Samantha James (14 page)

His fingers threaded through hers where they lay upon his belly. “Go on,” he said softly.

“I—I cry at night, so no one will hear. I—I try to be quiet, because I know what will happen if I am not….”

She shivered. He felt the fear in her and sought to reassure her. “There’s no one here, Heather. No one but you and I.”

“I—I know. But in the dream,
he
is always there…”

“Who, Heather? Who is always there?”

She shuddered. “A man. A cruel, terrible man—”

Damien had to force himself not to tense. “Who is he?”

Her agitation deepened. “I don’t know,” she said wildly. “I only know that if I make a sound, he’ll punish me. He’ll hurt me.”

A half-formed idea buzzed in Damien’s head. Perhaps this was no dream, he thought furiously. Perhaps it was a memory, torn from some place hidden deep in her subconscious. Perhaps it had really happened.

“Is he your father, Heather?”

Shock glazed her eyes. “My father…no. No, of course not! My father was a good, kind man.” She shook her head, as if in confusion. “Papa told me so and—and he wouldn’t lie to me! Of course it’s not my father!”

It flitted through Damien’s mind that she was trying to convince herself more than him.

“You said you remembered your father was a tall man with black hair. The man in the dream—what does he look like?”

“I—I don’t know. It’s too dark—there are too many shadows.” She shivered once more. “It’s so strange. It’s so—so real! And yet I’ve never been punished—I’ve never been struck. I—I’ve been cared for all of my life. I’ve never been hungry or cold. My bed has always been soft and warm.” She couldn’t hide her anxious distress. “It’s like…like there’s a part of me I don’t even know.”

Damien held his silence, but he couldn’t quell
the notion that he might well be right. That the man in her dream might very well be her father—James Elliot.

She propped herself on an elbow and stared at him. “Why am I telling you this? I—I’ve never told anyone, not even Mama.” Her distress lay vivid in her eyes.

She would have flounced away, but he caught her arms and brought her near, so that she was half lying atop his form. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Heather. We all have demons, every one of us.”

And what are yours, Damien? What are yours
? The question burned on her lips, but her courage eluded her. Then all at once, between one instant and the next, everything changed. The air between them was suddenly charged with tension.

She was painfully aware of his body beneath hers, so hard, so strong and vital and male. And their mouths were so close…. A tremor tore through her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

She was half afraid to speak. “Sometimes I feel I’ve known you forever.” She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. Heaven help her, but this was madness. “And sometimes I feel I know you not at all….”

Like a thief in the night, his fingers found their way beneath the fall of her hair. They moved, the wispiest caress…

His voice stole through the quiet. “And how do you feel now, Heather?”

She longed to toss her head and moan. A restless yearning quested inside her. “I don’t
know,” she said faintly. “I—I just don’t know….”

His gaze rested on her lips. “Then perhaps it’s time you did.”

His tone made her feel as if she were melting. She couldn’t look away as he mated their fingers in a burning clasp and brought it to his lips. Her eyes locked helplessly on his face while he kissed each knuckle in turn, his mouth so unbearably gentle she nearly cried out. When he’d finished, he settled her hand on his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

And then he kissed her, a kiss that was slow and achingly sweet. Ribbons of sensation unfurled within her, like blossoms beneath a warm summer sun. She felt her senses widening. Expanding. Then all at once the tempo of the kiss caught fire. The pads of his fingers barely brushed the tips of her breast, a touch so fleeting she might have imagined it. But now her nipples were hard and tight, stiff little points that throbbed and ached. She wanted not only his hands on her breasts, but his mouth…the taunting play of lips and tongue, teasing and tormenting.

A treacherous heat pounded along her veins. An empty ache was spawned deep in her belly. Her fingers curled and uncurled against his chest. Nor was he unaware of her, she realized. She could feel the hunger in his kiss, in the eager sweep of his tongue against hers. And there was a potent fullness there between his thighs. She could only guess at what it meant, but instinct warned her he wanted her….

The knowledge made her feel heady and reckless. It wasn’t enough to kiss him, she thought dizzily. It wasn’t nearly enough. She wanted more…. Twining her arms around his neck, she thrust up against him, wordlessly conveying her need.

He tore his mouth away. Dazed, her lashes fluttered open. He stared down at her, his features drawn in a grimace that might have been pain. He made a swift, abortive move, as if to leave her.

She wouldn’t let him. She tightened her arms around him, shamelessly clinging. “You said you wouldn’t leave,” she cried softly. “You promised!”

“Heather, no.” His voice was hard. She let him pull away, and he got to his knees. His gaze pinned hers ruthlessly. “This isn’t what you want,” he said harshly. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Slowly she sat up. Her eyes roamed his features, the chiseled curve of his mouth, the stark, masculine beauty of his face.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said tightly. “I’m just a man, Heather. I’m not made of stone. If we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to. Do you understand that?”

