The Sweetest Revenge (26 page)

She stroked herself, and she stroked him in tandem. Until he was rock hard beneath the satin flesh of his erection.

“I want you, Belle,” he rasped out.

She wanted him, too. And she knew all too well that this would be her last chance to take pleasure from him.

She would take it. She would take everything she could from these last few moments they had together.

She rose onto her knees, straddling him. His cock pressed against her most sensitive parts, and she gasped, rubbing herself wantonly over him.

“Yes, Belle, yes…”

Oh, she remembered this. The exquisite feel of him. She’d taken it for granted seven years ago. But not now.

She took her time, savoring the delicious sensation of the sleek glide of his hot flesh beneath hers.

“Take me, Belle. Take me inside you,” he murmured.

She reached down, took him into her hand, then guided him into her entrance.

He was so large, for the briefest of seconds she wondered if he’d fit. But then she chastised herself. Of course he would. He’d fit perfectly into her before.

She sank down over him, a slow glide of exquisite pleasure.

“Oh,” she whispered. She felt so blissfully full, tears stung at her eyes.

All the way down, she paused for several seconds as her body adjusted to the sensation of having a man inside her, filling her, after all this time, and then she began to move.

Leo groaned.

She bent down lower over him. Her breasts brushed against his chest, and she buried her fingers into his russet hair, holding him as she moved over him in a strong glide.

“Oh,” she whispered, “Oh.” It seemed no intelligent words would emit from her throat. She was so full. The feel of him moving against her, inside her, was unraveling all her defenses. Sensation curled within her, beginning that sweet rise to completion, and her muscles squeezed over him, moving in stronger thrusts, her body pounding over him. His hips began to move, too, meeting her halfway and rubbing against her most sensitive places.

She began to clench around him, the sensations tightening in the deepest parts of her making her shudder. She kissed him as she rode him, slamming down hard against him, his cock penetrating her in silken glides.

“Leo,” she moaned. Her fingers curled into his hair, and then she came, a rush of sensation overwhelming her body in hot, long waves of pleasure.

When it was over, she sank onto him. He nuzzled his lips into her hair.

“I love you, Belle. I love you.”

She closed her eyes, buried her face into his neck, and breathed him in.

He pressed his lips to her hair, then started moving again in slow increments, his thrusts into her growing deeper, harder, until she gave a low moan, unable to control her own reactions. She rolled her hips as he moved inside her, and within moments, she felt that rising curl of pleasure coalescing inside her again.

She lost herself in Leo, in the pleasure of being with a man—with him—after so long. In this last moment they’d spend together, she took the pleasure inside her and intended to remember it, to hold onto it, forever. This time, she knew exactly what she was doing. She’d have no regrets.

Sensation overpowered her body in a heavy rush, a wave of pleasure that crashed through her body, making her undulate over him. As if from far away, she heard him murmuring encouragement.

And then he grew impossibly large within her and went rigid beneath her. With several hard jerks of his hips, he also surrendered to the pleasure.

She lowered herself onto him, covering him with her body like a blanket, reveling in the touch of his hot flesh against hers.

She might have dozed for a while, for when she opened her eyes, the room was full of hazy morning sunlight. She raised herself off Leo and looked into his face.

He was awake, too. A smile curled his lips as he gazed at her.

She frowned, trying to read his expression. Because it looked…well, it looked rather self-satisfied.

Did he think he had won?

It was over. It was time to steel herself. She wouldn’t let him hurt her again.

“
La vengeance est un plat qui se mange froid.
”

Revenge is a dish best served cold. Les Liaisons Dangereuses,
so cleverly loaned to her by Susan, had taught her how to be cold.

Gathering every bit of strength she possessed, she forced herself to climb off him and swing her legs over the side of the bed. Clenching her teeth against the frigid air, fighting the call of his hard, warm body, she leaned over to retrieve her chemise, which had landed on the floor when she’d tossed it away last night. She tugged it over her head.

“Lie with me for a while,” he said softly. She kept her back to him, but she felt him watching her, studying her. He probably saw the trembling of her hands.

