Julia Justiss (20 page)

When at last she broke away, he wrapped his arms around her and settled her against his shoulder, then brought one of her hands up to rest against his chest. Pressing his fingers over hers, he was gratified to discover her heart drumming as rapidly as his own.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered, “our hearts beating almost as one? This is how intimacy should be, Belle. The only way it will ever be between us.”

She looked up at him, wonder in her eyes. “It
is
beautiful. Thank you, Jack.”

He pressed a kiss on her hair as she settled back into his arms. For a long time they sat in silence, Jack hardly daring to breathe lest he rupture that fragile moment.

Finally, a sudden gust of afternoon wind made her shiver. “We’d best be getting back,” Belle said, pushing away with what he hoped was reluctance.

Lord help him, he wanted to keep her there and kiss her and kiss her and kiss her. Instead, he bit back a protest. “Yes, Mae will be wondering what delayed us. I promised her a round of billiards before dinner.”

To his delight she let him keep her hand while they walked back to the curricle. As he started to draw away after helping her in, she stopped him. “I shall never forget this afternoon,” she murmured, squeezing his fingers before releasing them.

“Nor will I,” he replied. Indeed, he thought as he swung himself into the vehicle, memories of it were likely to haunt his mind and cut up his peace for years to come.

T
WO EVENINGS LATER
Belle hummed to herself as she dressed for dinner in an elegant gown of aquamarine silk Jane had altered. Ornamented with brilliants on its tiny sleeves and about the neckline of the now modestly cut bodice, she knew it showed her at her most attractive.

It would be another wonderful evening. They would
laugh and chat over dinner, perhaps induce Mae to regale them with an anecdote drawn from a trove of stories she told from the vantage of her friends from the stage or the Green Room. Then, after they had tea, Mae would discreetly retire, leaving Belle and the captain to spend the rest of a lazy, firelit evening talking together.

For the first time since her parents’ death, Belle was happy, though that word was inadequate to describe what she found in Jack’s presence—in life itself with him here. A joy she dare not trust, to be savored only for this moment, and for which she would no doubt pay bitterly later.

A joy she refused to give any other name.

After realizing he would not try to coerce her into intimacy, she had been able to completely relax with Jack, which immeasurably enhanced her pleasure in the time they spent together. She found herself not just enjoying, but even seeking out, opportunities to touch him.

Or kiss him. She had become almost compelled to kiss him every time they had a few private moments, to see if the next kiss would be as sweet as that first one.

Thus far, the wonder of it had not abated.

She realized now that the odd sensations she’d experienced after meeting the captain, that had gradually strengthened during their time together—the fullness in her breasts, the tingling in her nipples, the warmth and wetness between her thighs—must result from some form of the desire men felt. Feelings that drew her to him and intensified when she kissed him.

Her initial, rather idle speculation about what it might be like to become Jack Carrington’s lover had become a
frequently entertained fantasy. Given the desire the captain had admitted, all that now kept her from trying to make those vague images a reality was fear.

She didn’t want to spoil their friendship or tarnish the beauty of those kisses. She was afraid if she invited his hands and mouth upon her, his body into hers, the familiar revulsion would recur. That in order not to cry out or struggle to get away, she’d have to disengage her mind from her body and finish the business by rote.

In addition to forever ruining her memories of a sweeter closeness, that would risk having Jack become aware of her withdrawal. Whether or not at that extreme point he was still able to stop, she couldn’t possibly lead him into so unfair and potentially disastrous an encounter.

She already felt guilty enough, that while she greedily savored his kisses, he was battling what the erection she felt straining against his breeches showed to be a continual frustration that the passion her kisses encouraged was never allowed to reach its conclusion.

It wasn’t right for her to keep tempting his heroic restraint. She should either stop kissing him, or allow matters to proceed where kisses normally led.

They’d had one minor contretemps over it already. While she’d tasted his mouth on the terrace last night, her fingers crept down his shirtfront toward that familiar bulge in his breeches. Her own blood rushing through her veins at the play of his tongue on hers, she’d wickedly wanted to stroke that most sensitive part of his anatomy, feel him shudder into her kiss.

But before her fingers could reach their destination, he’d seized her hand.

“Sweeting, take your fill of kisses,” he’d said, his voice ragged. “But you mustn’t touch me.”