Heather trembled with a soul-deep yearning. With longing unfulfilled. But it didn’t have to be that way….

“Yes.” Her whisper came unbidden. God, yes…

“I wonder if you do.” His gaze seared hotly
into hers. “I want you, Heather. I want your legs wrapped around mine. I want to bury myself deep and hard inside you, fill you to bursting, sheathe myself within you until there’s no more to give. I want to kiss you all over…in places you’ve never imagined…in ways you’ve never imagined.”

His words conjured up wanton, brazen images of the two of them, limbs naked and entwined in a lovers’ dance as old as time. Even as she felt her cheeks stain with the heat of a blush, her blood flamed crimson.

He had touched her as no man had touched her. He had seen her as no one had ever seen her, naked and bare and vulnerable. Yet he was different from every other man in her life. She’d seen his patience and gentleness with her younger siblings. She’d witnessed his caring, compassion and sympathy for her tenants. He’d known, without her saying a word, that she didn’t want to be alone tonight.

He’d called her beautiful. Not once, but twice. He made her feel special and cherished and lovely…

He made her feel like a woman.

A pang swept through her. She would never know love, not the sweet, precious bond of desire and faith that Mama and Papa shared.

But if passion was all that Damien could give her, then so be it. She might forever burn in hell for this night’s sin, but she didn’t care.

She wanted to know what it was like to be loved by a man—the wild splendor of joining body and soul. Just once. Just once, she longed to
shed all that she was—her every fear, her every doubt. She longed to surrender all to her secret desires and fantasy….

She knew, with all that she possessed, that there might never be another time like tonight. He was like a painting—a painting that brought color and vibrant hues to brighten the drabness of her life.

There would never be another man like him—never.

“Listen to me, Heather. You don’t really want this. Someday you’ll have a husband. Would you have me take what should be his—”

“No,” she said.

Her mind teetered. Her senses swelled. She’d waited her whole life for this moment….

Tentatively, her heart in her throat, she laid her fingertips on his forearms. Beneath her touch, his muscles were clenched rock-hard.

“I want it to be you,” she whispered. “I want it to be now.”

I want it to be you. I want it to be now
.

The world seemed to stand on end. Time stretched, dark and endless. The air grew thick with the weight of the tension that arced between them.

Her plea was torture—sheer, sweet torture. A tempest of emotion blustered inside him. He wanted to haul her against him, plunder the warm satin of her mouth, feel his rod embedded tight within her sheath, the honey of her passion hot and wet around his flesh as he lost himself inside her—and to hell with the world.

Her lips hovered beneath his, tempting him mightily—oh, so tempting! The tip of her tongue came out to moisten her lips, leaving them soft and dewy and just begging to be kissed. Her eyes were huge and moist, the color of violets awash with summer rain.

He wanted her. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any other woman in his life. She haunted him—his dreams, his every waking
moment. She was like a drug that time refused to banish.

But he tried not to think about that. He tried to think about what would come later. Why he couldn’t—shouldn’t!—do this. What would she say when she learned he was Damien Lewis Tremayne, Earl of Deverell, not Damien Lewis? What would she say when she discovered her father was a murderer? She would hate him for his deceit.

His hands curled and uncurled against his sides. The feelings crowding his chest were part pleasure, part pain. Lord, but this was almost laughable. His conscience battered him. His scruples twisted his insides in knots. Any other man would have taken what she offered and damned the consequences.

Yet here he was, torn by desire, riddled with guilt.

What she wanted was impossible…or was it merely inevitable?

Slowly levering herself upward, she ran her hands up and down his arms, around to the sleek cushion of muscle covering his shoulders. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tilted her face up to his…and kissed him. Her lips parted as she acquainted herself with the shape and texture of his mouth.

His body clenched. He sucked in a breath. The little witch. Why, she was seducing him! he thought in amazement.

And quite expertly, it would seem. Sheer effort of will kept his hands anchored at his sides.

She splayed her palms flat across his chest—a shy, tentative quest of exploration. He sensed her uncertainty…and admired her daring.

But there was more.

Her palm strayed lower. Clear past the waistband of his breeches and below…

Her fingers slowly uncurled.

His breath wrenched from his lungs. A jolt of sheer pleasure ripped through him. Her innocent caress inflamed him past bearing. He thought he spoke her name—or did he? A sound of pure anguish tore from between his teeth.

Her eyes shot up to his, faintly distressed. “What? Do I…do I hurt you?”

His features were rigid and strained. In answer his hand clamped hers tight against the turgid plane of flesh that strained to be free.

He swelled full and hard beneath her fingers.

She jerked her hand away as if she’d been burned. “Oh, my,” she whispered.

Hunger roiled within him—raw, hot, greedy. His shaft was throbbing and full, painfully erect. His blood was on fire. Later there would be regrets, even anger. When the time came, he would deal with it. For now, nothing else mattered but this gut-twisting need that would not be denied.

