Between the Duke and the Deep Blue Sea (28 page)

Her breathing turned ragged when he kissed the inside of her thigh. “Lovely, so very lovely . . .” he murmured between kisses.

He stole a glance at the tiny dark blond curls at her juncture and felt a primal guttural sound come from him.

Enough.

He could not hold back a moment longer.

He had to touch her. Had to taste her. Had to take her, until they were intertwined as one.

Chapter 19

R
oxanne thought she knew everything about the act of procreation. This was not like anything she knew.

It was an act of pure passion in its rawest form. Every touch of his seared a memory of him deep within her. And he was doing things she didn’t understand. Things she’d never experienced in her entire life. She didn’t question. She didn’t have to, because she trusted him with every fiber of her being.

She wanted to tell him that she loved him, and yet, while her mind sped a thousand miles an hour, she could not. She didn’t care if he didn’t love her back. She just wanted him to know that he was loved unreservedly.

But this . . . his hands were all over her legs. And his mouth was following his hands, inching up her ankles, her calves, her knees, and now her thighs. She felt as if she was burning and freezing at the same time. And she could not stop shivering.

“You’re cold,” he murmured between kisses.

“No,” she whispered.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” she answered breathlessly.

She felt the day’s growth of whiskers on his face shift on her inner thigh, and she knew he must be smiling. It made her smile, too. Until . . .

At first she thought his hands had closed the distance. But no, she clenched her eyes shut. His palms were pushing her inner thighs still wider apart.

And then he was kissing the top of her mound and the crinkle of her hair. Only now he inched lower. She nearly shot off the bed when she felt his tongue stroke her center. Her hands clenched the linen sheet.

His hot breath fanned her sensitive flesh and she moaned. Every nerve in her body was on fire, and her mind froze. He worked the sensitive center of her and she cried out, uncertain. Immediately, he captured the peak of her cleft, and suckled her, while his hands held her in place, despite the jumble of sounds flowing from her throat.

And just like before, it became obvious to her that he would not stop until he was satisfied that he had pushed her to the pinnacle.

Mindless, she took a deep breath, and held still to give in to the growing maelstrom, shattering into a kaleidoscope of lights and a great pulsing release.

“Mmmmm,” he growled while still clamped to her tender flesh.

As the tidal pulls within her slowed, she became light-headed and realized she’d forgotten to breathe. Roxanne gulped in air and released the sheet to reach for him. She urged him up and into her arms.

Never had she experienced such peace and yet felt so empty. Her body wanted his fully. His weight came down on hers and it felt so right. So perfect.

His eyes were dark with desire as Roxanne ran her hands down his immense shoulders to the sensitive small of his back. Her fingers caught on the band of his breeches, as her mind registered a long ironlike length beneath the black fabric against her thigh.

“Come to me,” she whispered. She fumbled with the falls until he pushed aside her hand and undid an ivory button on one side.

His arousal sprang free and he smothered a curse into her shoulder as he tried to yank the opening wider. It took far longer than was necessary to disentangle himself. Roxanne giggled.

She felt so young and carefree, and full of happiness. This was not at all the practiced seduction she had feared. She didn’t want this to be that. She wanted it to be joyful and warm and intimate.

He fell back on her and the heavy weight of his sex imprinted on her thigh, shocking her with heat and sensation. She was certain he could feel her racing heartbeat, as the tension coiled inside of her again.

“I want to be inside you,” he groaned.

“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s where you belong.” His weight was delicious.

He grasped her knees and pulled them high above his hips. He rested his forehead against hers and didn’t move for a long moment. She wasn’t sure why he was waiting.

Her smile disappeared as she felt him move slightly and the blunt end of him slid to the center of her wetness. He rose up on his elbows and gazed at her as he paused at the entrance to her. The moment felt like a benediction.

She leaned up to kiss his cheek softly.

It broke him. He plunged into her, past the tight ring of her, and her clenched muscles, past everything, until she felt completely filled in every direction. She was gloriously stretched, and wanted the moment to never end, as he invaded the deepest recesses of her being. He was so hard, and he tested the limits of her with his hot length.

Nuzzling her neck, and gulping for air, he reached to cup her bottom, holding her firmly in place as he began the long, slow push-release. Roxanne wrapped her arms around his back, hugging him closer to her, while the sparking lights of pleasure swirled in the darkness behind her eyelids.

She desperately wanted to climb higher with him, and pushed her body to meet him stroke for stroke. She clenched his ironlike back, his muscles rippling under her fingers. The deep, wet, hot glide of him teased her senses until she reached a peak, and remained stock-still. The quicksilver pleasure was elusive until she realized he was drawing out the ecstasy to the outermost limit for them both. She could not move until he met her at the summit, and took her over the edge as a deep growl tore from his throat.

The two of them fell through space and time together, entwined in the fashion of two eternal lovers entering paradise. Wild pulses of light showered about them; his great surges melded with hers, and she couldn’t stop the cries leaving her lips.

The rampage rained over them, until he collapsed on top of her, breathing hard, his hands gently massaging her sore hips, before he eased back onto his elbows and caressed her face.

Her breath evened slowly as she stared at the overly large pupils of his eyes. She reveled in his protective expression. She didn’t need the security he offered, but she loved that he wanted to give it to her nonetheless.

He cupped her shoulders with his large hands and she stroked his hair, which had grown too long since she had met him.

She was shocked by the intensity of her reactions and his. Roxanne would never have known what love could be like if not for the man above her.

