Intimate Deception (6 page)

“Is she new?”

“Yes. But you will not have to worry. You will find her most eager to please. It is quite shameless the way my girls fight over you.”

Raeborn shook his head. “I think what is shameless is the way you flatter me, Madam.”

Genevieve laughed, the sound clear and melodious.

“Ah. You have discovered my secret.” She rose and walked to the door. “I think it is time you met Deborah.”

Vincent sat forward to rise and stopped. A sudden rush of warmth engulfed him. It wasn’t the heat one associated with the warmth of the sun on a bright summer’s day, but an unusual heat creeping to every extremity in his body. Down his arms and legs, then settling deep in the pit of his stomach. It was not an uncomfortable warmth, but a euphoric sensation that seemed to lift away the troubles and worries he’d brought with him.

“Deborah is waiting upstairs for you,” Genevieve said, standing at his side. “In the Peach Room.”

“Then I’d best go. I wouldn’t want to keep the lady waiting.”

Genevieve walked with him to the bottom of the stairs and gifted him with an open smile before leaving him. He felt strange, but pleasantly so, and with each step he climbed toward the private rooms above, his anticipation grew stronger. The desire to find release in a woman’s warm, willing body grew more desperate with each footfall.

When he reached the Peach Room, he knocked quietly, then opened the door when a soft voice bade him enter.

The room was dimly lit, only the flames from the fireplace casting a light by which to see. He scanned the room.

His gaze stopped when he saw her sitting on a chair by the window. She rose when he entered.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he expected, but he was somewhat surprised by the girl facing him. She didn’t have the look most of Genevieve’s girls had. She seemed softer, even delicate.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. She took a tentative step toward him, then stopped, her air of innocence taking him quite by surprise.

She was exquisitely shaped, exactly the paramour most men of society demanded from a high-class establishment like Madam Genevieve’s. But she did not seem as bold as most of Genevieve’s girls. This one seemed almost shy.

Her long blonde hair hung loosely around her shoulders and flowed in beautiful waves that cascaded down her back nearly to her waist. A sheer white chemise, so thin he could see the outline of her shapely legs in the glow of the firelight, covered her body. She wore nothing beneath it.

For someone so slender, her breasts were round and full. Her waist was narrow and her hips fanned out with the fullness of age, but not unseemly so. She was not so very tall, but he knew when he stood next to her the top of her head would reach nearly to his chin. He was glad. He hated how he towered over most females. Hated the way he dwarfed them.

She was older, perhaps twenty-eight or -nine.

He smiled. It had been a long time since he’d met someone who didn’t make him feel like he’d stolen her from a schoolroom.

He walked toward her, his fingers pulling his cravat loose. “Good evening, Deborah. Genevieve tells me you’re new.”

“Yes.” She smiled a shy greeting, then took another hesitant step forward.

Her timidity was endearingly sweet, and he smiled in hopes of relaxing her. “Would you prefer to talk a while first?”

Her eyes widened. “No. I mean…not unless that is what you prefer.”

He shook his head. “No. That is not what I prefer.” He shrugged out of his coat.

She stepped up behind him and took his jacket from his shoulders, then placed it over the back of the chair. He removed his waistcoat next and handed it to her. Then his cravat and finally his shirt. She placed each item on the chair and watched him closely as he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots.

“Please, allow me to do that,” she said, her voice soft and seductive.

He nodded and leaned back, bracing his hands behind him on the mattress. When she reached down to pull his boots from his feet, he noticed her hands shook slightly. That realization pleased him.

He stood when he was bare except for his trousers. “Should I light a candle?”

“Would you mind if we…didn’t?”

“Not at all.” He stepped closer to her and brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “Making love in the moonlight is always more enjoyable.”

She lowered her head and stepped toward him. She lifted her chin slowly, her gaze taking in his features. She didn’t seem disappointed by what she saw, and Vincent felt an uncharacteristic warmth at the realization that he pleased her.

Their gazes locked and he couldn’t move, couldn’t turn away from her. For a moment they remained frozen until, in a slow, intimate gesture, she raised her hand and pressed her palm to his cheek.

Her movement was at first light and tentative. Her fingers trembled slightly as she traced the line of his jaw, then moved upward to lightly brush across his forehead. But in time she became more confident.

“You are a man who worries much,” she whispered, rubbing a finger over his brow.

He smiled, something he didn’t often do. But he’d had enough to drink that the smile came easily. Enough to drink that her touch affected him more than a woman’s touch usually did. Enough to drink that he was completely enamored of the innocent warmth of the woman giving herself to him. “Only occasionally,” he answered, forcing his hands to remain at his sides to keep from rushing ahead too quickly. His resolve didn’t last long.

Vincent reached for the hand pressed against his cheek. Her hand seared his flesh where she touched him. He turned it over, then pressed his lips to her palm.

The intake of her breath affected him. A need so powerful he could barely control it consumed him. He wanted her. Wanted to bury himself deep inside her and take out his needs and frustration until he could forget all he’d lost.

He placed his palms on her shoulders, then slowly ran his hands up and down her arms. With a heavy sigh, he lowered his head and rested his forehead against hers.

“You’re perfect.”

“As are you.”

She placed her hands on his chest and slowly moved them upward until her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck.

They shared a closeness he was loath to sever. He breathed in the clean smell of her, roses mixed with lilacs, then reached around her and pulled her into his embrace.

“I’m glad Genevieve gave you to me,” he whispered, his voice sounding unnaturally husky.

