THE EARL'S PREGNANT BRIDE (6 page)

For four months, he never let her near. She’d sent emails, messages, even letters—actual, physical letters on fine linen stationery. No reply. She’d called several times and not once had he called back.

Finally, when he’d come to Montedoro to see to the refurbishing of the villa, she had cornered him there. It had broken her heart all over again to see him—the angry, red scar, the deadness in his eyes, the slight limp when he walked. And then, when he’d ordered her to go, she’d snapped.

She’d started shouting, telling him that no, she wasn’t leaving. She was never leaving. Not until he talked to her, not until he told her what was going on with him, what she’d done to him to make him treat her so shabbily. How could he do this, cut her out in the cold, when they had lost Edward, when she needed him—and
he
needed
her?

“I remember you kept saying my name, ‘Gen, Gen,’ over and over, trying to stop my tirade, trying to get me to go.”

“But you wouldn’t go.”

“And finally you just grabbed me. And you kissed me. That did shut me up, I’ll give you that.”

“The taste of you.” The low, rough sound of his voice sent ripples of excitement through her. “I kissed you and I never wanted to stop.”

She accused, “But you did stop.”

“At first, yes...”

“And we stood there, both of us breathing too hard, glaring at each other...”

“Until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I kissed you again.”

“Oh, yes, you did. And that time, you didn’t stop.” She heard the triumph in her own voice. “You scooped me up and carried me to the nearest bedroom.”

“Limping all the way.”

“I was glad. So glad—although I did worry that you would reinjure your leg.” She couldn’t help smiling. “We found that box of condoms in the back of the bedside drawer, remember?”

“How could I ever forget?”

“I was so happy we did, because I knew that if we had to go out and buy some, you would have time to come up with some reason why we couldn’t go through with it.”

“But we did go through with it.”

She touched his cheek—the unscarred one this time. “It was glorious.”

“You don’t...regret what happened?”

“No, I do not. You?”
Please, please. Tell me you don’t regret it.

But he couldn’t. “I took advantage of you.”

“Oh, stop. You did not. I’m not a child anymore, Rafe. I did what I wanted to do. I wanted you and I...took you.”

“Oh, did you?” Was he pleased? Oh, she hoped so. So often nowadays, it was hard to tell what he felt.

“Yes, I did,” she said staunchly. “And I have no regrets that I did—though I will admit that we really should have checked the date on the condom box.”

“The miracle of hindsight.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his big hands clasping her shoulders. And then his fingers were moving—so light, his touch, for such a huge, hard man. He caught the tails of the ribbons on her shoulders.

And he pulled.

Chapter Five

T
he bows came undone.

Very slowly, he began to lower them, pulling them away from her body and down. Her innocuous pink nightgown went with them.

“Rafe?” she asked on a sharp, indrawn breath.

“You have objections?” He stopped lowering the ribbons.

She looked down. Her nightgown didn’t seem quite so wholesome now that the tops of her breasts were showing. “I...”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. I do not want you to stop.”

“You’re certain?”

“Don’t torment me. It’s cruel.”

He slanted her a dark look, still holding the ribbons. Her nightgown covered her nipples, but barely. “What would you know of cruelty?”

She sucked in another sharp breath. Her whole body ached. For his touch, his kiss, to be joined with him. She gritted her teeth at him. “Do not stop. If you do, I’ll start shouting. Just like I did at the villa. I’ll shout the house down. My father will come running. You don’t want to get into trouble with my father. He seems like a nice man. But he’s a Bravo, born and bred in the American West. Bravos can be dangerous when provoked.”

“Now you’ve got me terrified. Say
please.
”

“I could easily become really angry with you.”

“Say
please.
”

Under the covers, she pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the ache of wanting just a little. It only made her more aroused. She gave in. “Please.”

And he only sat there, watching her, holding those two sweet pink ribbons. “Honestly, Gen, you are the hottest thing. I think you might burn me.”

“Please.”

“Just sear me to a cinder, right here in this bed. They’ll find me in the morning, nothing but a pile of ash.”

“Take it down,” she commanded. “Do it now, Rafe.”

“Sweet little Genevra. Who could’ve known?”

She gave up. On the pleas. On commanding him. She just sat there and glared at him, eye to eye.

Until, at last, way too slowly, he began pulling on the ribbons once more. Slowly, so slowly, her curves were revealed. Until she felt the cool air of the room across her naked breasts, felt her nipples drawing tighter from excitement.

From the burning heat in his gaze.

He swore low. And then he threw back the blankets that covered them. “Sit up. Away from the pillows.”

