Fantasy 02 - Forbidden Fantasy (18 page)

"He's not dead. You could talk to him. You could apologize now."

"He wouldn't grant me an audience."

"What if you're wrong? What if he would?"

The notion dangled between them, but Ian was too distraught to embrace it. Instead, he said what he could, what was absolutely true.

"I don't want you to go. Not ever. And most especially not when you're so angry."

"I don't belong here," Jack insisted.

"You do belong. You belong right here—with me."

Jack looked so bewildered. "I don't know what to do, Ian. Everything is so jumbled."

"Sleep on it. Things will seem less bleak in the morning."

"We'll see." He kept climbing.

"Please?"

Ian heard the quiver in his voice, and he hated that he was begging, but if Jack left, what good was any of it? He'd have no one in the entire world, save Rebecca, and having her was worse than having no one, at all.

"Jack!" he snapped, his irritation poking through. "Tell me you'll stay."

"We'll see," his brother said again, and he continued on, as Ian fussed and stewed in his empty parlor.

He paced back and forth, back and forth, and with each trek across the floor, he was more despairing. Why couldn't he ever have what he craved? Why couldn't anything ever go as he planned?

Like a spoiled toddler, he railed against life, against Fate. Every imaginable injustice appeared to have been foisted on him, and he was so weary of battling for every little scrap.

He merely wanted to be happy. That's all he wanted. Why couldn't he be happy? Why was contentment so difficult to attain?

He wanted Caro.

The sudden need flowered in his chest, and it grew and grew until it was blazing like a forest fire.

He'd suffered years of rejection, and he was tired of denying himself. For more than a decade he'd mooned over Caro, and now he was about to stand idly by while her parents married her to Edward Shelton.

What was the matter with him? Why was he so ready to surrender? Why couldn't he fight—just once—for what he desired?

He glanced at the clock, seeing that it was after ten and wondering where Caro was. Had she gone out for the evening? If she was attending a soiree, could he locate her? Or should he risk sneaking into her father's mansion again?

He had to find her, and he marched to the foyer, anxious to grab a coat and hat, to have a horse saddled so he could ride off in search of her. He'd just stepped toward the door, when it opened and—as if he'd conjured her by magic—she slipped in.

She pushed off the hood of her cloak, and she was pale and shaking.

T had to speak with you," she started. "Is it all right that I've come?"

"You never need an invitation."

He approached and took her hands in his. She was frozen, her fingers icy, and he was sickened to realize that she'd traipsed through the dark London streets to be with him.

"What happened?" he asked. "What is it?"

"After I was with you the other afternoon, my mother was furious."

"I presumed she would be."

"She's decreed that I'm out of control and should be punished. She conferred with my father, and he agreed."

"To what?"

"They've moved up the wedding date." "When is it to be?" "A week from today."

I
'm here to say good-bye," Caro said. "Good-bye?" Ian was aghast, which provided some relief. She was weary of lectures about duty and responsibility, and she'd wanted to converse with someone who would be as appalled as she was, herself. Ian was the only one who would listen, the only one who would commiserate or empathize, so after Britannia had made her vile announcement Caroline had crept away as soon as she was able.

What she truly yearned to say was, Save me! Help me! but she didn't, for what—precisely—could Ian do for her?

If she declined to go through with the ceremony, her father would cast her out, and she'd be shunned by society. She'd be disowned, a poverty-stricken female, with no funds and no acquaintances to offer her aid or shelter.

Would she beg Ian to take her in and support her? For how long? In what capacity?

It was ludicrous to suppose he was the answer to her prayers.

"I can't stop by again," she stated, feigning calm. "Never?"

"With the wedding so near, I'm sure I won't have another chance to get away." "I see... ."

There was a noise down the hall, most likely a servant rambling about, and Ian gestured for silence and led her to the stairs. Without argument, she followed him up to his bedchamber. He shut and locked the door, and as they stood, facing each other, she noticed what hadn't been apparent in the foyer.

He was greatly distressed, himself, perhaps even more than she, so it was a terrible moment to have arrived, but she wouldn't regret her decision.

They had no remaining opportunities where they could be together. After she was married, despite how dreadful it turned out to be, she would honor her vows to Mr. Shelton.

"What is it, Ian?" she inquired. "What's wrong?"

"Everyone is leaving me," he oddly said.

"Everyone?"

"First John, then Jack, now you." He drew her into his arms, and he kissed her with a particular desperation. "I don't want you to go."

With a groan of dismay, he proceeded to the bed. He removed her cloak and tossed it on the floor; then he climbed onto the mattress, urging her down so that she was draped across him. She was still attired in the gown she'd worn to supper, the fashionable neckline cut very low, her breasts practically falling out of the bodice.

With the slightest tug, he freed them and sucked on her nipple, seeming to be soothed by the gentle motion. But as he shifted to the other one, the passion rapidly escalated.

"How long can you stay?" he queried.

"As long as you'd like."

"Till dawn?"

"Certainly."

"I want to make love to you. I want to make you mine in every way that counts." "I want it, too."

"I don't want to ever forget what it was like." "Neither do I."

He was unbuttoning her dress, as she worked on his shirt. They jerked and pulled, wrenched and yanked, and quickly they were naked. They stretched out, with her on top.

"I wish there was more time for you to teach me your sexual games," she said. "I feel like there's so much I don't know."

"I've created a wanton."

"Yes, you have."