He bent down to kiss her lightly on her eyelids, her cheeks, her forehead, and finally her lips. As he finally pulled back, his brown hair fell forward and his dark eyes looked down at her.

“I love you,” she whispered, peeling away the last layer protecting her heart.

“Roxanne . . .” he murmured.

“No, you must let me say it. It’s not a simple thing, you see. I loved you even before I met you. I loved the idea of you,” she said quietly. “And to think you existed all this time. And it only took that horrid moment when everything went wrong for the both of us for our paths to finally cross. I would fall off that cliff again and again for the promise of you.”

He caressed her cheeks and dipped to kiss her forehead before she continued.

“And I love how you took me to the Mount—even when you didn’t want to and had your own set of problems.”

“I love me for that, too,” he replied.

She smiled.

He leaned in for a long, leisurely kiss.

“So . . . do you love me, too?” She was certain what he would say. But as the silence dragged, doubt snuck in.

“What do you think?” he murmured.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Why do you ask?”

She grasped the pillow resting beside her head, and hit him on the head with it. “Just bloody tell me and put me out of my misery,” Roxanne pleaded. Really, had he no idea?

“It will only make it worse,” he whispered.

“No. It will make it better.”

“I doubt it.”

“Please,” she said grasping his hand. “No matter what happens. It is better to know it. And to say it.”

“Well, then . . . I love you,” he said, staring at her.
“Je t’adore.
Bloody hell,
cherie. Je t’aime.”

“Have I told you how much I love French?” She smiled.

“You are adorable.”

“Really?” Her heart overflowed and she kissed him back. “I’ve never felt adorable. Only awkward and too tall and . . . Oh, enough. Now look, we must form a plan to—”

“I agree,” he interrupted.

“You do?”

“Absolutely. First, I am going to tie you to the headboard of this monstrous bed. Then I’m going to take a feather from one of my valet’s ridiculous hats and use it to tickle you. And then . . .” The rest of his words were muffled as she began to kiss him for all she was worth.

Oh, they were in love. Truly, madly, deeply. This was what it felt like. And it was not a love that was the work of a minute—a fast spark that would fizzle. It was the love of a lifetime.

Well . . . at least she would have this moment for the rest of her life no matter how short it might be.

T
here was no more talk of schemes the rest of the predawn hours they shared intimately together. It was as if the two of them did not dare mar a moment of the time they had to give to each other without reservation.

And so they made love to each other. Repeatedly. Desperately. Slowly during some moments, and furiously the rest of the time. He murmured incomprehensible phrases in French that sounded unbearably erotic and all the while he challenged her to do things she did not know could be done to drive one another to distraction. And she delighted in his every groan and mutterings as she dreamt up ways to deepen his own rapture.

Many times he made her cry while she laughed, or perhaps . . . she laughed while she cried. It was only when he fell asleep with her cradled in his arms that she sensed true doom. And worse.

They had managed to push away the reality that awaited her in this time out of time. But now it was rushing toward them, like the never-ending tide.

But she reminded herself that at least she had had this one night with him. She was a romantic and would go to her grave a romantic. Was it not better to be so—than to be a realist?

As the night lightened to dark blue, then lavender, she forced herself to face the harsh truths that awaited them. They might not be able to avoid a cruel future. Pale pink, and orange limned the great chamber and she slipped out from under his heavy arm draped over her and tiptoed from the huge bed.

“Where are you going?” he rumbled. His brown hair was tousled and his great bronzed chest bare.

“To make myself presentable. My gown is in Isabelle’s chamber.”

“Come back here and keep yourself warm while, instead, I find a gown in your chamber.”

She returned to him and snuggled into his warm embrace. Within moments he was hovering over her, his arms straining. “You must be sore, my darling. I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

“No,” she whispered. “I want you. I will always want you.”

And he kissed her just like he had a thousand times during the night, and drove his hard length inside her. She matched him movement for movement, wishing she could turn back time forever and a day as they stared at each other with the knowledge of all the love being forged between them.

The memory seared into her mind as they soared together.

R
oxanne only allowed herself to surrender to lassitude when Alexander unwound his large form from her reluctantly, and pulled himself free of the mound of bedclothes. He dragged a hand through his disheveled hair, and yawned. When she thought of all they had shared, and of what he had caused her to feel, a well of happiness overflowed in her heart.

He disappeared beyond the door, but for a moment and then reentered with a pitcher of steaming water and placed it on a washstand. He poured out half and splashed himself before using a clean length of cloth, and then in that amazingly short time only gentlemen need, dressed himself in his usual impeccable attire.

“The rest of the water is for you,
cherie
.”

When he disappeared, she quickly made use of the soap and water and then stepped into her chemise. She couldn’t find her stockings . . . until she looked up and saw one caught in the gilded chandelier. The second was under his armoire. He loved to throw her clothes across the chamber in wild abandonment. It was a habit of his of which she could grow quite fond.

She could not stop the smile spreading over her face despite the worry that darted between every other thought. The curtain fluttered in the breeze and a small shard of dawn’s first light fell upon her. Roxanne moved toward the curtain, drew it back, and halted.

Oh, God.

A troop of three dozen or more horsemen were trotting toward the Mount.

She ran out of the chamber and didn’t care about the spectacle she was making. She called to the footman at the end of the hall, alerting him to wake the ladies.

She was looking over her shoulder as she ran in the other direction, and collided into a hard object . . . Alexander.

“They . . .” she stuttered. “They’ve come. And they have torches.”

W
hen he heard that last word, his heart hardened to stone. He could not feel anything beating in his chest. Roxanne’s hands cupping his face did not even register.