A Season of Seduction (25 page)

The first door creaked loudly as she opened it. Grimacing, she scanned the little room and found it empty. She backed out and went to the second door, opening it more slowly than the first. The door glided open without a sound.

A figure sat in the gloom provided by the scant moonlight that filtered through the curtain. He sat at the edge of the bed, his face turned to the door.

“Becky?” His voice was a gruff whisper.

She stepped into the room. “Yes.”

“What is it?” he asked. “Can’t you sleep?”

“I—no. I couldn’t.” She sucked in a breath. “I was thinking about trust.”

He cocked his head as she came to stand before him.

“I’m still so afraid,” she said.

He reached out, finding her hand and grasping it in his own.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to hurt anymore, Jack. I—I want to be happy.”

“Becky…” He surged upward and pulled her hard against him. “I want to make you happy. More than anything.”

She shook from head to toe, shuddered too violently to hold on to him. And suddenly, his hands were all over her, stroking her through the silk of her chemise, heating her chilled skin, and he whispered soft, calming words. “Shh. It’s going to be all right. You’ll see. We’ll make it work, sweetheart. We’ll be happy together.”

She pressed her body against him. He was bare-chested, wearing only his drawers. His skin was smooth, warm, and comforting, and she could feel his growing arousal behind the layers of fabric separating them.

She managed to raise her trembling hand to cup hischeek, the bristles of his new beard rough against herskin.

“I trust you, Jack.”

He sucked in a breath, and even in the darkness, she could see the raw vulnerability in his expression, shining in his eyes. He bowed his head. “I won’t fail you.”

“Will you be honest with me? Always?”

After an infinitesimal pause, “Yes.”

“And I will be honest with you. I promise.”

He closed his eyes, squeezed them, and then opened them again. The look of vulnerability that had darkened his face seconds ago was gone.

“Let me make you mine. Let me love you.”

“Yes,” she whispered, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. Easily lifting her, he carried her into the larger bedroom and laid her once again on the bed. This time he settled beside her, bending his arm and resting his head on his hand as he lay on his side, looking down at her in the dimness.

“This is…” His Adam’s apple moved in his throat as he swallowed.

“What…?”

He closed his eyes in a long blink. “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Becky. I don’t know… I might not… I want to give you pleasure, but…”

She pushed on his shoulder until he lay on his back, then she pulled her chemise to her thighs and straddled him. She stared down at him, speechless, for her own action had made the lips of her sex cradle the long, solid length of his, the touch of their skin separated only by the thin linen of his drawers.

“God,” he choked. He stared up at her, the stricken look in his eyes mirroring hers. He was shaking, too, she realized.

Her lungs constricted, compressed in her chest, and she could hardly suck in enough air.

“I want you,” she managed to say in a tight voice.

With her hands flat on the hot, tight skin of his shoulders, she slid her body up and down the length of him, biting the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from groaning.

She moved her hands down his chest, feeling the fine points of his nipples against her palms, then moving downward, her fingers flowing over the compelling dips and curves of his muscles, using her sense of touch in the dimness. She reached his navel, skimmed the bunched muscles around it, and traveled lower, down the trail of hair that led to the waistband of his drawers.

She moved backward, still straddling his legs, until she touched the ties on his drawers. She pulled the loosened waistband carefully over his sex, revealing him in full arousal. She wished there was more light, for she could see nothing but the shadow of his shape.

As he kicked his drawers away, she tentatively skimmed her fingertips down his sex. Encouraged by his sharp intake of breath, she took him into her hand, curling her fingers around his length.

She’d never been so bold with William. She glanced at him. “Do… do you like this?”

“Yes,” he said in a strangled voice.

She moved her fist over him, stroking up the silky, solid length. It fascinated her. She moved again, this time downward.

“Becky,” he groaned. “Stop.”

Instantly, she let go. “I’m sorry.”

He grabbed her beneath her arms and hauled her up over him so she straddled him again. But this time there was nothing between them, and the feel of the hot length of him between her legs made her gasp out loud.

“No,” he grated out. “I’m the one who is sorry. I—God, just your touch is so close to making me explode.”

“Why?” She was truly curious. Even as she asked the question, though, she fidgeted over him, every move of his flesh against hers sending tiny tremors of pleasure sparking through her.

“Because it feels good. Too good.”

She smiled at him. It was a smile of conquest, a smile of power. She could bring this man to the edge of fulfillment with a simple touch.

“Kiss me,” he commanded.

She knelt to drop a kiss on his lips. As soon as their lips connected, a pulse of energy ran through them both, connecting them, and Jack took control. One hand pressed on the small of her back; the other fisted in her hair, locking her to him. She couldn’t move. She had no desire to move.

His mouth took possession of hers, his tongue exploring greedily, sensuously, and his taste exploded through her—hot, salty, commandingly male.

He nipped at her lip, then soothed the area with soft, warm kisses, leaving a trail of white-hot pleasure in the path of the pain. All the while, the length of his sex slid over the most sensitive parts of her.