She relished how naughty they were when they were alone, and as a spinster she'd missed out on many fantastic adventures. Without a doubt, Mr. Shelton would never inspire her to such outbursts of ardor.

It seemed as if a portal was closing, as if she was about to be shut off from the life she could have had if she'd been smarter in her decisions. On this, her last night with Ian, she felt that it was her final chance to be happy, and she planned to grab for whatever bliss he chose to bestow. At the moment, she didn't care about Mr. Shelton or her mother or her duty to her family. For once, she would selfishly revel.

In the morning, when it was over, she was positive she'd rue and regret, but not now, not when her every sinful desire was about to be realized.

He dipped down and nursed at her breasts again; then he meandered lower and settled himself between her legs. She grasped his destination, and she spread wide, welcoming the decadent invasion.

Swiftly, he goaded her to the precipice and heaved her over, her anatomy convulsing with ecstasy. She struggled to the peak, then floated down—grinning—as he caught her.

He was very tense, his body rigid with unfulfilled lust, and she wasn't certain how to pleasure him. He'd always acted like too much of a gentleman, so he'd never shown her the indecencies she'd been anxious to learn.

"I want you to put your mouth on me," he said. "I want to be inside you at least once before we're through."

"I don't understand what you mean."

He hesitated, then mumbled, T don't know if we should."

"I'll do whatever you'd like. Tell me what it is." "It's a whore's trick," he claimed. "It's awful of me to ask you." "I don't mind."

He shifted up the pillows, his masculine shaft alive and reaching out to her, demanding she tend it.

To her amazement, he clasped it and brushed the tip across her lips.

"Lick me with your tongue," he instructed.

Surprised by the request, she froze, then did as he'd commanded, and she was tantalized by how she'd galvanized his attention. She didn't think she'd ever seen a man quite so focused.

"You like that, do you?"

"Very much." He moaned and flexed his hips. "Open up. Take me like this."

She gazed at him, stunned, but horribly fascinated, too, and she eagerly complied. He tasted like heat and salt, and though he'd mentioned that it was a deed for a harlot to perform, she was enthralled.

He thrust, pushing in, then retreating, giving her a bit more with each penetration. She could have lain there forever, savoring the depraved escapade, which only proved how low her true character actually was.

She might have been an earl's daughter, but she was thrilled to misbehave like any common trollop. He was transfixed, and she was delighted to confer something he so obviously treasured.

She'd just started to get the hang of it when he shoved her away, and she glared up at him, wanting to keep on.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm too aroused; I can't continue."

"You never let me have any fun," she pouted.

He was in agony, every muscle taut as a bowstring, and he urgently needed the male release that would bring him relief. She snuggled herself to him, assuming he would rub himself on her belly as he had during prior trysts, but he rolled them so that she was on the bottom and he was wedged between her thighs, his rod dropping to her center.

"I want you so badly," he said through clenched teeth.

"Then take me. I am yours." "My God! Don't give me permission." "I want it to be you. I want to know what it's like." He nudged forward so that the end was inserted. "If I proceed," he warned, "there is a thin piece of skin that's called your maidenhead. I'll tear it." "Will it grow back?"

"No. So your husband'''—he could barely pronounce the loathsome word—"will know that you've been with another man."

She thought about Mr. Shelton, about her bitter, resentful mother, her foolish, preoccupied father. They were sacrificing her like an innocent maiden in a savage's ritual. What loyalty was owed?

"I don't care if I'm discovered," she insisted.

"He could beat you for it, Caro. Or divorce you, or kill you, and he would suffer no punishment for his crime."

"I don't care," she repeated. "I really don't."

She pressed herself to him, the crown lodged in even farther. He hung his head, his eyes closed, as if praying for strength.

"I'm so hard for you," he muttered.

"Then take me! Don't make me wait. Don't leave me wondering."

For an eternity, he paused, perched on a cliff of indecision, so she raised the stakes.

"I can't be with you again," she said.

"I know."

"This is our only chance."

"I know that, too." His expression changed, becoming more tender. "If we progress, there's no fixing what we've done. I would hate it if you were sorry later on."

"I never will be."

He studied her, then nodded, and he clasped her flanks and braced himself. "No regrets, Caro." "No, none."

He began driving into her, and at feeling him so intimately and unusually located, she had an attack of virginal nerves and tried to wiggle away, but he held her in place.

"Ian, stop!"

"No."

"Can we talk about this?" "No!"

"Please."

"It has to conclude like this, Caro. Don't you see? This is where we've been going all along."

He flexed and flexed, and he broke through, his cock fully impaled.

"Oh, oh ..." she breathed, arching up, tears stinging her eyes. "You didn't tell me it would hurt." She forced a chuckle, but it was a miserable sound.

"I didn't want to frighten you."

He kissed her, dawdling and delaying, and gradually, her anatomy adapted. As she relaxed, he commenced again, entering her over and over, and rapidly she was meeting him thrust for thrust.

His passion increased, his penetrations more precise, more resolute, and finally he tensed and emptied himself against her womb. The sensation was magical, and she hugged him tight, wishing they could be together forever, that nothing from the outside world would ever intrude. Her heart was filled to bursting, and she roiled with emotion. She was so happy; she was so sad, and she was experiencing every wild swing of sentiment in between the two conditions.

/ love you!

The phrase popped into her mind, and she didn't know why it hadn't occurred to her before. Of course she loved him. She always had and always would.