“Heather. Oh, God…Heather.” Her name was half laugh, half groan.

He crushed her against him, the pressure of his mouth fierce and wildly consuming as it came down on hers. And then she was melting against him, her arms wound tight around his neck as she surrendered all he sought.

His embrace was almost frighteningly strong, but Heather gloried in it. He fed on her mouth like a starving man devouring a bountiful feast. Until this moment, she hadn’t been truly alive.

When that first small storm had passed, he dragged his mouth away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you.”

Her gaze climbed no higher than his chin. “You—you didn’t,” she quavered.

Slowly he drew back and searched her face. A blunted fingertip trailed down the line of her jaw. “There’s still time to change your mind, Heather.” He was quietly intent.

She shook her head.

His eyes fell to where the strap of her chemise had fallen down her arm. She flushed as she saw where his gaze rested, but she made no effort to retrieve it.

His fingers swept across the curve of her breasts where they swelled above the neck of her chemise, coming to rest with precise awareness on the harbor between, a touch that robbed her of breath.

“Remember that day in the meadow? The first time I saw you?”

She nodded. “You wanted my sketch.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “I’d forgotten that.” His smile faded. “I wanted you. I wanted to take you back to my room at the inn and spend the rest of the day and night making love to you, my barefoot little gypsy. I wanted you then.” There was a heartbeat of silence. “I want you now.”

She touched his mouth, a touch that surprised them both. “Truly?”

“Truly.” He kissed the tips of her fingers.

Her heart surely stopped in that moment. The relief that poured through her made her giddy and weak. She’d never thought to hear those words—never in her lifetime. But hearing him say it aloud made it all the more real, all the more priceless.

He lowered his head. Their lips met and clung sweetly—the urgency was gone. There was no need to hold back, for they both knew where they were headed…and neither wanted to turn back.

His fingers were warm against the valley between her breasts as he untied the ribbons of her chemise. Then his hands were on her shoulders, pushing the cloth aside. Her petticoats came next, falling in a heap atop her chemise.

She lay on her side, facing him. Every inch of her lay open to his gaze, feminine charms bare and unbridled. His eyes, dark and intense, pored over her, leaving no part of her untouched. His gaze lingered on the pink-tinted tips of her breasts, the downy fleece at the juncture of her thighs. Heather blushed fiercely but didn’t flinch from his regard. A touch conveyed his approval. A hand settled warmly on the nip of her waist. He caressed her lightly, sliding his fingers down the curve of her hip and thigh.

He didn’t stop until he reached her right knee.

Heather froze. Panic blazed in her breast. Her eyes flashed almost fearfully to his face.

He never even noticed. With infinite gentle
ness he explored the knotted, raised flesh, the unsightly depression on the outer plane where the bone lay hollow and distorted.

A hot ache burned her throat. She felt ugly and disfigured.

He raised his head. “Does it pain you?”

“Sometimes.” She spoke haltingly. “When I sit for a long time, it’s stiff when I rise. And it aches when the weather is damp and cold.”

“I’m sorry.” He continued to stroke her knee, his fingers immeasurably gentle despite the power of his hands. “I would heal you if I could, Heather.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said faintly. “But I must know…” The breath she drew was deep and uneven. “You don’t find me”—God, but it hurt to say the word—“repulsive?”

Anger flared in his eyes. “Never say that,” he told her roughly. “Never.”

He moved so swiftly she nearly cried out. His mouth replaced his hand, soothing her flesh with the stroke of his tongue, a caress so achingly tender that she did give a choked little cry….

Tears shimmered in her eyes. She caught his head within her hands and brought his mouth back to hers. The kiss they shared was like no other, ravenous and fierce, fiery and piercingly sweet all at once.

He lowered his forehead against hers. “You’re beautiful, Heather,” he said against her lips. “In all ways…in every way.”

She beseeched him. “Show me,” she whispered. “Please show me.”

His eyes darkened. “With pleasure, sweet. With pleasure.”

He rose to stand beside the bed. Heather couldn’t tear her gaze away as his hands went to the buttons of his breeches. He bent, pushing his breeches free of his legs and kicking them aside. She was granted a heart-catching glimpse of his buttocks, tight and round and spare.

And then he turned.

Taut and free, his manhood thrust boldly out from between his thighs, rigidly erect.

Her breath came to a halt. It rushed through her mind that she could not possibly take in all of him….

But the sight of him naked was mesmerizing. His limbs were long and roped with muscle. The dark shadow of hair on his chest arrowed down, growing in a dark, thick jungle at the apex of his thighs. He possessed a dark, wholly elemental magnificence that sent a quiver of excitement all through her.

