.

Now she looked back on her marriage and
thought how sad it was that delight had been a stranger. Wilfred
had been a good man. She was sorry this rich fulfillment had been
denied to him.

The irony was that she’d felt a thousand
times more shame, lying with her lawful husband, than with her
dissolute lover. She was now a fallen woman, and she’d never known
such happiness.

Clearly she was a brazen hussy.

“Why are you smiling?” Gervaise asked
softly.

She turned to find him resting his head on
his arm and studying her. “I think you know.”

When attractive amusement crinkled his eyes,
his physical beauty struck her anew. She’d never seen his
expression so unguarded. With a shock, she realized that even with
her, he’d maintained a slight detachment.

Long ago, she’d guessed that Gervaise’s
outstanding looks were as much burden as blessing. But she only now
understood how he cultivated a constant emotional distance.
Essential, she supposed, when the whole world wanted something from
you.

“I can guess.” His kiss expressed a searching
tenderness that made her toes curl against the rumpled sheets. “Or
at least hope.”

The thread of intimacy spinning between them
was too fragile to bear the weight of vows and plans. She drew him
down for another kiss, trying to tell him without words how he’d
changed her. Because after this afternoon, she’d never go back to
being frightened, crippled Amy Mowbray, closing herself away from
life and joy and danger.