Tempt the Devil (14 page)

“Do that again,” she said in an unsteady murmur.

“This?”

He blew on her skin once more then leaned forward to nip her. A jagged thrill darted along her veins and goose bumps broke out all over. She gasped and pressed closer, fumbling at the slipping towel.

He began to nibble and suck at her neck, stirring up a storm of little shocks. Her blood beat thick and heavy. A weight settled low in her belly. She shifted to ease an unfamiliar heat between her legs.

Was this desire? How could she say? She had nothing to compare it to.

Her skin felt sensitive and too tight to contain her bones. She trembled like a reed in a gale and she couldn't control her breath. His teeth scraped her neck and a soft moan of delight escaped her parted lips. She stiffened in astonishment. That unpracticed sound couldn't have come from her.

“What's wrong?” he asked softly.

She was what was wrong, but she didn't want to say that. Although she suspected he was the one man in Creation who would understand what she meant.

“This…isn't what I'm used to.” Her voice was stilted and her hand clutched her towel with nervous vigor.

“Nor I.”

He drew back and studied her face. What did he see there? Erith's concentrated, endless attention on her slightest response made her uncomfortable. Scared her. She'd lived as an enigma for so long. Enigmas were safe.

She shifted awkwardly from one bare foot to the other, feeling the wet carpet squelch under her feet. Then, because his expression held no censure—only concern and a barely reined hunger—she forced herself to go on, however absurd she sounded. “You know what pleasure is.”

“Yes. I do. But I've never had to show anyone before.” A shadow of sadness darkened his face and his gaze turned opaque. She couldn't mistake the piercing sorrow that roughened his voice. “No, that's not true. Once. Once I had to show someone what pleasure was. It's one of my sweetest memories.”

Her heart came to a shuddering, painful halt.

At last he opened the door of his soul to her.

She looked in.

And saw eternal love.

Who else but Joanna could he mean when he spoke about initiating someone into pleasure? The Earl of Erith had loved his wife. With a passion and a dedication that still, sixteen years after her death, turned his eyes the color of a stormy sea and made him speak of her with haunting reverence. Only the loss of real love could leave that aching, endless grief behind.

How willfully blind she'd been. How stupid. How insensitive. So much that had puzzled her about this man became clear, not least that his infamous debaucheries had been a futile attempt to assuage unendurable grief.

He'd told her he understood love, and she hadn't believed him. But she believed him now. Any fool would hear the love and unutterable yearning in his voice when he spoke of his wife. Any fool, apparently, but the canniest strumpet in London.

Olivia regarded him with the eyes of fresh understanding and gave up all hope of shielding herself from this attraction. Because she was attracted to Lord Erith. Unbearably so.

She could fight a man who used his masculine power against her. She couldn't fight a man whose weapon was his broken heart.

He'd end up hurting her profoundly. She knew that as she knew he was her last lover.

Her last lover would be the lover she'd never forget.

O
livia couldn't hold herself separate from Erith any longer. Not after today. Not after the kiss in the rain. Not after realizing how deeply he'd loved his wife and that his wayward life since Joanna's death was an expression of in-consolable, unending grief.

“I'm yours, Erith,” she whispered.

“Olivia…” Tenderly, he placed his arms around her and rained tiny kisses over her shoulders and cheeks and nose and eyelids. It was like he learned her through the touch of his mouth alone.

Tentatively, she moved closer. She'd had so many men, she should know what to do. But the feelings trembling to life inside her made her nervous as a virgin.

It would be safer to run. But if she left now, she'd lose something precious and irreplaceable.

Too late for second thoughts. Her decision was made.

A gentle tug on the back of the towel. “Let me see you.”

Her deathly grip didn't relax. “You have seen me.”

The towel seemed the last bastion. With other lovers, her body was merely a vehicle for earning a living. Her nakedness held no significance. Tonight with Erith, she felt completely different.

He pulled back and looked down at her, his face grave. “You still don't trust me, Olivia?”

Her breath caught at the somber beauty of his face. “Take your shirt off.”

Pure delight curved his lips. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

He shifted a few inches away to tug the wet white linen over his head. He tossed it behind him without paying attention to where it fell. “Better?”

“Better.” She stared up at him while unfamiliar anticipation thrummed in her blood. “Now the breeches.”

His hands were shaking so badly, he fumbled as he ripped at the fastenings. His emotional extremity touched something deep inside her, made her feel less at the mercy of all-conquering chaos.

He paused in wrenching off his clothing, as if he just realized he still wore his boots. She tucked the end of the towel more firmly around her. “Sit on the bed and let me help you.”

“I'm too muddy. Let me call a footman.”

She shook her head. “No, I want to do it.”

“If you wish.” The look he cast her was perceptive. Perhaps he also believed this tremulous joy was too fragile to survive a stranger's interruption. He moved across to the bed. She hid a smile, but not fast enough.

“I hope you're not laughing at me, Miss Raines.”