His eyes held hers as he stretched out beside her. Suddenly it wasn’t enough just to look. She wanted to touch him, to feel for herself if he was as hard and muscular as he looked.

She couldn’t help it. She indulged herself. Her fingers crept up to trace the hollows of his cheeks, the beautifully chiseled curve of his sensuous mouth. In the candlelight his skin gleamed bronze and gold. She ran her fingers over the surging sleekness of his shoulders and arms, traced the groove of his spine, dipped a finger into the shallow of his navel, hidden amidst swirls of crisp, dark hair.

His eyes snapped open; they sheared directly into hers.

“Touch me,” he said against her mouth—into it. It was a heated, silken whisper, low and vibrant with need.

His hand engulfed hers, guiding it down with unwavering intent between the crease of his hips. Down…

The muscles of his belly clenched. Heather quivered, anxious awareness collecting in the pit of her stomach, for she knew what he wanted. The thought of touching him
there
, with no barrier of clothing between them, was daunting—yet exciting, too.

She nearly jumped at the first, startling contact. He was so very hot! But then she needed no urging. He was enormous and thick—she could barely close her fingers about him. Indeed, she marveled in awe, her hand in no way encompassed his ridged, straining length….

His eyes caught the light of the candle, flickering with the same intensity. She could see the hunger on his face, and it thrilled her to the marrow of her bones.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. Velvet and satin. Heat and fire. That was his essence. Emboldened by his sharp inhalation, her fingers grazed the smooth, arcing tip of him, light as a feather. Even as the thought tore through her mind, a single drop of silky dew emerged, an ungovernable testimony to the ardor she called forth in him.

He jerked away from her. “Enough,” he said thickly, “or it’ll be over far too soon.”

Puzzled, drunk with sensation, Heather peered up at him. He gave an odd laugh. “You’ll see,” he promised.

His hands climbed the rise of her ribs. Slowly he circled the boundary of her breasts, a shattering path that took him ever closer to the throbbing peaks of her breasts. She almost cried out when at last he grazed the straining summits, the pleasure was so exquisite. Bending his head, he tugged each nipple in turn into the hot, wet suction of his mouth, leaving them rouged a deep rose, shining and wet.

Since the day he’d first kissed her, she’d lain in bed and imagined what being loved by him would be like. But his every touch turned her limbs to water. Her mind had only hinted at the feelings he aroused in her. But the reality was so much better than fantasy, so very tantalizing and enticing.

In the secret place between her legs, an empty ache had begun to throb. A lean hand drifted down, skimming the hollow of her belly. She gasped as his fingers slid through the tight nest of curls at her thighs. Her legs clamped together, an instinctive reaction.

“Easy, Heather,” he breathed. “I won’t hurt you, I swear.”

That daring finger grew bolder yet, skimming soft, pink folds, breaching deep within to brush a tiny little bud. Sensation leaped from that tiny little pearl, a thousand flames of blistering heat. She gave a jagged little cry, her nails digging into the sleek skin of his arms.

“Yes,” he murmured. “That’s the way, sweet.”

And it was there he now worked his magic. His fingers grazed the outer folds of her furrowed cleft. With a sound of satisfaction, he penetrated slowly, a lone finger seeking out the center of her being, a shattering prelude of what would come later. All the while, his thumb circled and swirled that ultrasensitive bud of desire, skimming hot, weeping folds. She thought she would surely go mad.

She tossed her head on the pillow. Her hair streamed wildly all around her. She began to swell and throb there in the place he possessed so fully, whimpering for deliverance from this tortuous rapture. Just when she thought she could stand no more of this delicious torture, something exploded inside her, sending her hurtling over the edge into the fringes of consciousness.

Dazed, her lids drifted open. He hovered above her, his eyes glowing like embers. His shaft was iron-hard against her thigh, scalding hot.

He crawled above her, parting her thighs with the weight of his own. For a mind-splitting instant, she lay open and vulnerable as never before.

The tip of his shaft breached damp, dark curls. With his fingers he parted soft, pink folds. Heather drew a quick, ragged breath. She flinched at the brief, stabbing pain that split the virgin barrier—her innocence was no more—and then he was inside her.

It was heaven…it was hell. Damien bit back a groan. A wholly male satisfaction filled him at knowing he was her first—that she belonged to him alone. He wanted to prolong the bone-deep
intimacy wrought by that knowledge, even as he longed to sink inside her, hard and fast, again and again. Instead he held back, his penetration excruciatingly slow. God, it felt so good! She was hot and tight around his swollen flesh; her body accepted him as if she’d been made for him alone. His blood surged thick and molten there where he lay planted so solidly within her, so tight he nearly spilled himself.

At last he lay seated to the hilt inside her. They were both panting as if there were no more air in the world left to breathe. Heather drew a deep, shuddering breath, for he was immense, the pressure of his shaft stretching her wide and deep. Her belly pressed his, soft against hard.