An Impossible Attraction (20 page)

But it was over, he had said so. She tried to hide a small smile. He knew—of course he did—because he added softly, “You are the woman I want sharing my bed, Alexandra. And if you do not yet believe that, you soon will.”

She breathed in. His gaze was warm. She knew where they would end up the moment their luncheon was over.

“I do believe you,” she whispered, aware that his face was inches from hers.

That was when she realized how silent the room was, and that she could hear his breathing and her own thundering heart. He straightened to his full height, holding out his hand; she slowly reached out to grasp his palm. His touch burned. There was that incredible jolt again, one defying all logic, all propriety. Her knees felt impossibly weak; he reached out and caught her by her elbows, steadying her.

“Why are you so nervous?” he murmured, slowly reeling her in. “You remind me of a schoolgirl being seduced by an older, worldly roué.”

It was so hard to think now, when she was almost wrapped in his arms. And then he pulled her closer, crushing her breasts with his chest. As Alexandra slid her hands to his shoulders, the sensation of being held by him, of holding him, was dizzying. “Oh, dear,” she said. So much fire was gathering beneath her skirts. Befuddled, she had to wonder if Owen had ever caused such an instantaneous explosion of desire.

“I wish to be a gentleman, the perfect lover, really,” he murmured, bending over her, “but I am as impatient as a schoolboy, too.” He rubbed his jaw against hers. “I have been thinking about you,” he added in the same throaty tone, and now his mouth moved against her cheek.

She couldn’t breathe adequately now. She clung, allowing her hands to roam down his hard, muscular back. “Your Grace,” she whispered roughly, and to her horror, she heard herself sigh.

“Stephen,” he whispered, and he rubbed his full lips against hers.

She went still, closing her eyes. The sensation was exquisite, but so teasing. And as he started to kiss her, remaining unrushed, she felt a massive hardness move against her hip. She flinched, but only in surprise. An acute throbbing began in response to that masculine urgency, while she opened instinctively for him.

His mouth hardened on hers, and then he kissed her.

She held on hard, letting him drag on her mouth, plunging deep, desperate for so much more. She cried out as he moved her backward, his tongue searching deep, and somehow she found herself lying on the sofa on her back. He came down fully on top of her.

She had one thought as she kissed him now, wildly and frantically—she had to love him. There was no other explanation for the urgency, the desperation, the passion or the oddly joyous bubble in her chest. Alexandra tore at his mouth. She shuddered in desire, longing to gasp in pleasure, too.

He suddenly caught her face in his hands and looked down at her. She blinked up at him, shuddering with an imminent wave of arousal. He said roughly, “I have never wanted anyone more. I wanted you from the first moment I held you in my arms.”

She breathed, “I want you, too. Desperately.”

His smile appeared—it was satisfied. “Shall we go upstairs?”

She was afraid to delay, afraid the magical passion might vanish. “No.”

He chuckled, reaching for the buttons on the back of her dress. Alexandra sat up, turning her back to him, and was shocked when she felt his mouth and tongue on the bare skin of her nape. He nibbled her flesh, causing so much delicious sensation that she had to close her eyes, barely able to refrain from moaning, while he tugged open a button and moved his mouth lower. She shivered with pleasure, finally giving in, moaning. He reached her chemise—it was the only undergarment she wore, other than her drawers—and swiftly undid the rest of her dress and helped her out of it.

She faced him, standing, feeling more naked than not. His gaze was on her breasts as he discarded his jacket and waistcoat, tossing both indifferently onto a nearby chair. Her chemise was tired and old—and nothing like the beautiful garments Lady Witte had worn—but his eyes were blazing. He bent forward and nuzzled a taut nipple, clasping her waist and anchoring her in place.

Alexandra gasped in pleasure, seizing his head, wanting so much more.

He ripped off the chemise—she heard the cotton tearing—and sucked her nipple into his mouth. The pleasure was excruciating, and she did not think she could stand it—and then he slid his hands between her legs, against the shockingly wet flesh exposed by her slit drawers.

“Yes,” he murmured, triumphant.