“No.” A gurgle of amusement escaped her. He did look absurd, sitting there in his half-undone breeches with his boots still on. Absurd, and more appealing than any man she'd ever seen. “Yes.”

“Just wait till I get my hands on you.”

“Just wait.” She dropped down before him, lifting one muscled calf across her knees.

Doing this for him made her feel like a wife. She'd never been married. Would never place herself permanently under one man's governance. Although she'd had offers aplenty. From men with no care for their standing in society. From men like Perry, with secrets to hide.

Heavens, why was she suddenly thinking about marriage? Was it because Lord Erith for all his rakish reputation struck her as someone who'd make a good husband?

Dear God, perish the thought. No decent man would have her. And she'd have no decent man. She'd be bored within a week.

With a sudden excess of energy, she tugged at Erith's boot. It was tight and took some pulling to remove. She was panting when she shifted her attention to the other boot. Her hair, already drying in the heat of the fire, flopped forward as she bent over his leg and wrenched with all her might. If her zeal stemmed from bitter regret that she wouldn't perform this humble task for Erith for the rest of her life, so be it.

He tilted her chin up. “Olivia, you don't have to do anything you don't want to.”

His eyes were alight with concern and kindness. And hunger. She couldn't mistake the smoldering desire that turned the gray to molten silver.

She blinked to dispel the annoying mist clouding her vision. Damn Erith. How did he do this to her? Her voice was choked. “You're getting the worst of this bargain.”

A lazy glint of amusement lit the gray. “A beautiful half-naked woman kneels at my feet and gazes at me adoringly. There's not a man in the world who wouldn't envy me.”

“I'm not gazing at you adoringly.” She straightened and drew in a shuddering breath. “I would never sink so low.”

He leaned forward slowly and the fingers around her chin curved into a hold of such tenderness, she couldn't have
pulled away if she'd wanted to. And for once in her life, she didn't want to.

“Keep throwing out challenges, Olivia.” He pressed his lips to hers. Again, the least demanding of kisses. A mere touch then a kiss to each corner of her mouth, one to her chin and one to the tip of her nose.

He must want more than these sweet games. She
knew
he wanted more. He was hard and ready. His breathing came fast and shallow, and the unfastened breeches did nothing to hide his erection.

Erith brushed another teasing kiss across her lips. He lifted his head and looked at her, the spark in his eyes even more pronounced.

In spite of the playful kisses, she didn't deceive herself where this led. His musky arousal sharpened the air. She knew with bone-deep certainty he'd possess her tonight. For good or ill, they'd reached a pitch only sex would answer.

“I wish I could show you your face.”

She frowned fleetingly. “What's wrong with it?”

“Nothing. If you don't mind a simper.”

No man bantered with her like this. It was surprisingly arousing, even to a woman who hadn't known arousal. “I've never simpered in my life.”

“Until now.” He kissed her cheeks in another of those glancing, increasingly pleasurable touches and let her go. “Will you take the towel off?”

She hitched it higher. “Maybe. Will you take your breeches off?”

“Aha, you're curious.”

She shrugged with a show of mocking indifference. “I've seen it all before.”

“But you're yet to find out what I can do with what I've got.”

“So vain.”

“So good.”

She laughed. “So misguided.”

His face became intent. “Oh, no, madam. I know exactly where I'm aiming. And…” His voice dropped impossibly low, resonating in her marrow. “…I know what to do when I get there.”

Ridiculously, she felt heat rise in her cheeks. He was the only man in Creation who could put her to the blush. The strange ache between her legs intensified. She shifted restlessly to ease the feeling then cursed the knowing arch of Erith's eyebrows.

The ache couldn't be arousal. She wasn't capable of arousal. But this was the closest she'd ever come. She wasn't sure she liked the sensation. It was…uncomfortable, disturbing.

She lurched to her feet to avoid his gaze. The towel parted and dropped into a crumpled heap.

“Oh, no,” she gasped, scrabbling after it.

He surged forward and snatched her hand. His touch was hot as it encircled her wrist and his sandalwood scent made her dizzy with yearning. “Let it go.”

She trembled in his hold, incapable of answering. Chill air brushed over her bare, damp flesh, contrasting sharply with Erith's heat. She fought the insane urge to cover herself with fluttering hands. He'd seen her before. He'd explored her body. He'd yielded his essence to her rapacious mouth. Yet tonight everything felt as though it started anew. Her pulse set up a frantic race and her lungs refused to release her breath.

With his free hand, he slid his breeches to the ground and kicked them aside. Her heart somersaulted at the sight of his nakedness.

Lord Erith was hard and strong. Like a huge tree. Or a god from an ancient legend. From his broad straight shoulders to his massive hair-roughened chest to his long legs with their firm horseman's thighs. Even his large feet proclaimed mastery of the ground upon which he stood.

She sucked in a shuddering breath and swallowed to
moisten a dry throat. Her gaze inevitably dropped to where his member sprang from the nest of black curls at the base of his flat belly.

