One Wicked Night (6 page)

He certainly believed in direct speech. Serena withdrew her handkerchief and pressed it to her trembling mouth. “W-want you? To do what?”

She could tell by his expression he was suppressing a smile. “To make love to you. What else?” He reached for her hand. “I wanted you the instant you turned those blue eyes on me, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” she said, clutching the little linen square. What was she supposed to say?

Lucien took a long swallow from his glass before setting it on a cherry secretary. “Your eyes said, ‘Touch me—now.’ When I did, you ignited.”

Serena felt color suffusing her cheeks. “I never intended that. I—it just . . . happened.”

He shook his head. “It happened because we need each other. I think you’re as lonely as am I.” He wrapped hard, desperate fingers around her shoulders. “Together we can forget, celebrate life.”

He wanted to celebrate life. She had followed him here to create it. She still wanted that, but she also wanted him—and knew that she should not. If she stayed, she would commit the sins of the flesh that had gained her mother such notoriety.

“I should go. Besides, I would be ruined if anyone were to—”

“Find out?” he finished for her. “No one need know that you comforted a grieving man, if that’s your wish.”

He leaned closer, closer, until his lips touched hers. Serena inhaled a ragged breath and tried to remain stiff against his gentle possession. Yet she could find no will to resist. She wanted to know Lucien and his touch, and she craved the results their union could bring. Serena followed him into another intimate kiss that had her toes curling and her breath sawing out of her chest as she melted against him.

“Stay,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms about her waist, molding her against the hard wall of his chest. “Please.”

Serena’s insides turned heavy, fine-tuned by a throb winding its way through her to the intimate center of her body. His hand, with its seeking thumb, sought the sensitive tip of her breast. He rubbed it, creating a delicious friction against her areola, reviving the ache he had produced earlier. Instantly, her nipple hardened for him.

He continued to kiss her, his mouth both clinging and demanding, while massaging the tight bud of her breast between his fingers. And those fingers were pure magic, casting a spell on her ability to reason, melting both muscle and mind into clay to shape as he pleased.

His tongue scorched its way through her mouth like a hot blade, urging her to respond—and not giving up until she did. Hesitantly at first, then more boldly, her tongue soon met his in a wild, abandoned foray.

Lucien left no part of her mouth neglected. He nibbled again on her lower lip, in the manner that had turned her insides to jelly in the carriage. And his hands.... Sweet mercy, those hands seemed to detect her aches, then intensify them. Even now, his palm brushed the juncture of her thighs. Her handkerchief slipped from her grasp to the floor. Before she could stop the sound, Serena moaned.

He lifted his head, breathing ragged, pupils dilated. The need in his eyes, the desire branded on his face, singed her with another wave of want.

That admission hit like a blow to the stomach. Nobody had touched him for months? Cyrus was very affectionate, despite the fact that their relationship was not physically intimate. Rare was the occasion they met one another in a room and did not share a passing touch or glance. She couldn’t imagine Lucien’s isolation in having no one.

“Why? You’re very handsome.” She cast a shy glance to the floor. “Certainly any woman you desire would fall into your arms.”

She looked up to see a raw desperation in his green eyes that displayed the depth of his pain. One that tugged on her heartstrings.

With an anguished frown, he shook his head. “No. But please say you’re falling into mine, sweetheart. Do not make me release you. Not yet.”

Her heart flip-flopped. Everything within her wanted to comfort and reassure him; she was simply that type of person. She knew this situation, indeed this man, was dangerous. But he clearly needed her, and she realized how much she craved that.

To soothe him, she placed her hand against his cheek. He turned his face a fraction to kiss her tender palm.

Sending him a shaky smile, she whispered, “I . . . I’ll stay.”

He pulled her forward, clutching her against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly about her. For long moments, he did not move, but simply held her. Moved by his unexpected show of emotion, she cautiously wound her arms about his neck.

