Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (18 page)

C
atherine stood in the parlor of the guesthouse suddenly uneasy. She was tempting the fates, she knew. She couldn’t profess innocence when she had consciously gone off alone with the man who’d so recently taken her to the heights of pleasure.

After setting the box and his crutches in a chair, Marcus rushed over to open the salon’s windows. “Sorry, I like to keep things locked up while I’m out.”

The room smelled of timber and the faint scent of sandalwood. Would she forever dream of that clean, woody scent whenever she experienced desire? Or would the aroma remind her of a lover lost? Or perhaps a lover gained? Marcus was not yet gone…

Dear Lord in heaven, she was turning positively maudlin over this man! Would Marcus ever go through these mental gyrations over hair pomade? Involuntarily she giggled, feeling a bit giddy.

“What’s funny?” he asked, motioning to where a white-cloth-covered tray sat on the table.

Coughing into her hand, she shrugged. “Ah…your pomade. I like it. Sandalwood, right?”

“And that’s amusing?”

“Yes.” Even Marcus’s pomade excited her in some manner or other, making the remainder of her pale existence seem even more colorless for its contrast. She could hardly consider the day he returned to the Peninsula, leaving her behind in her drab life to wrestle with the myriad of issues facing Andersen Hall. It was enough to make one want to turn tail and run.

“Come,” Marcus urged. “Sit. You look as if the weight of the world is resting on your small shoulders.” Yanking off the cloth, he described, “Fresh rolls. Cheese. Dates. Apples. And my special dish, saved only for a favored few.”

Catherine peered uncertainly at the brown mush piled high in the bowl. “I’m not one for experimenting…”

“It’s good, I promise.” He sat on the sofa. It suddenly seemed very short. They would inevitably have to sit side by side.

“What’s in it?” Nervous, she leaned close and sniffed. “Cinnamon?”

“Stop delaying and try it.”

Catherine sank onto the sofa, trying to ignore how closely Marcus’s thigh rested near hers. When had this sofa last been restuffed? It seemed somewhat lumpy. The floral fabric at least did not appear tattered, except for a small spot near the right wooden leg.

Peeking sideways, she could see the edge of the burgundy coverlet on the bed through the half-open door. The bed had been made, the events of this morning now a memory. She dragged her eyes from the adjacent bedchamber, trying not to be reminded of the pleasures she’d experienced just hours before.

Tearing off a piece of roll, Marcus spooned some of the brown concoction onto the bread and held it out for her.

“Uh, thank you,” she murmured.

Their fingers brushed, sending tingles racing up her arm. Flustered, she almost dropped the food, but he gently cupped her hand in his. She swallowed, feeling completely out of sorts.

“Taste it,” he urged, removing his hand. She tried not to show her disappointment at losing his touch.

Lifting the food, she sniffed. “Definitely cinnamon.” Lord, she hoped she wasn’t prattling. She took a nibble, tasting apple and cinnamon.

“That’s the most trifling bite I’ve ever seen in my life,” he declared. “Eat it.”

The mush was surprisingly tasty. She took a bigger bite. The chunky concoction rolled across her tongue, at once honey-sweet, but with a nutty, smoky tang. “It’s delicious.” She ate another nibble, then another, finding the food irresistible. “You must tell me what this is.”

He shrugged, obviously pleased. “I will have to kill you if I do.”

“Then I will die happy.” She met his smile with one of her own, feeling some of the tension ease out of her. Marcus really was quite charming company.

Spooning some of the brown mush onto a small piece of roll, he swallowed it whole, grinning as if in heaven. At that moment he looked like the youth she’d known, handsome, playful and well pleased with himself.

“I taste apple,” she murmured, swallowing another bite. “And walnuts. Honey. Cinnamon. Very sweet. But there’s something else. Something smoky I cannot identify.”

“Mashed dates. And my secret ingredient, a splash of Scotch whiskey.”

“How did you come up with this?” she asked, taking a
slice of hard cheese and slipping it into her mouth. The creamy, nutty cheese was a wonderful counter to the smoky-sweet taste. She followed it with a sip of beer and closed her eyes. “I think that I might actually swoon,” she murmured, licking her lips.

When he did not answer, she opened her eyes, only to find him staring at her lips. Self-conscious, she raised her hand to her chin. “What? Do I have food on my mouth?”