“Yes, I want you. I'm not ashamed of how you make me feel.” He paused and slid his hand down so his fingers twined in hers. “The question is what I make you feel.”

Frightened. Nervous. Poised to run. Like a foolish girl instead of a woman in charge of her world.

She tilted her chin, pretending a courage her defenseless heart didn't feel. She'd long ago learned that counterfeit bravery could save her when real bravery was beyond her. Her voice was terse. “I'm ready.”

A frown darkened his striking face and drew his marked black brows together. “Olivia, you don't have to defend yourself. I laid down my weapons today. I told you I surrendered, and I meant it. You're free.”

She didn't feel free. With every second, attraction enmeshed her more tightly. Would the strands end up trapping her like a lark in the hunter's net, so she fluttered and fluttered until she failed with exhaustion?

As if he guessed her troubled thoughts, he very gently took her in his arms, bringing her into his body. It was like standing next to a huge stove on a cold winter's day. Satisfying. Comforting. Except she felt none of these safe emotions. Instead she felt restless and jumpy.

She rested her cheek against his chest, feeling the pleasant tickle of his hair, and curled her arms loosely around his waist. Few men were tall enough for her to lean against with this ease.

Beneath her ear his heartbeat thudded steadily. She felt him take a massive breath. And another. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he began to stroke her bare back. Small circular movements, alluring touches that drew the coiling tension from her muscles.

Gradually the movements widened, deepened, became long sweeping strokes from the slope of her buttocks to her
shoulders. His hands were warm and slightly rough, nice. Dreamily, she stood quiescent and let him continue this silent, almost impersonal worship of her naked body.

How long they stood in a communion deeper than any sexual experience she'd ever known she couldn't say. The rain lashed the windows, the breeze rattled the casements, the fire crackled in the grate. Erith's breath matched hers. Slow. Deep. His hands roamed across her skin in a tender exploration sweeter than words could express.

In the end it was Olivia who broke the stasis.

By nature she wasn't a passive woman. While peace might beckon like the promise of heaven, she didn't belong in this honeyed stillness. Somewhere, her uncertainty had disappeared. Instead she was ready to embrace whatever the night brought.

She shifted closer, firmed her arms around his waist. At her slight movement, new tension entered his muscles. He was so aware of everything about her. His unwavering attention filled her with a heady mixture of nerves and excitement.

He was hard for her. It spoke to the preternatural strength of his will that he controlled his arousal. She wondered how long he'd allow her to set the pace. Erith wasn't a passive soul either. He reined himself in for her sake but volcanic passion roiled beneath his patience and must soon erupt.

Deliberately, she rubbed against him, her nipples tightening as they brushed his hairy chest. She slid eager hands down to clasp his tight buttocks. She pulled him closer, pressing his member into her belly. He throbbed against her soft flesh, hot, demanding, powerful.

“Kiss me, Erith,” she whispered, lifting her head and staring into his avid eyes.

“If I kiss you, I mightn't stop,” he returned equally softly.

“Then don't stop.”

She stretched to touch her mouth to his, copying the glancing kisses he'd given her earlier. Before she broke the
contact, his lips moved beneath hers and she tasted his need. In a sudden movement, he swept her across to the bed and tugged her down under him. He poised to take her.

This time he kissed her harder, with less careful finesse.

It wasn't fair to expect him to keep treating her as if she might shatter. But with his forcefulness, some of her dazed pleasure faded.

He raised his head, his face stark and pale. His jaw jutted with tension and his body vibrated with what it cost to hold himself back. “Olivia, I want you too much.”

He began to withdraw but she grabbed him. His shoulders felt like warm rock under her hands. “Don't go.”

“You know what will happen.” He angled his hips forward so his penis rubbed against her cleft. Her belly clenched almost painfully as she imagined that heat and power thrusting into her.

“Yes.” She dragged in a shaky breath and curled her fingers into the sinews of his shoulders. “Don't go.”

“Oh, hell, Olivia,” he groaned, and kissed each breast with fervent tenderness. Her nipples tightened, begging for more. His eyes darkened at her uncontrolled response.

He drew one pebbled peak into his mouth and flicked his tongue across it. An electric sensation made her jerk. She'd never felt anything like this before. Her belly clenched again, harder this time.

He raised his head. “Am I hurting you?

Perhaps there would be a miracle of life in the desert of her body after all.
Dear God, let it be so.
Her reaction when he kissed her breast was more than she'd ever felt with a man. “No.”

A pleased smile tilted his mouth, full and sensual with arousal, and his eyes sparked with satisfaction. He bent to suckle one breast while his fingers toyed with the crest of the other. She tangled her hands in his thick hair and gave herself up to his unfettered exploration.

Her skin felt strange. Hot and oversensitive. Vibrantly
alive. After thirty-one years, how odd to discover she didn't know her body and its responses at all.

One hand slid down between her legs. “Open for me, Olivia.”

The sound of his voice worked like a spell. Her thighs fell apart to his touch.