She clenched against him, holding on to him for her life. He rubbed her, and the explosion was instantaneous—she began weeping, the physical ecstasy too much to bear. The waves of rapture carried her away, but she was vaguely aware of his laying her down, of his heavy breathing, of his coming down on top of her. And then she felt his rock-hard phallus pulsing against her convulsing flesh.

But he didn’t move, merely kissing her neck, as the climax lessened. Alexandra started to drift back to coherence, clinging to his shoulders. So this was what desire was all about, she thought, feeling as if she were floating. It was about love. And rapture…

He caught her face as she opened her eyes to see that his were ablaze. “Darling,” he said, then kissed her hard.

Reality began to intrude. She’d just experienced rapture as never before, and he was as naked now as she was—and poised between her legs. Instantly, the sensitive flesh between her thighs began to swell as that terrible urgency began to build all over again.

She kissed him back, seeking his tongue, while exploring every inch of his muscular back and his hard hips. She writhed against his hardness, trying to pull him closer, totally mindless now.

He laughed roughly, breaking the kiss, moving lower, kissing her breasts. She gasped again, this time in protest, but he only continued to laugh, pausing only to lave each nipple in turn, reestablishing the acute restless need. She began to whimper, tossing, clenching his muscular shoulders, barely able to stand the lack of union. He murmured, “Patience, darling,” and kissed his way down her belly. Suddenly realizing what he intended, she went still, shocked.

He was halfway between her navel and her pubis when he looked up, eyes agleam, his muscular arms bulging. “No one has ever tasted you this way?”

“No,” she gasped, shuddering.

He smiled, then slid his tongue up against the heavy folds at the juncture of her thighs. Alexandra shuddered uncontrollably, falling back on the cushions, as his tongue moved slickly over her. She cried out. A moment later he had slid up her body and was pressing his length hard against her, his face set with strain.

Their gazes locked. “Hurry,” she demanded, clawing him. “Hurry!”

He smiled tightly and drove into her wet, throbbing flesh.

Alexandra was shocked by the pressure and the pleasure of feeling him within her—and then she felt him strike against her maidenhead. His gaze flew to hers, wide with shock. She was shocked, too—and beginning to whirl back into another wild explosion of rapture.
“Please.”

His face hard and tight, he drove past the barrier, and Alexandra held on to him, weeping in ecstasy now, as he pounded swiftly, rhythmically, deep.

W
HEN
A
LEXANDRA AWOKE
, she lay alone on the sofa, covered by a gold throw. She gasped, briefly confused, for she was stark naked and the salon was pitch-dark. In fact, the sky outside was dark and blue-black.

Reality came flooding back.
She had just spent the afternoon making love to the Duke of Clarewood.
She inhaled, clutching the throw. Obviously she had fallen asleep, still naked on his couch. As she began to blush, praying no one would walk into the salon, she realized she needed to get home immediately. But she did not move, other than to cover herself more thoroughly with the throw.

Her heart burst into a wild riot of emotions she could barely identify.

They’d made love twice, without pause. He was a magnificent lover. She hadn’t realized that so much ardor could exist between two people. She hadn’t realized she herself could be so passionate, so uninhibited. They were lovers now. She was the Duke of Clarewood’s
mistress
.

She began to tremble, biting her lip, amazed. Happiness was growing inside her chest, like a balloon.
Being with him felt so perfect, so right
.

Her heart thundered, and she recalled the way he had looked at her, with so much warmth, as if he cared. But at other times he had looked into her eyes as if trying to look into her soul. She did not quite know what that searching gaze could mean, and she hugged herself. Did she dare think about him as anything other than her lover and benefactor? Did she dare think of him as a man?

She was helpless to restrain herself. He was such a paragon, handsome and wealthy and titled. He was generous. He was renowned for the charities he supported—had even founded. He was intelligent, dedicated. And he was a gentleman….

She wasn’t ashamed of what had just happened, not at all. She was
thrilled
.

They were lovers now.