“I cannot.” Her voice sounded brusque, just as she meant it to. “We must return you to the cellar.”

“Will you come again?”

She bit her lip.

Here it is
.
Do it, Isabelle
.

She forced the words out. “Nay. I don’t think it would be wise.”

Silence. Then, “Why?”

He makes whores of ladies. He debauches them. He laughs at them.

“I know better.”

“What do you mean? I want to be with you, Belle.”

She spun on him. “Whatever have you done to make me believe that lie? I have given you my body, my lord, but you shall never have my heart. Never again. I know what you do to women’s hearts. You twist them, rip them apart, then you toss them away.”

But he had never relinquished his hold on her heart. He held it in his fist, squeezing tight.

His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t lie to you. I never have.”

Be cold, Isabelle, as he is
. He held her heart in his death grip, just as he had seven years ago. He would abandon her, just as he had abandoned Anna. He would mock her, just as he had mocked Susan. She couldn’t let it happen. She must walk away. For Anna and Susan. For herself. For womankind.

Say it, Isabelle. Say the words you rehearsed with Susan and Anna.

“I am finished with you.”

“No!” He surged upwards, straining against the bonds that held his wrists. His eyes shot silver sparks at her. “I won’t let you go, Belle. Not this time. I won’t…”

“You’ve no choice,” she ground out, fighting her rebelling heart.

“I won’t allow it.”

She shook her head and backed away.

“I’ll find you.” He yanked against the ropes. The bed groaned. Isabelle watched him struggle, her heart quickening, and for a moment, she thought he might actually succeed at tearing the bed apart.

“I will have you, Belle!” he shouted, his face purple with rage.

He laughed at Susan.

He deserted Anna.

“Me and a hundred others!” she cried. “I know who you are, Leo. I know what you are. I will never let a man like you have power over me. I won’t be such a weak, pitiable creature ever again. I’ve more self-respect than that.”

She turned her back on him. She stepped over the threshold and slammed the door behind her.

His words resonated within her.
I love you. I’ll find you. I won’t let you go.

She stumbled to her room, hearing him call for her one last time.

“No, Belle! Don’t do this! No!”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Leo felt as if a very small, very sharp dagger had flayed him from head to toe.

Belle had turned the tables on him. She had governed the events of last night. She seduced him, used his body, and left him aching for more.

This was exactly what he had done to her seven years ago. To Anna Newton. To countless others. He used them, exploited them, and then walked away. If they complained, if they cried, he merely turned a deaf ear. Or worse, as in the case of Miss Newton, he skulked away in the dark, unseen and unheard, a coward.

The women might keep him here for days, weeks, months. But by the bitter resentment in Belle’s voice, he knew she would not come to him again. He would rot in the cellar without her. He would lose his mind.

Hercules entered shortly after Belle slammed the door. Leo glared at him, daring him to speak. No doubt the big man knew every detail of what had just transpired.

Silent and expressionless, Hercules strapped the blindfold on, drew the coverlet over his body, and then left, shutting the door behind him.

A few moments later, the door opened again.

“Leo,” Lady M said by way of greeting.

“Good morning, Leo,” Anna said.

He heard them approach, one of them on either side of the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut behind the blindfold.

How could Belle do this?

“She planned it,” he whispered. “You planned it, all of you. Together.”

“How does it feel?” Lady M asked gravely.

He had no pride. Its last remaining vestige had drained from him when Belle walked away. He did not care what these women thought. He only cared what Belle thought. How much she must hate him, to make him feel she cared for him, to pretend to give herself to him, and then, after he’d confessed his love, to take it all away.

The old Belle was too genuine, too innocent to have done such a thing. But his own actions had taken those traits from her.

“It hurts,” he said, and even as he said it, the pain tightened in his chest.

“Yes,” Lady M said. “It does.”

“You understand it now, don’t you?” Anna’s voice was the gentlest he’d ever heard it.