Slowly, he leaned forward, his muscled thigh pressing up against hers. Carefully he traced his long finger across her upper lip, searing her skin with his touch.

Her breath caught. The fine hairs on her neck and arms lifted, causing sensitive tingles all over her skin.

“Froth,” he whispered, looking down at his hand. Languidly, like a cat, he licked his finger.

Catherine’s mouth dropped open, as she stared at that lithe finger, dumbfounded by the sudden heat rolling from her toes up to the tip of her hairline and back again. Marcus smiled; a slow, sensual lifting of smooth, delectable lips. Something inside her belly twisted, but it was hunger of a different category.

Her gaze locked with his. Those azure eyes smoldered with desire, drawing her toward him like beacons on a fog-drenched night. He wanted her. He knew it, and was not shy about letting her know it. Now every muscle in her body knew it, too, especially the moist juncture between her thighs.

Her heart began to pound and her breath grew heavy. The amazing heat grazing across her skin tingled, as if recalling his touch and yearning for it once more. She found herself leaning toward him, wanting him with a hunger that eclipsed any longing she’d ever experienced before.

“Friendship is a nebulous term, don’t you think, Cat?” he murmured. Edging closer, he lifted her finger and
dipped it into the warm mug of beer. She shivered, but not with cold.

“How can one define it?” His voice was a deep rumble that reverberated down her spine. “Respect, consideration, companionship…
intimacy
.”

Lifting her finger, Marcus licked the pad. Her mouth opened, as she gasped in a heavy breath. Hot tension enveloped her muscles, wound tight and yearning for release.

“Ay, there’s the rub.
Intimacy
. How much is
too much
?” He placed her finger into his mouth, fingertip flat on his tongue. He sucked. Her head swam. She suddenly found it hard to breathe. He was watching her, but she was having difficulty focusing. Her lids were so heavy, they insisted on closing. Her world became a dark vortex of heat—his hot, wet mouth and the heady brush of his tongue across her fingertip.

Unexpectedly, he removed her hand. Disappointment shafted through her. She opened her eyes, trying to catch her breath and her scattered senses.

“Is that too much, Cat?” he asked, watching her carefully. “You tell me.”

“I…I’ve never quite…had a friendship like this…” she managed to breathe, trying to grasp a thought and hold it.

“How much intimacy do you want, Cat?” he murmured, his gaze hooded, his movements languid. “How close do you wish to get?”

She swallowed, nervous but ready to jump off that precipice and fly. She wanted these memories to last a lifetime. “Close. Very, very close.”

His nostrils flared. “I like tasting you, Cat. I hope you don’t mind if I sample some more.” Before she could answer, he placed her thumb in his mouth, deep inside the warm, wet womb. She thought she might expire. Heat
swamped the hub between her thighs. The muscles inside her womanhood clenched. His tongue unhurriedly swept across the pad of her thumb. Her womanly core convulsed, reminding her of the joyous rapture of that morning.

Her mouth grew moist, and she licked her lips, wanting to savor him as he was savoring her.

He leaned forward, his breath drifting across her cheek on a whiskey-cinnamon breeze. “You want a taste?” he murmured, placing her finger inside her own mouth. Surprised by the move, she sucked, sampling her flesh.

As he watched her, his eyes darkened to almost black. His nostrils flared and his olive skin flushed slightly red. She could feel the heat rolling off him in waves. His excitement ignited a matching flash in hers. Releasing her hand, she seized him, pulling him close.

Catherine kissed Marcus as if he was the fountain of youth and she on her last dying breath. Opening her mouth, she plunged her tongue inside with a lack of inhibition that shocked her, but she was beyond caring. All she wanted was his taste, his feel and the salvation of his touch.

He tasted smoky, sweet, enticing, intoxicating.

Wrapping her hands around his neck, she leaned backwards, taking him with her. He let out a low groan, reverberating in her mouth.

Positioning himself deep between her open legs, he blanketed her with his heat, making her feel at once secure and desired.

Her tongue danced with his as her pelvis rocked to some rhythm answered by the force of his shaft pressing against her hot, wet core through their clothing. His hard manhood drove her wild with the need to be filled.