She would not die a virgin, and she had avoided suffering Squire Denney’s touch. But there was so much more, and she trembled at the thought. They hadn’t dined. There had been so little conversation. Next time, perhaps they would share their thoughts and feelings over some wine. Next time…She smiled, dreaming about it.

In her mind’s eye she saw herself at his table—which was beautifully set, of course—wearing a stunning and expensive gown, which he had purchased for her. He sat beside her, smiling, reaching for her hand, and there was candlelight….

Smiling widely, she reached over to a small lamp sitting on the end table. She sought to turn the gas on and glanced around for her clothes.

Was she falling in love with him?

She trembled all over again, her pulse pounding. While in his arms earlier, while they were joined, it had certainly felt so much like love.

Could she have responded so passionately to him if it
hadn’t
been love?

She blushed. She was a sensible woman. She did not believe in love at first sight, yet it seemed to her that she had fallen in love with the Duke of Clarewood the very moment she had first laid eyes upon him.

Did it matter? For they were on a new path now….

She bit her lip, hoping to contain what felt so oddly like happiness, and saw her clothing spread across the gleaming wood floors. Her chemise was ripped almost entirely in two. She blushed, hugging the throw to her breasts.

He had been impatient, even as he’d counseled patience. Simply recalling the intimacy they’d shared made her body tighten, heat, as a distinct and pleasurable aching began to grow.

Alexandra got up and slowly dressed, thinking about every moment they had shared. Her body tingled deliciously, while her heart kept dancing, no matter how she tried to warn it to behave, reminding herself to proceed with care. It was as if he was that force of nature she’d spoken of, one she could not resist. She smiled. Hadn’t she said only a hurricane could stop her from marrying the squire? Well, she had found her hurricane, had she not? Now she anticipated walking from the room so she might speak with him for a moment before she had to go home.

Her heart raced harder, as if she could not wait to see him again.

She was fighting the buttons on the back of her dress when a light knock sounded on the door. She froze, alarmed, then called, “Do not come in!”

A woman said, “His Grace asked me to check on you, madam, to see if you need any help.”

He’d sent her a maid. More pleasure unfurled. Alexandra called for the maid to enter, and a young woman in a dark uniform came inside, closing the door behind her. “Here, let me help you with that,” she said.

Alexandra smiled gratefully at her, aware of what the other woman must be thinking. There was no possible excuse to make for being half-dressed in the duke’s salon, with her hair completely down. “Thank you. What is your name?” she asked, as the maid swiftly buttoned her dress.

“It is Bettie,” the girl said. “May I help you with your hair?”

“That would be wonderful, but we must try to find my hairpins.” She flushed as she started looking about the floor and sofa for the missing pins. When she only found three, Bettie told her that she would go and find some more for her. When the maid had left and Alexandra sat down to wait, the duke returned forcefully to her mind. His handsome image curled her toes. She wondered what he was doing, and she got up and went to the door, which Bettie had left ajar. She opened it a bit wider and peeked out into the hall.

Directly across from her, the library doors were wide-open. Clarewood was standing inside the darkened room, staring at a blazing fire, his back to her.

But before she could move, he must have felt her presence, because he turned. The lights were not on in the library, just the fire, and she could not make out his expression. But clearly he was staring.

She hesitated—she knew her hair must be a mess, and she must look like a harlot—but then she slipped into the hall and quickly approached him, smiling hesitantly. When he did not speak, when he continued to stare, she became uncomfortable and confused—this was not the reception she had expected. She faltered on the library’s threshold. “Your Grace? It is late, and I must go.” She bit her lip, wishing she could say so much more, yet at the same time uncertain of what she might say if she could speak freely. She wanted to acknowledge what had just happened, what they had shared.

“Come in, Alexandra,” he said tightly.

She flinched; his tone was so hard. She cautiously walked inside, and when she could make out his features, she saw that his eyes blazed and his face was a hard mask of controlled anger. “What is wrong?” she gasped, stunned.

“What is wrong?” he choked. Then he inhaled, and she realized he was so angry that he was trembling with his rage.

She took a step back, utterly confused. “What has happened? Have I done something?”