Her breathing coming ragged, her heart battering the walls of her chest, she obeyed.

The hem of the nightgown, which she’d been very careful to smooth into place when she’d climbed into bed with him, came to the tops of her knees. He reached for it, began to gather it in his big fists, his skin brushing hers as he took it up her thighs. She stifled a moan of equal parts agony and pleasure.

He said, “Lift up.”

She did. He got the fabric out from under her and clear of her hips. Now she had the whole thing in a wad at her waist. She was bare above and below it. She never wore panties to bed.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. And he bent close and pressed a kiss on the dark gold curls at the juncture of her thighs.

Oh, it felt so good. Just the brush of his soft lips so near where she burned for him. She put her hand, very lightly, on his head, her fingers sifting in the thick, curling black strands.

But then he sat up again. “Raise your arms.”

“Rafe...”

“Do it. Now. Raise them high.... Yes, that’s the way. Don’t move.”

She said a very naughty word. But she didn’t move.

He tipped his head to the side, studying her with her dress around her waist and her arms up in the air. He took his slow, sweet, infuriating time about it. And then, even more slowly, he licked those soft lips of his. “Beautiful.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she informed him quietly.

“You shall do as you wish with me, I’ve no doubt on that score. Keep your arms up. Sit still.”

She did as instructed. But nobody said she couldn’t look.

And she did look. At his fine, corrugated belly, at his huge, thick horseman’s thighs, at the deep scar that furrowed his right leg, from midcalf to several inches above the knee.

And at the front of his boxers. Tented high.

Good. If he had to play this game, at least he should be suffering right along with her.

A memory, sharp and sweet and full of meanings she hadn’t understood at the time, washed over her.

She was...what? Fourteen? That would have made him twenty-two. A time when they were completely forbidden to each other in any sexual way, when it never would have occurred to her that someday she would find him at Villa Santorno and spend four days naked all over the house with him.

Yes. She was fourteen that summer. And she’d come to Hartmore for a three-week visit. That had been a more innocent time, a time when her family had seen no need for bodyguards. It had just been just her and her Aunt Genevra. Genevra was older and wanted to rest from the trip. She’d retired to her room.

Edward had been there, she remembered. And he’d greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. He’d smiled and flirted with her in a harmless way. She’d felt feminine and all grown-up, and she had loved it. Edward always made her feel sophisticated and brilliant. In his presence, she saw herself as someone clever and charming and fun.

But then, some of Edward’s friends drove up. He got in the car and went off with them. And she was anxious to see Rafe, to tell him...what, exactly? She couldn’t remember now. Something that had seemed terribly important at the time. Whatever it was, she went looking for him.

And she found him at the lake, on the boat jetty. With a pretty dark-haired woman who looked about his age. When she saw them, she gasped and ducked out of sight behind a mound of flowering yellow gorse. They sat with their shoes off, their cuffs rolled, their feet in the water. They were talking so softly. The woman laughed. And then he bent close to her and kissed her.

Genny had to slap her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. And then there was fury. Deep, burning fury that she didn’t understand.

Whatever happened next between Rafe and the young woman, she had no idea.

She only knew that they mustn’t know she had seen them. She had to get away. Staying low at first, she’d turned and raced for the house. By the time she got there, she was running upright and full-out, calling herself an idiot, wondering what in the world was wrong with her to be spying on Rafe like that, to get so upset. She decided to forget all about it, about the woman with Rafe, about that kiss on the jetty.

When she saw him later at dinner, he was alone. She never saw the woman again. And though, at the time, she always told Rafe everything—anything that happened to her, every single thought that flitted through her mind—she’d never told him she’d seen him kiss a strange woman on the jetty.

He was watching her face way too closely—as he always did. “Gen, love. Where
are
you right now?”

She did wonder who that woman had been, and she considered sharing the old, secret memory at last. But what if that ruined the mood somehow? She would spontaneously combust if he stopped now. “I’m right here. Wearing only a wad of cloth around my waist, aching for you, Rafe. Oh, and my arms are starting to get tired....”

“Aching for me, did you say?”

“Let me put my arms down. I’ll show you how much.”

“In a minute.”

“Seriously. You’re a dead man.”

But then he leaned close again. She smelled toothpaste and heat. Electric now, the scent of him. Electric and burning. His beard-rough cheek brushed her shoulder, and his warm breath ghosted across her upper chest. He whispered something. She couldn’t quite make out the word.

But then it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the caress of his breath, the brush of his black, silky hair on her skin.

And then...oh, then...