She fingered the dark hair that had grown over his collar. At her touch, he arched his neck, sending her fingers through the soft mass of his hair and a whirl of awareness through her body.

“Are you as beautiful inside as you are outside?” His voice was a whisper, but Serena heard it.

Serena swallowed. “I’m human, like everyone. I have faults.”

Lucien stroked her cheek, his eyes so bleak and unshielded, Serena swore she could see into his soul. And what a sad soul it was. “Not to me. Not tonight.”

He claimed her mouth in another kiss, this one more tender—and desperate—than the others had been. The thorough, gentle contact, accompanied by the caress of his fingers down her spine, made her soften against him in acquiescence.

After the kiss, he reached for her hand, then he led her out of the library, down the shadowy hall. At the end of the corridor, he pushed open the last portal and stepped aside. She brushed him as she passed. The light contact tantalized her as she entered his fire-lit bedroom.

The large, high-ceilinged room had wide floor-to-ceiling windows. The room’s sparse but striking decor was done in rich hues of burgundy, deep blue, and cream, but seemed inconsequential surrounding his bed. The gleaming old piece was giant, covered with intricate hand carvings up its massive, cylindrical posters. A powerful mahogany tester, also exquisite in its etching, lay like a ceiling atop those posters.

Lucien walked to an adjoining sitting room and poured liquid into a glass. He returned with a measure of the same wine they had sipped in the library and dipped one finger into the alcoholic liquid before skimming it across her lip. A drop beaded, threatening to run down her chin. Reflexively, her tongue peeked out to catch it. She tasted the wine as it mixed with the intimate tang of his skin. Another ribbon of desire wound through her.

Her gaze caught his an instant before he bent to devour her mouth again. As his tongue penetrated and engaged hers in an impossible-to-resist dance, her emotions whirled within her like autumn leaves on a windy day. Her breath caught in her throat. She clutched his shoulders, hanging on so that her weak knees did not sink to the carpet.

He bent down, his arm reaching behind her legs. In a single sweep, he lifted her and turned, then set her on the massive bed. She felt the soft coverlet beneath her fingertips—and incredulity rushing throughout her. Sweet mercy, whatever he was doing to her, the sensations he roused felt heavenly.

Her resistance to stop him dissolved.

With expectant eyes, she watched him remove her shoes one at a time, kissing each instep as he exposed it. She shivered as he caressed her ankles, fingertips teasing her calves. Up the length of her stockinged leg, his mouth followed his hands. Closing her eyes, Serena opened herself to the tingling sensations he aroused.

“How perfect,” he whispered. “The blush of your stockings matches the blush on your cheeks.”

Perhaps the wine had made her bold. After all, she had consumed the whole glass in minutes. But she didn’t care. This stranger, her rescuer with devilish good looks, seemed straight out of a young girl’s dreams, dreams she had put away when she married Cyrus.

Yet more than his appearance drew her. He possessed magnetism and need, a combination that made him nearly impossible to turn away. As his fingertips toyed with the sensitive skin behind her knee, arcing pleasure up her thighs, she acknowledged part of her attraction to him might be the wondrous new desire he had roused within her from the first moment in his arms.

“You are incorrigible.” The chastising tone she had planned manifested as a husky whisper instead.

His head snapped up, his gaze zeroing in on her face. “Is that your polite way of saying I’m a cad?”

Serena was charting unfamiliar territory, flirting with a man, playing games that involved both mind and body. She bit her lip, uncertain if the situation called for honesty.

“Would you admit it if I said yes?” she asked uncertainly.

Again, his palms climbed higher, like twin fires scorching their way up the sides of her thighs to cradle her hips. With a single movement, he unplucked one tie securing her stockings.

“I couldn’t possibly admit to being a cad. A little difficult, perhaps, and very stubborn. But I have never brought a . . . new female acquaintance to my home. I don’t make a habit of seducing strangers.”