“You don’t want this?” she’d asked, stroking his chest, unhappy at being stopped short of her goal.

“You mean to drive me mad,” he’d responded with a groan. “I’m only human, Belle. And I refuse to break my promise.”

She’d not tried to touch him there again—though she’d been tempted. Then, as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, it struck her that in two more days, he must leave.

No more magical evenings.

No further chances to find out if heaven could extend to more than a kiss.

And if it did not, did it truly matter if she enjoyed every aspect of intimacy? Knowing it was
Jack
she was inviting into her body, surely she wouldn’t be repulsed.

Using the techniques she’d been taught, she could give him all the satisfaction he longed for, repay him for the frustration her kisses had caused and reward the restraint and tender concern he’d shown her.

Besides, though granting him intimacy would be her gift, touching him all over would reward
her
as much as
him
. Since he’d rebuffed her, she’d developed a positive eagerness to unclothe him and explore his body with hands and lips. She quite relished adding the image of him writhing in an ecstasy of her making to the collection of memories she would cherish.

There were already so many. The wry quirk of his smile
and the dance of his dark eyes when he teased her. The deep tones of his voice flowing over her, energizing her mind and senses. She loved his wide-ranging knowledge, the way he challenged her to support her views, the gentle press of his fingers on her hand, her arm.

She especially loved the taste of his mouth and how, with a stroke of his tongue, he could send shivers of fire to her breasts, her core, so that she ached with longing.

Perhaps intimacy with Jack would be less unpleasant than she’d feared.

I will never take more than you gladly give.

Her mind made up, she set out for the dining room. Tonight, he would have it all.

A
S THE EVENING
crept on, Belle waited impatiently for the meal and the ritual of tea to be finished. Although she did not experience the anxiety that had afflicted her a week ago, when she’d schemed to seduce Jack and send him away, still her mind and body hummed with tension.

Her restlessness this time was more anticipation than dread, colored by a mounting eagerness to be able to use skills so bitterly learned to repay with delight the joy Jack had brought into her life.

At last Watson and Mae withdrew. Despite her inner agitation, Belle thought she’d been conducting herself much as usual—until she suddenly noticed the room had grown silent. She looked up at Jack, a guilty flush on her cheeks, and found him smiling.

“I see my comments on Byron’s poetry have been less than fascinating.”

“It isn’t that at all. It’s just—I’ve been waiting and waiting to kiss you again.”

His smile deepened and something hot and needy glittered in his eyes. “Then wait no more, my lady.”

She walked over and he drew her onto his lap, opened his mouth willingly to her invasion. Her tongue sought his,
that first, glancing contact sending a heady excitement racing through her veins.

As her tongue advanced, his retreated. She sensed him holding back, exercising once again that iron control. Wanting to compel him to a more fevered response, she pursued his tongue, laved it with broad strokes, until she felt him shudder.

Whipping his hands up to grip her shoulders, he went suddenly from quarry to hunter, deepening the contact. Then he captured her tongue, sucked it, sending a scalding wash of sensation to her nipples and between her legs.

Her breasts felt turgid, heavy. She wanted the hands gripping her shoulders to cup them, the thumbs now bracing back to play across her nipples. But when she reached up to tug his hand downward, he broke the kiss.

“I want you to touch me,” she protested.

His eyes were dark, his breathing uneven. “Where?”

She guided his hand to her breast. “Here.”

Though he left the hand where she’d placed it, his fingers did not move. She gave a whimper of frustration. “Caress me—please.”

A sigh escaped as he closed the hand around her breast. Then, keeping his eyes on her face, he traced around it, his thumb moving in smaller and smaller circles until at last it skimmed the nipple just beyond the areola.

Moaning, she leaned into him, kissing him fiercely, her hand urging his to caress her there again and again.

But it was not enough to satisfy the need building inside her, throbbing between her thighs. Knowing his fingers on her naked skin would intensify the sensations,
Belle angled away from him and tugged down the bodice of her gown, then pulled his hand back to the bared nipple.

Ah, the feeling was indeed more intense, so much that she cried out, tried to thank him with lips and tongue for how exquisitely wonderful it was. Yet she knew there might be a way to intensify the sensations even further.