He stuck out his tongue and flicked her right nipple with it. And then he blew on it, bringing a shiver that coursed through every inch of her body.

That did it. She moaned.

And then he leaned even closer. He took that nipple in his mouth.

It was too much.

She lowered her arms and speared her fingers in his hair and held him close to her while he did truly wonderful things, first to that right breast and then to the other one.

And then he pulled back. She growled low in her throat and tried to reach for him.

“Wait,” he commanded.

“Fine.” She sat still, glaring at him, as he took her wrinkled clump of nightgown and started easing it up. With a small moan of impatience, she lifted her arms again and, at last, the thing was off and out of her way.

She went for his boxers, to get rid of them, too.

But he beat her to it, whipping them down and off and tossing them between the bed curtains toward a chair.

With a low cry, she reached for him.

And he didn’t refuse her that time. He wrapped his steely arms around her and he took her down to the pillows, surrounding her in his heat and his hardness. The sheer size of him thrilled her. It was like being swallowed by manliness, just to have him hold her close in his arms. And she did glory in it.

He touched her, those big hands wandering. She lifted her body toward him, offering him everything, yearning only for him to take it—take all of her. Right now.

But of course, what he took was his time.

His hot mouth opened on her skin. She felt the quick, wet swipe of his tongue. And then the sharp nip of his teeth.

She made noises, pleading noises.

But he wouldn’t hurry. He touched her all over. And where his hands went, his hot mouth followed.

She lost herself in pure sensation and she really didn’t care if she ever got found. For the longest, sweetest time, he lay with his head between her open thighs, kissing her endlessly, using his clever tongue and hungry mouth to drive her mad.

Beautifully, happily, completely mad.

She clutched the sheet in her fists and lifted herself higher, tighter against that thrilling, relentless kiss. Heat curled up her spine, exploded across her chest, and then raced back down to her core, where it opened her up, hollowed her out, sent currents of pleasure pulsing along every burning nerve.

And he went on kissing her.

When she came, crying out his name, he only kept on using his rough tongue, soft lips and sharp teeth to make her come again.

And then, after the third time, when she was limp and drowsing, and hardly able to move, he swept up her body and covered her, bracing on his forearms to keep from crushing her.

Rafe. All over her, pressing her down in the most delicious way. His erection nestled, hard and so ready, right where she wanted him. Right where she needed him.

She groaned, aroused all over again. A moment before, she’d been limp. Finished.

That hadn’t lasted long.

She groaned again, sliding her arms around him, down low at his waist. And then lower. She clutched his rock-hard buttocks in either hand—so good, the feel of his tight skin and hard muscles under her palms, the slick of sweat between their bodies, the press of him, there, where she was so ready for him.

“Rafe...”

“Shh...”

“Please...” She rocked her hips, lifting her legs to wrap them around him, trying to lure him in.

It worked, to a degree. The tip slid in. And she was so wet and open. Her body called to his.

Why wouldn’t he answer?

“Wait,” he whispered. So softly. So patiently.

She growled low in her throat. “I mean it.” She opened her eyes and looked into his midnight black ones. “I will kill you....”

The scar pulled at the corner of his lip, a mockery of a smile. “Don’t worry. You have. You are.”

And suddenly, she not only desperately needed him inside her, she wanted to cry. “I was afraid we would never have this again.”

“Shh...” He lifted his torso away from her, bracing up on those bulging arms, the hard, thick length of him nudging deliciously deeper within her.

Twin tears escaped. They ran down her temples into her hair. “You wouldn’t take my calls. I tried so hard to reach you. If not for the baby...”

“Shh. I didn’t know, didn’t understand. I thought it would be better for you if we didn’t see each other again.”

“Liar.”

“I swear it, Gen. It’s true.” He bent his head, kissed her on either cheek and then at her temples, his wonderful, pliant lips brushing the tracks of her tears. “And we
do
have this.” And then he took her mouth in a kiss so sweet and gentle—at first. Until it went deeper, became a tangle of tongues, a nipping of teeth.

“Now,” she whispered against his lips. “Now, please...”

And at last, he gave her what she craved, sinking into her slowly, all the way.

She stared into his eyes as they began to move together. He didn’t look away. He held her gaze endlessly, as the pleasure washed over them.

It lasted the longest time. She reveled in every stroke, every sigh, every aching, perfect moan.

Because he was so right.

No matter, all the questions. All the secrets, the pain, the terrible loss and even the lies.

They did have this. And it was glorious. Raw and simple and marvelous.

Together in this, at least, they both were set free.