He remembered his panic the night he had bedded her. He remembered how he’d fled in the middle of the night, berating himself for treating an innocent young woman like a whore.

But when she had awakened the morning after to bloody sheets and an empty bed, how had she felt? Did she hurt as he did now?

Oh God. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

“I understand,” he whispered.

“Good,” Anna said.

“It is over,” Lady M said. “You will never see her again.”

No, no, no.

The pain swelled. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“Hercules will take you back to the cellar,” Anna said.

“The cellar,” he echoed.

Those words unleashed the torrent of emotions raging within him, and as he writhed and choked and fought against the ropes, Anna and Lady M left the room.

Hercules entered seconds later. “I see you are in a fighting mood this morning, monsieur.”

Instantly, Leo stilled and clamped his jaw. He heard Hercules step to the edge of the bed.

Leo’s legs shook. He wanted a fight. He needed a fight. He ached for the sensation of his fist contacting with flesh, of pummeling someone into the ground.

Hercules was a prime target. He didn’t give a damn if the man was twice his size.

“I know what you need,” Hercules told him.

“I need to break your neck,” Leo muttered.

“Ah. I would like to give you the opportunity to try.”

“Would you?”

“
Oui
. Come down to the cellar quietly, and I will give you your chance.”

Leo turned his head away.

Hercules helped him into his trousers, unbound his wrists, which were sticky, chafed from fighting against his bonds and oozing blood, and led him to the cellar. Still blinded by the strip of cloth covering his eyes, Leo stepped carefully down the flights of stairs, his body and mind merged into one raw, bristling, angry wound.

In the cellar, Hercules shut the door behind them and slid the bolt into place. The big man slipped off Leo’s blindfold and tossed it on the blue chaise.

“Below the neck?” The big man unbuttoned his shirt calmly, exposing a massive, broad chest. “No need to advertise our little duel, yes, monsieur?”

“Very well,” Leo said curtly, disappointed. He would like to wipe that infuriating placid expression from the Frenchman’s face. But there were other ways of doing that, he supposed.

It suddenly dawned on him why the giant was so eager to fight.

Revenge.

He wanted to punish Leo for what he’d said about Lady M days ago. But why now?

“Woman problems, Hercules?” he murmured. “Is that it?”

Hercules tossed his shirt to the floor. “Turn around,
s’il vous plait
, and I will untie you.”

Leo turned his back to the giant. This would be the closest he’d been to freedom in ten days. No blindfold, no shackles, no ropes. If he could overcome Hercules, he could lock
him
in the shackles. Someone would eventually open the door. And then….

And then he’d find Belle.

Hercules untied his ropes, then moved away as Leo flung them across the room.

Leo turned to his opponent, flexing his sore wrists, taking up the ready stance he’d learned on his very first visit to Jackson’s seven years ago.

Hercules raised his fists.

“Has the lady finally proven too much for you?” Leo twisted his lips into a taunting smile.

Hercules came at him, growling.

Leo knew he was too eager for battle, but, unwilling to resist the temptation for one moment longer, he threw the first punch. It glanced off Hercules’s arm.

Leo almost groaned with the beauty of it, of the force, the power, the connection of flesh on flesh.

He slammed his fist into Hercules’s side. The big man let out an “Oomph,” the same sound he’d made the night he nearly broke Leo’s nose, the night he’d been captured.

They circled, traded jabs, circled again. The chaise got in the way, for the cellar was not a large room. Most of Leo’s blows connected but hardly seemed to do any damage. None of the Frenchman’s blows connected, for Leo was too quick, and he assumed one punch from the giant would finish him. His only hope was to wear him down slowly.

The Frenchman’s expression was focused now, his thick brows drawn together in concentration, his enormous shoulders tight, glistening with sweat, rippling with muscle.

Fighting erased the images from Leo’s mind. He felt them fade, smearing, their colors blending into mud, like portraits drowned at the bottom of the sea. His shackles melted off, and his shame, and the ladies’ anger. The image of Belle, her beautiful body curled up on the bed, her arms modestly covering her breasts, drifted away on the tide.