Lucien could be lying. But as another of the ties holding her stockings gave way beneath his knowing hands, she refused to believe his words were anything but the truth for the sake of her sanity.

“Why, then, did you make an exception for me?” She swallowed hard as his fingers drifted across her leg, closer to the ache that was becoming impossible to ignore.

A roguish smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Now that question is an easy one to answer,” he replied, slowly rolling one stocking down her thigh. When it came free, he held it up before her gaze then let it drift to the floor. “I only intended to overindulge in strong drink and music tonight,” he confided, his speech a bit slurred again. “But when I heard your screams, saw the terror on your face . . . all I could think of was protecting you. You should not have been alone, prey to criminals like that.”

His hands ceased exploring her thighs. Serena’s breath quickened as Lucien leaned closer, his mouth nearly brushing hers.

“You shouldn’t be alone at all. Ever. I know what being alone is like.” His usually smooth voice turned raspy. “It’s damned awful.”

He kissed her, his hand winding around to her nape, caressing the sensitive curve before his palm smoothed down her back to the first hook of her dress. Between his dexterous fingers, it came undone, as did several others below.

He pushed the sleeve of her gown down, baring the curve of her shoulder. His fingertips whispered down the joining of her neck and shoulder, and a flurry of tingles tumbled over her flesh. “My God, you have beautiful skin.”

His voice held something akin to worship. Serena melted into his embrace, his words making her certain, for once, that she was indeed desirable. “Th-thank you.”

“You mustn’t thank me. I had nothing to do with it. I was merely observing the fact your skin is soft and perfect, so fair, but with a hint of honey that tells me it will taste delicious.”

As if to make his point, he planted kisses across her collarbone and drifted across to the top swells of her breasts. He moaned, a deep guttural sound, as his tongue laved her skin.

Serena gasped, thinking his kisses were more intoxicating than the wine she had consumed. Throwing her arms about his neck, she pressed her lips to his, knowing the move was a bold one—and no longer caring. She felt so feminine, so desired, surrounded by Lucien’s broad chest and steely arms.

He responded to her kiss with frenzy, his fingers working the remaining fastenings at the back of her gown. Within seconds, he opened them all and wasted no time in freeing her arms from the sleeves. With impatient hands, he pushed her silk bodice around her waist and fixed his gaze below her neck.

Serena followed his stare, and discovered the swells of her breasts, pushed up by the boning of her stays, barely within the confines of her chemise. Did he find such a display vulgar? She wiggled self-consciously, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was hoarse as he grasped her wrists and drew her stiff arms from her body. “Never hide. You are far too beautiful for that.”

He lifted her to her feet. Bending before her, he grasped the hem of her dress and lifted it above her, his hands making tingling contact at her hips, her waist, then a lingering touch on her breasts. He tossed the dress on the floor.

One by one, Lucien tugged on the waist-ties of her petticoats. She trembled as the garments caressed her legs on their way down, before puddling about her feet.

Lucien held out his hand. Serena watched him, his face tense and needy. He clenched his jaw tightly, as if willing self-control. Those green eyes of his, and every emotion within them, were open to her and melted the last of her resistance. They conveyed the hunger of a man too long without sustenance, both physical and emotional.

As she returned his stare, his breathing turned ragged. She swallowed when he reached for her hand, enveloping her palm within his warm, commanding one and urged her to step from the circle of her petticoats.

Silently, he turned her away, and set his fingers to the lacings of her corset. Within seconds, he tossed the stiff-boned garment from her body.

His hands smoothed the wrinkled linen of her chemise, stroking the curve of her waist. The heat of his palms penetrated the thin material, and the pulsating ache thrumming between her thighs throbbed faster, demanding his attention.

As his hand rose to her shoulder, their gazes locked. His hot fingers on her skin flooded her insides with a rush of warmth and anticipation. Using one forefinger, he slid the sleeve of her chemise down to her elbow. Still holding her gaze captive, he did the same with the other.