His hands were everywhere, touching, kneading, tickling. “Blast these buttons,” he murmured, fumbling with the fastenings down her back. Shifting around for better
purchase, his bootheel knocked the platter, sending dates, apples and beer flying.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, sitting up.

Her stomach sank; he wasn’t going to give up that easily, was he?

“I have a better idea,” he declared, sliding one hand beneath her knees and the other beneath her shoulders. With amazing ease, he hoisted her off the couch.

Planting a quick kiss on top of her head, he headed toward the bedroom door. Elation rocketed through her as he carried her in his arms. Kicking the door open wider with his boot, he dropped her unceremoniously on the bed. Immediately he covered her with his broad frame and showered hot, openmouthed kisses on her partially exposed neck. Rolling her onto her stomach, he straddled her, unfastening each button with an ease that left her feeling a bit discomfited.

“You’re very good at that,” she muttered, toying with a stray thread on the burgundy coverlet.

“I’m a quick shot as well, Cat.” Leaning forward, he kissed her ear. “Agile fingers are a necessity in my profession,” he whispered. “It doesn’t mean I’m a rake.”

“You’re certainly more experienced than I,” she mumbled.

Rising higher on his knees, he rolled her over and eased off of her, lying beside her on the long bed. Bending an elbow, he rested his head in his hand, looking down at her. His handsome face was somber. “Listen, Cat. I’m not proud of myself. Chasing after an innocent is probably one of the lowest—”

She frowned. “You’re not chasing—”

“Hey, I’m certainly not keeping my hands off you, like I should,” he huffed, raking a hand through his raven hair. “I just want you so badly.”

“I don’t want you to keep your hands off me,” she cried.

“That’s part of the problem, Cat.” He exhaled loudly.

She scowled, wishing that she had never opened her mouth in the first instance. So what if he’d been with other women? He was no monk, and never claimed to be. Did she always have to ruin everything?

Gently, he coiled her hair around her ear, murmuring almost to himself, “I’ve never faced such temptation before. Your innocence…but your passion…”

“I have never felt this before either, Marcus” she insisted. “And I don’t want it to go away.”

“But it has to.” He sighed. “Once I leave…” He sat up. “Hell, this is one mistake I’m not going to make—”

She grabbed his hand and squeezed, pulling him toward her. “How can you be such a selfish bastard?”

“What?”

“I feel like I’m drowning, Marcus…” Releasing him, she sat up, her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap. “Drowning with no land in sight.”

Moving to sit beside her, he grasped her hand. “I know that this is a difficult time, Cat. But I don’t want you to do something that you’ll regret.”

Better to have regrets than never to have lived!

He shrugged. “Someday you’ll wish to marry and—”

“I wasn’t lying before when I said that I never wish to wed,” she interrupted. “It’s not something that I will ever want.”

“But maybe someday you’ll feel differently.”

“There is no someday for me, Marcus.” She shook her head, emphatic. “I never wish to marry. Nor do I wish to contemplate the future.” She looked up. “I can’t worry about tomorrow. Today is all I have.”

Interlocking his fingers with hers, he studied their hands a long moment. Then he looked up. “This is really what you want?”

She nodded.

“For today, then.” Leaning forward beside her, Marcus’s lips met Catherine’s in a long, lingering kiss. His hands stroked down her arm, grazing her hip. The embers of her desire reignited, not the frenzy of before, but a passion that smoldered between them.

Raking her fingers through his hair, she indulged her senses, savoring the silk under her fingertips and the sandalwood scent. Her hand explored his broad shoulders, feeling the hard muscles under his woolen coat. She loved the feel of the fine hairs at the base of his neck.

Slowly, he peeled her gown off her shoulder, and only then, did she realize that her buttons were mostly undone. Somehow he’d also managed to shift aside her chemise. The air was cool on her shoulder, soon warmed by his playful lips. He nibbled along her collarbone, slowly drawing the garments lower and lower, until they slipped off her other shoulder and hovered around her waist.

Shyness swept over her and she reached to cover her breasts. But he gently pulled her hands away, kissing each palm with a reverence that awed her. Then he eased her onto her back and with an amazingly light touch, peeled all her clothing off her body.

Smiling, he tossed it to the floor.

Catherine was completely nude in the glaring brightness of day, utterly exposed for his perusal. Discomfited, she rolled her bad leg underneath her good one.