Still kissing her, he turned her onto her back. He loomed over her, his body seeming twice as wide, twice as large, as her own.

The rough pad of his thumb stroked across her cheekbone, and his kiss traveled away from her mouth. He sampled her flesh, her jaw, her nose, her eyelids, and then he moved lower. He untied the neckline of her chemise to access her breasts, then used his mouth and hands to work the plump flesh and her nipples until every touch made her gasp and squirm, seeking more of him, seeking the fulfillment he could offer, the satisfaction only he could give.

“Please, Jack, please…”

He drowned her words in another of his overwhelming, hot kisses. She clutched his shoulders as he reached down, adjusting himself at her entrance. With his hand still tangled in her hair, he thrust into her.

Becky cried out. Her body arched convulsively.

“Oh, God. Am I hurting you?”

“No.” She writhed, moving against him, away from him. He drew out, and she whimpered at the sensation of his hot, hard flesh sliding against her inner walls.

“So sweet,” he murmured against her mouth. “So tight.”

Closing her eyes, she sighed in an agony of pleasure.

She allowed the sheer power of her desire and her love to rise, to burn her distrust and fear to ashes. They fluttered away on the wind, and without all that fear blinding her, she could see clearly again.

He would be—no he
was
—hers. Her lover. Soon, her husband. She was his.

She loved this man. Loved how he made her feel. But now, so close, so connected, she could not fathom a life, another moment, without him.

She was so in love with him. And that didn’t bring her pain. It didn’t even evoke fear. Instead it made her feel powerful. Invincible. He was beauty incarnate. Intelligent and worldly. Affectionate, and possessive. And she was worthy of all of those things.

He saw reciprocal qualities in her. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

“Jack,” she said as he moved within her, a rhythm of pleasure. “Jack.”

The pleasure built, dark clouds gathering into a gale, beautiful and powerful at the same time.

“I can’t stop it,” he gasped.

She could hardly speak for the storm building within her. “Don’t stop.”

His strong body moved with quick, deep thrusts. He moved faster, harder, each of his exhalations a sharp explosion of breath. And then his fingers tightened in her hair, and the storm burst in a violent shower of pleasure that shuddered all the way through her, curling her toes and her fingers. Her nails dug into his shoulder blades.

“Becky.” It was a half-whisper, half-groan. He stiffened and stilled, and through her own pulsing pleasure, she felt his, contracting deep and hard inside her.

She lost awareness of everything except the point where they were connected, only returning to the world when the pulsing subsided and the tension in the body over her relaxed.

He touched his forehead to her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

She blinked. “What?”

“That was too fast. I did not give you pleasure. It was selfish of me.” She heard him grinding his teeth. “Damned inconsiderate.”

Reaching up, she pressed her hand against his cheek, turning his face so he could see her—or at least the shadowy outline of her face. “No. You gave me pleasure. So much pleasure.”

He released a harsh breath. “Come here, sweetheart.”

He rolled onto his side, bringing her along with him and tucking her backside against his body.

They lay pressed together for long, delicious minutes. This bed had seemed cold before he had joined her in it, but now a thin sheen of sweat covered her body, and she wiggled.

“Are you too warm?”

“A little.”

He pulled back and lifted her chemise over her head, leaving her completely bare. He tossed away the offending material and once again pulled her close.

“You fit here,” he murmured. “Perfectly.”

Yes, she did. She gave a drowsy murmur of agreement and snuggled against him, his warmth a lure, a promise of contentment. Of happiness.

Jack lay awake a long while after Becky’s breaths deepened and her body went slack against his. Still he kept his arms wrapped around her, unwilling to let her go.

He’d promised her honesty. Yet there were two things he could never reveal to her. The first was the truth about the night the Marquis of Haredowne had died. The second was his initial reason for wanting to marry her.

He was falling in love with the precious woman in his arms. Both of those truths would hurt her, abolish the trust she’d so generously extended to him, sever the connection they had built.

He couldn’t do that to her. Worse—he couldn’t do it to himself. He needed her too much. He was too selfish.

Full of self-loathing, he closed his eyes. And offered a prayer up to God that she would never put him in a position to lie to her. He would be honest about everything but those two things, and God must know that his intentions toward Lady Rebecca Fisk were now nothing but honorable and pure.

Please, God, don’t let me hurt her.

Still holding her tightly against him, he dropped into a fitful slumber.

Chapter Fourteen

S
he came downstairs in the late morning, just after Jack had returned from fetching their breakfast from their landlady in the village. Since he’d let the house, he’d communicated with the woman—a stolid, even-tempered widow with a puff of brownish-red hair and a deeply lined face—and he’d prepared her for his and Becky’s possible arrival at the house without notice. He’d already warned her about their need for board, and she obligingly provided him with a simple repast for breakfast and a promise of hot stewed beef for their luncheon.