He felt her tremble in his arms and held her tighter. Her arms moved, her fingers touching him, searing his naked flesh. The desire building inside him erupted into a blazing inferno. He lowered his head and covered her mouth with a hungry, desperate kiss.

Bloody hell, but he needed her. Wanted her.

Grace thought she’d been prepared. Thought she’d known what it would be like when he touched her, when he kissed her. But nothing had prepared her for this. For the heat that enveloped her. For the bolts of energy that spiraled through her. For the liquid fire that weakened her, consuming her at an alarming speed.

Strange and violent sensations moved deep inside her and dropped lower and lower and lower until they reached the very core of her body. A secret place she didn’t even
know was hidden deep inside her belly came alive. A shudder racked her body, and she leaned closer as if in search of something to which the man holding her held the secret.

She was on fire. Even though the only garment covering her body was a gown so thin and filmy she felt naked, it was too much. Too heavy. Too confining. Oh, heaven help her. She didn’t know it would be like this.

He moved his lips over hers, touching her in a way she’d never been touched.

His lips were firm and warm. A fire she couldn’t control ignited deep inside her. She prayed he’d never stop kissing her, never stop touching her. Never drop his arms from around her. And he didn’t. He held her closer and deepened his kisses.

He opened his mouth atop hers, his tongue skimming her lips, then invading her mouth.

A thousand blinding lights exploded behind her eyes. His tongue touched hers and a loud moan echoed deep inside her. Her heart thundered harder than it had ever pounded before. Raced faster than it had ever gone before. And he kissed her again, drinking deeply from her. Demanding more.

A whimper was the only sound she was capable of making, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him.

“Ah, what magic you possess,” he whispered, his fingers touching her face and his mouth following with tiny kisses. He worked his way down her neck to a tender spot at the base of her throat, then lower where a tiny satin ribbon held the front of her gown together. He pulled on the ribbon and pushed the silky material from her shoulders.

She barely noticed it falling to her feet.

He touched her breasts, molding them, lifting them, holding them in the palms of his hands. “You are beautiful,” he whispered, rubbing the sensitive tips.

Her knees buckled beneath her and she clung to him with greater ferocity. What he was doing to her nearly undid her. She cried out, then arched her back, desperate to give him more of herself.

She knew she should feel shame, knew he probably thought her actions were bold and brash, then shoved such a thought from her mind. It was too late to turn back from the course she’d decided to take. Too late to stop now. She was in a brothel, playing the part of a prostitute. He would expect her to be experienced. Expect her to accept his touch without hesitation. Then he moved his mouth to her breasts and she couldn’t have stopped him if she’d wanted.

“Touch me,” he ordered, and she moved her hands over him, kneading the muscles at his shoulders. Her fingers, tentative at first, then turning braver, played with the thick mat of hair on his chest. Oh, what a strange feel. Not soft. Yet not coarse. She let her hands roam over his torso, touching every inch of him.

He let out a husky cry, then moved his mouth to suckle at her breasts. She gasped and dropped her head back on her shoulders, then arched up to meet him.

His hands moved over her. The feel of him on her flesh sent her soaring to a strange place. To a place where her mind no longer controlled her body. A place where his touch and caress were all that was important. A place where bending to his will, following where he led, was the only choice.

He took a step forward, forcing her to step back. She went gladly, willingly. He moved another step and another, until the bed stopped them from going farther.

“Lie down,” he said, undoing the buttons and slipping out of his trousers while she got onto the bed. When he was as naked as she, he lay down beside her and looked at her. There was something tender in his gaze. Something that wiped away her fear, gave her courage to go through with this. It wasn’t as if she had a choice. Wasn’t as if there was an alternative.

“I’m glad you were the one tonight,” he said, and he kissed her again while his hands moved over her breasts and her stomach. Then lower to the throbbing center of her. To the place that ached for his touch.

She cupped her palm to his cheek and brought his lips down to meet hers. He kissed her again then touched her with greater intimacy. She nearly bolted off the bed.

This was what Genny had explained to her. The place where he would enter her. The place she had to let him invade so she would no longer be a virgin. She rubbed her hands over his flesh, pulling him closer. Urging him to complete the act.

“Take me. Now.”

“Not yet,” he said with a ragged gasp. “You’re not ready.”

She wanted to argue, wanted to tell him she was. But she couldn’t find the words. His mouth had settled on her breast again while his fingers touched her, rubbing that sensitive spot until she almost shattered. She writhed in wild abandon, whimpering until she was nearly in tears. She was desperate for something. And he alone knew what that something was.

“Please. Oh, please.”

“Yes. I can’t wait,” he gasped, a film of perspiration covering his forehead. “I want you too badly.”

Without hesitation, he positioned himself over her and entered her in one long thrust. The barrier broke and Grace clamped her lips together to muffle the cry of pain.

“What the—”

His body jerked upward and he bellowed a cry of denial. She could see the turmoil on his face as his mind struggled to understand what had just happened. Grace saw the recognition in his gaze, his eyes wide with confusion and disbelief.

“It’s all right. Please. Don’t stop.”

He looked down on her, the fury evident in his gaze. But she couldn’t let him stop. She couldn’t let this be all there was. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him, refusing to let him roll away from her the way she knew he wanted.

“Please, don’t stop. Love me. Just this once.”

He stared at her as if evaluating what his mind was telling him, then lowered his mouth and kissed her.

The mating of their lips was tentative, hesitant. Then he kissed her again, deeper, as if he realized how desperately she wanted him. Almost as if he wanted her just as much.

“You’re sure?”

“Oh, yes.”