Samantha James (10 page)

She hadn’t moved. Indeed, she still stared at him as if he were a madman. With a shake of her head, she spoke his name.

“Damien—”

He was in no mood for another scathing denunciation. “Spare me the remonstration,” he said bitingly. “Like it or not, this time you
did
need rescuing.”

“But—”

He lashed out at her furiously. “Perhaps you’re more like Beatrice than you know, Heather. Were you testing your power as a woman? Well,
you were a rousing success, love. They wanted you. They wanted to rip your clothes off. Touch your naked body. Stuff you like a sausage between those lovely legs of yours.”

She flushed at his vulgarity.

“And if I hadn’t been there, that’s what they would have done. No doubt they would have taken turns—”

“Stop!” she cried.

Two steps brought him before her so they stood toe to toe. “No, Heather.” He grasped her shoulders and gave her a little shake. Dazed, she let her head fall back. She gazed up at him, her eyes like saucers. “You’ll listen, by God. It’s time you came off your tower. It’s time you learned what the world is like. You can’t bait men like that and not expect to pay the consequences.”

“I—I wasn’t baiting them!”

“You were,” he said fiercely. “Every slow, sweet smile was a temptation. Every coy sweep of your lashes over your eyes, an invitation.”

A hand swooped down to clamp the fullness of her breast. She cried out at the suddenness of his movement.

His breath grated past her ear. “That’s what they would have done, Heather.” His hands fell to her hips. Dragging her forward, he ground his loins against the hollow of her belly. “And this is what they wanted.”

She shuddered with revulsion. His words painted a stark picture in her mind, black and cold. The very thought of those two men touching her like that made her sick inside. To her
shame, she felt the stinging ache of tears in her throat. The breath she drew was deep and wavering.

Her chin quivered as she tried to speak. “I—I didn’t know,” she said brokenly. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t know!”

His features tightened. “Yes, you did. Tell me, which one did you fancy?”

“N-neither of them,” she cried. “I don’t know why I did it. It—it wasn’t them. It was you. Oh, don’t you see…it was you and I—I just wanted to make you…” All at once she blanched, as if she’d said too much.

His eyes narrowed. “What, Heather? Were you trying to make me jealous?”

Indeed, Heather didn’t know what devil’s spell had come over her. She had felt reckless—and strangely out of control. But now his anger blazed all through her, and she wished with all her heart that she hadn’t been so foolish.

Her composure was shattered. She couldn’t say a word.

The silence heightened to a screaming pitch.

Above her, there was a muffled exclamation of disgust. She felt him tense, and she sensed that he was about to spin around and leave.

A startled, unbidden cry sprang from her lips. “Wait!”

Her fingers came out to clutch at his jacket. At the contact, she felt Damien’s body go stiff. He searched her face and saw the tears she fought to control. Everything inside went utterly still, for he felt the conflict raging within her as if it were his own.

His anger had passed. Her fear had fled. And now a maelstrom of emotion churned inside them both.

“What, Heather?” His tone was low and intense. “What do you want?”

Their eyes locked. Heather’s heart thundered painfully. She was trembling from head to foot. Yearning and fear and an agony of longing whirled like a tempest in her breast. She just wanted to be held. To feel safe and comforted, only she couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t know what it was like to feel so alone, she thought with a pang. To need so desperately the heat and shelter of another body, to drive away the chill of loneliness…. But she couldn’t tell him. Not
him…

Something broke inside her. Her fingers curled and uncurled against his chest. “I don’t know,” she cried helplessly. “I—I just don’t know!”

His eyes darkened. “Well, I do, Heather.
I do
.”

God in heaven, he
did
…and it was all she wanted. Everything she needed.

His lips on hers were impossibly warm…impossibly sweet. He kissed her slowly, leisurely, a kiss that turned her inside out. His arms were strong about her back, and she melted against him as if her limbs were made of pudding.