Part of her quailed before the idea that tempted her. Never before had she
wanted
a man to suckle her. Usually that act was the spur that sent her mind and spirit fleeing into its mental refuge while her body continued on by rote.

But tonight she craved the feel of his mouth on her breasts.

Once again she broke the kiss. “Please, I want your lips here,” she said hoarsely, pressing the thumb still moving lazily over the tip of her nipple.

He looked at her with those molten eyes, his mouth moist and swollen from the fervor of her kisses. But he did not lower his head.

A fury of frustrated need coursing through her, Belle wondered at his hesitation. She was about to plead again, when he shocked her by pulling her bodice back up.

“Belle, this isn’t the place,” he said, his fists on her gown trembling. “What if a footman returns to gather up the glasses?”

The unpleasant memory of embarrassments past cleared some of her passion-induced fog. “Yes. Yes, you’re right. We mustn’t continue here.”

Fortunately, the hard shaft pulsing against her bottom reassured her that concern for privacy hadn’t lessened
Jack’s ardor. She slithered off his lap and took his hand. “Will you come with me?”

He pulled the hand free. “Where, Belle?”

She realized she didn’t have a destination in mind. They had already progressed so far, there was no continuation that would be fair to the captain short of finally finishing what she’d begun. Was she truly ready?

She looked at Jack, who continued to sit, his jaw set, his clenched fists at his sides, making no move to persuade her despite the obvious evidence of his desire. Even now, if she said “no more” or “good night,” he would let her go.

A wave of tenderness swamped her panic and washed away the last of her doubts. “My chamber.”

He looked surprised. “That wouldn’t be wise.”

“Why? You said you would touch me if I wanted it. And I do!”

“But I also promised to stop, and if we proceed further in the privacy of your chamber, Belle, I don’t know that I’ll be able to keep that promise.”

“You won’t have to.”

He studied her face. “Are you sure?”

She recalled the dizzying sweetness of his thumb circling her nipple, let herself imagine even more. “Yes.”

“Then, my lady, I should be happy to follow you.”

Since, in case they chanced to meet some late-working servant, it was necessary to maintain a proper distance as they walked through the hall and up the stairs, by the time they reached Belle’s bedchamber, her eagerness had cooled and some of her doubts returned. Not wishing to
pause long enough for the captain to sense her unease, she quickly drew him inside and closed the door.

She should touch him now, try to shatter his control so he would be beyond noticing if, at some critical moment, her usual revulsion occurred. But when she reached for him, once again he parried her hand.

Surprised, she glanced at him. “Why not? There are no restrictions here.”

He shook his head, smiling. “I agreed to accompany you. I did not agree to a change in the rules. I will touch you wherever and however you command. But aside from kissing my lips,
you
may not touch
me
.” He lowered his gaze to her breasts. “I would suggest you begin by letting me disrobe you.”

His steady regard was almost as potent as a touch. Feeling her nipples puckering, she replied, “Very well,” surprised to hear her voice had gone breathless.

Instead of tugging down the silk bodice as she had done in the parlor, however, he stepped behind her and began unfastening the garment.

Though “unfastening” was hardly an adequate term for the way he worked each clasp and tape, stroking his fingers along her back and shoulders, brushing his lips along the nape of her neck. “The silk feels luscious beneath my fingers,” he breathed into her ear, “but ’tis nothing to the feel of your naked skin.”

All her attention riveted on the slow descent of his hands, the gentle nuzzle of his mouth. She bit back a moan as he loosened the final tapes, his hands shaping and fondling her buttocks. Then he slid the gown free, gliding the
garment over the back of her thighs, her knees, her ankles, caressing her heels. “You may step free.”

All the nerves of her legs tingling, she complied.

He rose and stood before her, avidly examining. Though in her modest chemise, all the private areas of her body still concealed, she felt as naked as if he’d bared her to the skin.

Naked—and wicked. She deliberately lowered her gaze to stare at the taut front of his breeches and was thrilled to see the tented fabric rise.

But once again, he stopped her from reaching for him. “My lady, you are still far too clothed,” he murmured, moving once more behind her.

This time as he slowly loosened the undergarment, he followed the stroking of his fingers with that of his lips. First her collarbone, then her shoulders, then the curve of her spine tingled and burned under the gentle, teasing pressure of his lips. By the time he’d pulled the garment down to her bottom and knelt before her, hooking his thumbs over her drawers to remove them along with the chemise, she was trembling all over, every nerve straining.

