Read Tempting the Heiress Online
Authors: Barbara Pierce
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance
Tempting the Heiress (23 page)
With a groan, he ended the kiss. “Amara, what are you doing?” he asked, the question edged with pain.
“If you must ask,” she said, holding the back of her hand to her swollen lips, “then I am more appalled by my actions than you.”
He halted her retreat, adding to her humiliation. “You little fool! This has nothing to do with any lack in you.
Your kisses are potent, spellbinding, to this mere mortal,” he said, furious at the realization.
Your kisses are potent, spellbinding, to this mere mortal,” he said, furious at the realization.
“If you like—”
Brock grabbed her hand, and crudely brought it to the crotch of his breeches. She felt the rigid flesh beneath and shivered.
“Oh, I like, all right. Too much. If we had continued, I would not have been satisfied with just a sweet kiss.” He shoved her away. “Go to sleep, Amara. The next time you crawl on my pallet, I will not be noble enough to send you away.”
She moved back to her provisional bed, her bruised feelings resembling those of a chastised child. Therein lay their trouble. They were not children. Though if she were to judge a certain gentleman’s actions, one of them was definitely acting childish. “Where are you going?”
Brock pulled on one boot and then the other. He climbed to his feet. “I need to check on the horses,” he said, opening the door. “Do a good turn for us both and fall asleep before my return.” He stomped out into the night.
Amara followed as far as the open door. “If you cannot bear remaining in the same room with me, why not bed down with your precious horses!” She gave the wooden door a very satisfying kick to close it. “Coward,” she muttered, not knowing which one of them deserved the epithet.
She picked up the discarded wine and sipped it sullenly. Who was he to order her about like a child—or a wife! Amara gritted her teeth against the bitter derision she felt. Another swallow of wine washed away the aftertaste. Settling back down onto her pallet, she stared into the fire.
It had always been between them—this
wanting.
Once, she had been too young to recognize it. Later, she
had been too wounded to appreciate it. She broodingly stared at the rumpled bedding he had hastily abandoned. Brock had always known where this attraction would lead. He had deliberately nudged them toward the abyss by stealing her from the safety of London. Still, he hesitated, though it cost him. Amara understood the next step was hers. Peering over the precipice, she realized she had never cared much for heights.
wanting.
Once, she had been too young to recognize it. Later, she
had been too wounded to appreciate it. She broodingly stared at the rumpled bedding he had hastily abandoned. Brock had always known where this attraction would lead. He had deliberately nudged them toward the abyss by stealing her from the safety of London. Still, he hesitated, though it cost him. Amara understood the next step was hers. Peering over the precipice, she realized she had never cared much for heights.
The horses had been an excuse to distance himself from Amara. Brock had checked on them anyway, using a battered old lantern to guide his way. The animals were fine.
Leaving them, he followed a rutted path to the edge of the lake. The water shone like obsidian glass in the faint moonlight. He listened to the whistle of a stone curlew while insects distracted from their nightly courtship by his lantern buzzed around him.
He had almost lost control. Without threats or calculated seduction Amara had crawled to his side and kissed him. The shock of her spontaneity had frozen him momentarily. Her generosity transcended his dreams. The shy caress of her endearing mouth against his awakened him from his enthrallment and his only thought was to take what was being offered.
He had pushed her away.
His body thrummed with a maelstrom of teeming emotion, blocking out the sounds of the night. Brock wanted Amara. He had once been willing to kill for her. Call it belated guilt, but he had orchestrated her presence at Whitmott Park once he had learned her family would not question her absence. He did not regret sharing the day with her. It was the night that tormented him. She
was vulnerable. Old memories were surging with new, confusing her. Confusing him. He had resided so long in the shadows of her affection that he did not trust her invitation to bask in the light.
was vulnerable. Old memories were surging with new, confusing her. Confusing him. He had resided so long in the shadows of her affection that he did not trust her invitation to bask in the light.
Brock turned his head back toward the house at the hollow sound of wood being dropped. Had the woman no sense at all? The grounds were too dangerous for her to be strolling about looking for him. Pleased he had reason to direct some of his frustration outward, he focused on the welcoming light glowing from the windows of the hall.
The door struck the wall like a crack of thunder, its reverberations echoing against the walls of the empty hall. Amara shrieked. Whirling from her seated position, she clutched the pillow to her bosom as if it provided a certain amount of protection from his perusal.