Her breath quickened, as if she’d been running uphill. Heat gathered low in her belly, slowly radiating outward. She felt as if some powerful force had taken over her body. Her head fell back. She offered the honey of her mouth with an abandon she hadn’t known she possessed. With a tiny growl deep in his throat, he tugged the center of her lower lip between his own, the contact incredibly erotic.

Pleasure swirled all about her, heady and divine. There were only the two of them, caught up in a world where nothing else existed save the wonder of this moment. Sensation unfurled
within her, like the curling strands of a ribbon that rippled through every part of her.

Slowly he released her mouth.

Her eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and drowsy. He was staring down at her, his own eyes dark and fathomless.

“Again,” she heard herself whisper.

To her surprise, one corner of that hard mouth turned upward. A teasing glint had appeared in his eyes. “Why, Miss Duval,” he murmured. “Have you never been kissed before?”

His features were caught in the flickering glow of the candlelight. His cheeks and chin carried the faint shadow of his beard; she had felt that slight roughness against the softness of her skin and thrilled to the intensely masculine feel of it. Her gaze traced the bold, dark slash of his brows, his thin, straight nose, the sharp plane of his jaw. Her stomach tightened. He was so handsome he stole her very breath.

She couldn’t help but respond in kind. “Well,” she said lightly. “There was one other time…” She let the sentence trail off provocatively.

“I see. And did you like it?”

The glimmer of a smile touched her lips. “’Twas heaven,” she said simply.

All trace of laughter fled his face. His eyes seemed to blaze with the heat of a tropical sun. “Then I’ll do so with pleasure,” he muttered just before his head came down.

This time there was fire in his kiss—it deepened to an intimacy only hinted at before. Inexperienced as she was, she could taste the hunger
in him and reveled in it. Marveling at her daring, she buried her fingers in the dark hair that grew low on his nape. It curled around her fingers, springy and sleek, with a life of its own.

She grew bolder. The tip of her tongue danced lightly against his. Once, and then again. A tremendous shudder wracked his body. He groaned. His arms tightened around her back, his hold so fiercely urgent that her toes left the ground. And they were close—so close—she could feel the raging thunder of his heart as if it were her own.

Heaven. The thought burned through her once again. Sheer heaven…In all her days, nothing had felt so good.
Nothing
.

Lightly they spun. For one brief, never-ending moment, they stood at the edge of the bed. Her senses whirling giddily, she was only half aware of deft fingers dealing with the hooks and eyes at the back of her gown.

In the very next breath, it lay pooled about her ankles. Her shoes were disposed of just as quickly, and then she was lying on the bed, clad only in her chemise and petticoats.

“Oh, God.” The words caught in her throat as she realized her state of dishabille. And then even that realization was forestalled as she saw Damien’s shirt whisked over his head and dropped to the pile at his feet. For a spellbinding heartbeat, he stood there, wearing only his breeches, naked from the waist up.

All else was forgotten. Her mouth grew dry. He was…magnificent. There were no other words to describe him. His shoulders were wide and
sinewy, gleaming bronze and gold in the candlelight. The muscles of his arms were sharply defined and bulging. She could see the veins that traced beneath his skin. But it was the wide expanse of his chest that drew her gaze in endless fascination—dense, dark hair grew in a curly forest that disappeared beneath the waistband of his breeches. She wondered vaguely if it extended further, clear to the place that proclaimed his manhood….

Her palms grew damp. She longed to touch him, to skim her hands along the taut, sleek lines of his arms. She wanted to slide her fingers through the pelt on his chest, to feel it against her palm. The very thought was exciting…dangerous. Forbidden.

Time stood still as he watched her…watched her watch
him
.

“Heather.”

The sound of her name sent her attention flying to his face. She was glad the darkness hid her embarrassment—at both her unabashed perusal of him and her own state of undress—for she knew her face was flaming. She was unaware that she had risen to a half-sitting position until he sat on the edge of the bed.

He wasn’t content to stop there. Slowly, he extended a hand toward her breast but didn’t allow it to fall. Panic burgeoned swiftly within her. She knew what he wanted. But no man had ever touched her. No man had ever
seen
her. She was no beauty. She had an unreasoning fear that he would be profoundly disappointed.