He smoothed the round of each cheek, nuzzled them with his lips. And her legs nearly gave way at the sudden, shocking, exquisite feel as the wet blade of his tongue, traced the place where buttock met thigh, then traveled inward and up.

But not quite far enough to soothe the ache between her legs before he resumed his leisurely descent, rubbing, nuzzling, tasting the now-bare skin along her legs, knees, to her ankle.

He steadied her after she hobbled out of the chemise
and turned her to face him, clad now only in garters and stockings.

Once more, her whole body hummed under his gaze. Then he leaned over to kiss her chastely on the lips.

“It seems almost sacrilege to touch such beauty.”

“Be a sinner, I beg you!” she cried, panicky at the thought that he might stop now.

Chuckling, he urged her toward the bed. When she grabbed at his shirt, anxious to begin divesting him of his garments, he pulled her hands to her sides.

“Not yet, my princess. Let me please you first.”

“You are pleasing me! I would touch you, too!”

“Later you may touch me as much as you will, but this first time I want to be all for you, sweeting. Please.”

Unable to summon enough coherent words to protest, she let him nudge her onto the high bed. He propped pillows behind her and eased her against them, coaxed her to spread her legs as he sat on the edge of the bed and began to draw off one stocking.

The idea that she was exposing her most intimate place to his penetrating gaze, reclining nearly naked before him while he remained completely clothed, both shocked her and amplified the tension coiling deep in her body.

Heat sheened her skin and a single drop of perspiration trickled between her breasts, slid down the slick skin of her abdomen as he drew the stocking off and massaged her bare toes. Then, still watching her face, her body, he lifted her foot and suckled it.

A stab of sensation arced to her center, setting up a curious but intense vibration. She pushed down against the
mattress, straining for something to ease the delicious, almost unbearable tightness.

Nibbling lightly on her toes now, he ran one finger from her ankle down her leg to her thigh, his fingers stopping maddeningly short of the pulsing center she now yearned for him to touch.

He released her toes and gently parted her legs farther, watching her. “Yes, my beauty, glisten for me.”

Never before had she desired being touched there. But now she thought she would go mad if he did not.

“Please!” she pleaded, grabbing his hand and tugging it closer. “Stroke me here.”

“As my lady desires.”

He moved closer to her on the bed. She moaned in frustration and delight as, rather than follow her command, he bent his head to her breast. Where instead of easing her torture by drawing an aching nipple into his mouth, stopped a bare inch away to exhale a long, warm breath over the acutely sensitized skin. When at last he closed his lips over the nipple, she cried out at the exquisite pleasure of it.

She was beyond thought, conscious only of sensation after sensation as he suckled her while his fingers glided up her inner thigh to fondle the tight curls between her parted legs.

Suddenly his finger delved into the moist skin of her inner lips to caress the small, rigid nub hidden within, producing a reaction so intense she arched her back and bucked beneath him. He murmured, soothing her, lightening the contact to a feather-soft brushing until, some time
less minutes later, she pushed herself against his hand, craving once more the intensity of a harder stroke.

The tension seemed to build and build, making her frantic as she writhed against his fingers. Then he stopped, and she would have shrieked a protest except that within seconds he exchanged the ministrations of his fingers for that of his tongue.

Her legs went limp and fell apart. Every bit of consciousness in her body concentrated on that tiny ridge of flesh and the power of the feelings he was evoking. Perspiration dripped down her belly, dampened the hands with which she clutched the pillows as she frantically strained toward something, some release—

And then it happened, an explosion originating where his tongue caressed her and erupting in a million scintillating points of light that carried the exquisite sensations to every corner of her body.

Wave after wave pulsed through her, suspending thought and will, until at length they softened, dispersed. Totally spent, Belle slumped back against the pillows.

For some time after she heard only the ragged rush of her breathing. Jack eased himself onto the pillows beside her, gathered her limp body in his arms and held her.

Awe, wonder and a profound gratitude filled her mind, though it was many minutes before she could gather wits enough to produce speech.

“I never imagined…” she breathed at last.

“’Tis how pleasure should be. How it always will be for us.”