“What possessed you to leave the hall?” Brock demanded, his gaze swiftly assessing her for injury. “If you were frightened, you should have called—” Disbelief silenced his ranting as he blindly groped for the door and closed it.
Amara was sitting on his pallet.
“The next time you crawl on my pallet, I will not be noble enough to send you away.”
He had warned her, had he not? Instead of being frightened off, Amara had considered his words a challenge. She was quite a lovely temptation, wearing only his shirt and wrapped up in his bedding. “If you are trying to bedevil me for snatching you from London,” Brock said, his throat growing dry when she stood, revealing her bare calves and feet, “you are succeeding.”
With her hands in front of her, Amara twisted the end of her first finger in an absent nervous gesture. “Dressed as I am, I have not wandered farther than the warmth of the fire.”
He forgot all about the mysterious clatter that had hastened his return to her side, when she moved closer. Drawing in an unsteady breath, Amara pressed the side of her face to his chest. His arms automatically closed around her.
“Hmm,” she murmured approvingly. “In the passing years, I have never forgotten the smell of you.”
Baffled and pleased, he rubbed the center of her back in a coaxing manner. “Is my scent displeasing?”
“No.” Already embarrassed by her admission, she nestled closer, unwilling to show her face. “It comforts me.”
“An odd compliment, dove,” he lightly teased, the humor he was trying to inflect having long escaped him.
She tilted her face up and would have pulled away if he had not tightened his hold. “It was heartfelt, not uttered for your amusement.”
“Nor was it accepted as such,” he promised. “Your words moved me.” He lowered his head and kissed her. “I am so selfish, I fear of misunderstanding your intentions.”
Pleasure flickered in her troubled blue eyes. Determination banked the brief respite. “You left me earlier because I needed to make a choice. I have, Brock. I chose you.” Flustered, she shook her head. “Us.”
Joy burst through him like an untapped wellspring. He held on to her, reeling from the sensation. “What are you saying?” He wanted her to be certain of her choice.
Leaning back in his arms, she said, “Obviously, I am lacking the practiced flattery of a seductress.”
“If you speak of lies and cold cunning, we are in agreement.”
A trembling smile brightened her visage. “Perhaps, if I just showed you—” She curled her arms around him and offered her mouth.
Brock hungrily accepted. Feeding on her parted lips, he moaned in astonishment when her nimble tongue pushed deeper seeking his. He happily obliged, his fingers reaching and unfastening the small buttons of her shirt. His mouth broke away from her mouth, traveled along her jaw and down to her exposed neck. He nipped it playfully. “We are too far from the fire.” Taking her hand, he led her to his pallet. While she watched him shyly, he gathered up her pallet and arranged it beside his. Satisfied with his efforts, he held out his hand. “Come, dove, let me warm you.”
Amara allowed herself to be pulled down on her knees.
“Your hair,” he said, already searching for the pins hidden in her hair. “I want it down.”
Her fingers brushed against his as she helped him take down her hair. Polished by firelight, her dark brown tresses fell and covered her shoulders.
Anticipation was headier than any wine he had ever drunk. “You are finally mine,” he said with awe. The weight of responsibility squeezed his chest. “I do not want to hurt you.”
“Then you will not,” she assured him, though her nervous motions belied her certainty.
His knuckles grazed her knees. “I want to see all of you.”
“Yes.”
Brock sensed he was terrifying her. Nor did he blame
her if some part of her was quietly comparing him to Cornley. He could not change the past. It was for the future he was willing to gamble all.
her if some part of her was quietly comparing him to Cornley. He could not change the past. It was for the future he was willing to gamble all.
Amara gripped the inner seam of the sleeve in turn and pulled each arm out. Still protected by her linen covering, she paused.
“Allow me.”
Meeting her gaze, he reached for the bottom edge of the shirt. Slowly, Brock lifted the shirt. Blushing, she leaned forward, letting him pull it over her head. A glint of gold swaying between her breasts caught his attention. His hand shot out as he seized the pendant.
Reverently, his thumb brushed across his mother’s intaglio. “You wear it. After all these years.” Brock stared down at the maiden and her beast carved into stone.
Amara lowered her gaze. “I have never taken it off.”