“Wait!”

The cry surfaced without warning. Her hand clamped his where it was poised at the ribbon that closed her chemise.

Slowly he raised his head.

“Let me, Heather.” His tone washed over her, soft as silk. His fingers beneath her chin, he guided her eyes to his. “Let me. Please.”

Please
. The air between them grew close and heated. Heather was certain her heart would burst the bounds of her chest at any second. Yet she couldn’t deny him. Heaven above, she
couldn’t
.

His fingers touched the ribbon that held her chemise closed. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

Damien smothered a laugh. “Easy,” he soothed. “I won’t hurt you. I promise, I won’t hurt you.”

Her eyes clung to his. His knuckles grazed the harbor between her breasts. A flick of the wrist and she was completely bared to him….

He gazed at her. She looked away. Yet still she could feel his eyes, scouring her nakedness. Leaving no part of her untouched.

Time stood still. There was no sound but the thin trickle of her breathing.

“Pretty,” he murmured, just when she’d decided she could stand it no longer. There was a note in his voice she’d never heard before. “So pretty…”

His praise was like warm rain upon arid earth. Heather could have wept.

A fingertip traced the sweep of her collarbone. Delicious shivers played all through her. That
lean dark hand swept lower…ever lower. Heather held her breath. Her breasts were tingling. Aching. For what, she knew not….

His touch eroded her fears. Somewhere deep in the depths of her being, a stranger fluttered to life. In her ears she could hear the ragged tremor of her breath.

He cupped the underside of her breasts in his hands. With his thumbs he traced tiny circles around and around her nipples, coming close, yet never quite touching the dark, straining peaks, driving her half-mad with need.

At last he brushed his thumbs across the tips, again and again. Pleasure shot through her, like a streak of lightning. To her shock, she couldn’t tear her eyes from the sight of her rounded softness filling his hands.

Then his mouth was on hers again. With naught but the pressure of his chest, he eased her to her back. Heather clung to his shoulders, without care, without shame. The skin beneath her fingertips was startlingly smooth and hard. She longed for the courage to explore as he explored, but alas! it deserted her.

But there was more.

Warm lips slid down the fragile arch of her throat. Heather couldn’t tear her eyes from the sight of his dark head hovering over the jutting mounds of her breasts. Her nipples burned like twin peaks of fire. God above, what was happening?

Her breath emerged in a rush. Surely he would not…

He did.

His tongue touched her first. Pure sensation bolted through her, swift and unremitting. Her body twisted, instinctively seeking more.

And again he knew her body better than she herself. With the lash of his tongue he circled and teased one ripe, quivering peak, then the other. She stared down at herself, at her nipples, wet and glistening from his taunting play. Later she might hate herself. But not now. Dear God, not now. She prayed the delicious torment might never end. He took the tight, straining center deep into his mouth. Licking. Sucking. Drawing and pulling until at last a flood of sensation broke free within her and she bit back a cry. Excitement shot down to that secret, forbidden place, there between her thighs.

It couldn’t really be happening. It seemed a part of her most cherished dream. Her most fevered fantasy…

He moved so that they lay on their sides, facing each other. Strong hands slid down to clasp her buttocks, urging her against him. In shock she felt the rigid length of his manhood, massive and taut against her belly.

The waistband of her silk drawers was but a feeble barrier; the flimsy tapes were thrust aside. She felt his knuckles skim the hollow of her belly. Those daring fingers trespassed further, tangling in the fleece that guarded the cove of her womanhood.

Her legs slammed shut. Her breath left her in a scalding rush. She tore her mouth from his. Her fingers convulsed around the hardness of his
arms. “Please.” All that emerged was a half-strangled sob. “
Please
.”

The sound was a cold slap of awareness—it went through Damien like the tip of a knife. His rod pulsed hotly, straining to be free of the barrier of his breeches. The vibrant promise of her body so near his was almost more temptation than he could stand. He longed to be naked. Against her. Inside her. Driving deep and hard and filling her until there was no more of him to give….