“Why?”
Discomforted by the question, she shifted. “That night you called it my talisman. You promised it would give me strength when mine faltered.”
“Did it?”
Her lashes lifted, giving him a view of the turbulent depths of her gaze. “When the nightmares plagued me, I recalled how you held me that night and your strength. I confess in the beginning I needed it often, for my sanity was as fragile as those links of gold you grasp. Later, after our—our angry parting, I wore it as a remembrance for the treasured friend I had lost.”
She had pushed him away and he had been too hurt to fight her. “You have found me again, Amara.” He let go of the pendant and kissed the tears on her cheek. “I have been waiting for you to notice.”
Heedless of her nakedness, she returned his kisses,
planting them along his jaw and chin. With a shaky laugh, she said, “I am so frightened!”
planting them along his jaw and chin. With a shaky laugh, she said, “I am so frightened!”
“So am I.” Brock cupped her left breast. “We will lend each other our strength when the other falters.” He brought the warm, fragrant flesh to his mouth and tasted.
“Yes,” she said, her voice slightly higher than usual.
Guiding her with light touches, he coaxed her to lie down on the pallet. She raised one knee as if to shield herself from his inquisitive gaze, but he stroked her leg until she relaxed. “There are no secrets between us. No reason to hide.”
He stretched beside her on his side. She giggled when he kissed the intaglio resting over her heart. Whatever their differences, she had not forgotten him. His hand traced the circumference of her navel, enjoying how her abdomen quivered.
“You are perfection.”
Amara hid her expression by covering her mouth with her hand. “I am not.”
“Then I will have to prove it.”
He rubbed the stubble on his jaw across her nipple. She sucked in her breath and tried to sit up. Brock stilled her escape by laving the sensitive nub with his tongue. She was tense from his tender indulgence, but she settled back down.
Aroused to the point of pain, Brock adjusted his rigid cock in his breeches in order to avoid permanent damage. The demands of his body did not interest him as much as the wonder in Amara’s eyes, the tiny moan she was not able to suppress. He had all night to explore her shapely body and ready her for him. When he filled her, and there was no doubt in his mind that he would, Amara would yearn for their joining as greatly as he.
Sprawled out naked on the blankets, Amara felt like a pagan goddess, and Brock was the green-eyed heathen who unashamedly worshiped her body. He used his hands and tongue, inciting an undefined need that itched beneath her skin.
He moved down her body, lavishing every inch of her with attention. She felt the sting of his teeth as he discovered a bone in her hip. She felt the sensation ripple all the way to her clenched toes.
“Liked that, did you, dove?” Even though he straddled her legs, he was careful not to put any weight on her. While she distantly appreciated his deliberate gentleness, the reckless ache he was building within her wanted something wilder and darker.
Brock continued his journey, rolling between her thighs. The soft stirring of his breath on her inner thigh made her want to wiggle away. Anticipating her reaction, he cupped her buttocks with his hands and pulled her closer.
She arched her back and cried out at the first flick of his tongue.
He raised his head and met her startled gaze. “Tasting a woman’s desire is a potent aphrodisiac,” he told her, the green in his eyes thinned to a ring around luminous black. Lowering his head, he tasted her again.
Feeling helpless against the tightening she felt, Amara tried to roll away. “Brock, you must stop.”
“There is no shame in savoring the power you have over me.” He stroked his thumb over the nub hidden within the folds of her womanly flesh, and retraced the dampness his tongue had forged. He pressed deep and
found the silken flesh yielding. “Already, your body softens for mine, Amara,” he murmured, nipping her thigh. “I could take you now, and all you would feel is pleasure.”
found the silken flesh yielding. “Already, your body softens for mine, Amara,” he murmured, nipping her thigh. “I could take you now, and all you would feel is pleasure.”
Other books
French Lessons: A Memoir by Alice Kaplan
Most Secret by John Dickson Carr
Charred Hope (#3, Heart of Fire) by Ford, Lizzy
Enduring Passions by David Wiltshire
Play Dead by Angela Marsons
Hidden Cities by Daniel Fox
Apocalypse Weird: Genesis (The White Dragon Book 1) by Bolz, Stefan
New Roots (Fate's Intent Book 8) by Bowles, April
The Sound of His Horn by Sarban
Bella by Barrett, D.J.