He gritted his teeth against the desire churning in his gut. She wasn’t ready for this. They both knew it. No matter how much the heavy fullness in his loins urged otherwise—demanding fulfillment—he couldn’t take her. Not now. Not like this.

Cursing inwardly, he rolled from her. His mouth drawn into a grim line, he stared at the shadows dancing on the ceiling.

The instant she was free, she curled into a tight little ball. Though she made not a sound, her shoulders were shaking. Damien turned his head to peer at her.

“Heather.” His voice stole through the darkness. “Heather, look at me.”

She refused. Instead she sat up, confusion, desperation and shame a soft haze in her eyes. She tried to tie the ribbons of her chemise, but her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t manage it.

Damien peremptorily pushed her fingers aside, doing up the ribbons as deftly as he’d
untied them. When he’d finished, he grasped her shoulders, leaning back so he could see her.

“Nothing happened, Heather,” he said firmly. “Do you hear me?
Nothing happened
.”

Her mouth quivered. Her lovely eyes shimmered with betraying moistness. She looked utterly stricken.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a quavering voice. “I’m sorry. I—I know you must be angry—”

“I’m not.” God, if only he could be. It would have been so much easier….

She drew a long, shuddering breath. “It’s just that I—I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

But Damien did. The pangs of sensual awakening had come to life inside her, and the knowledge drove him half-wild. His belly knotted. He longed to show her all she craved, all she didn’t know. He gritted his teeth against the driving need to strip away her clothes and feast his eyes on pink, satin flesh that had been hidden away until now.

Slowly, as if the movement pained him, his arms closed around her. He eased to his back, taking her along with him, then tugged the counterpane up around them to shield her nakedness.

With a breathy little sigh she turned her face into his shoulder.

Something caught at his heart. The realization washed over him then—when she was Heather Duval, mistress of Lockhaven, she was on sure footing. Strong. Confident. Independent as any man. But when it came to being a woman…

“This—isn’t very proper.” Her whisper pierced the darkness.

“To hell with proper.” Damien was in no mood for propriety just now.

“I—I think my mother would be quite shocked.”

“Are you?” He posed the question pointedly.

Her cheek was downy soft against his shoulder. “I suppose I should be.” Her voice conveyed her hesitation. “But I—I’m not,” she finished breathlessly.

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Silence drifted between them, both immersed in their own thoughts.

“Damien?”

He liked the sound of his name on her lips. But deep inside, he was consumed with the need to hear her cry it in a scream of ecstasy, a tender whisper of yearning, a mindless, frenzied plea of passion.

“The other day when I was angry with you and Bea…” Her voice came haltingly. “You were right. I was jealous of Bea. Because she’s graceful. Because she can dance. Because she can ride. And”—he had to strain to hear—“because of you.”

Because of you
.

Even as triumph surged high in his blood, a bitter shadow crept through him.

Don’t!
his mind screamed. Don’t say any more. This shouldn’t be happening. Not with her. Anyone but her…

He could feel the warm trickle of her breath
across his skin. “No doubt you think me petty and mean.” Her voice was thready and small.

He kissed the smoothness of her temple. “We all succumb to envy at some time or another,” he said quietly. “But that does not make you petty and mean, and I most certainly do not think you so.”

The top of her head brushed his chin as she looked up at him. Her moods were like her eyes, he thought, by turn light, then dark. “Truly?” she whispered.

His arms tightened. “Truly.”

The glimmer of a smile rimmed the lovely curve of her mouth. She ducked her head down and sighed, a sound of relief and contentment.

He’d thought she’d grown up pampered and spoiled. The little girl who had everything. But that was before he’d considered what she’d had to endure—the jeering mockery, the horrified stares—what she
still
endured. Oh, she tried not to let it show. She was staunch and steadfast. But he had glimpsed the pain she tried to hide—the hurt—and her vulnerability speared his heart.