The Ring on Her Finger (28 page)

Lucy smiled, opening her hands on his chest, framing his heart. “And are you happy, Max?”

He lifted a hand to her hair, skimming his fingers lightly over the crown of her head. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

“You told me you weren’t allowed to have things that make you happy,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, funny thing that.”

He dropped his hand to her cheek, strumming his fingertips over her cheekbone before turning his hand backward and tracing the line of her jaw, then her throat, with the backs of his knuckles. He touched her as if he wanted to get to know every inch of her—intimately. Lucy hoped he would never know her as well as he wanted to, because she never wanted him to stop touching her the way he was touching her now.

“Strangely enough,” he continued, “in spite of denying myself all those things that would make me happy, for the past couple of weeks, I have been kind of happy for the past couple of weeks.”

Lucy threaded the fingers of one hand through his hair, cupping the other lightly over his nape. “Bet I could make you happier.”

“Bet you already have.”

If she hadn’t been in love with the guy already, that would have done it right there. Max was sweet and gentle, kind and decent. He’d denied himself happiness when he thought he made another person unhappy. He’d given houses to nuns and children and single mothers and injured animals. He made Lucy feel beautiful and desirable and perfect. He deserved to be loved.

She pushed herself up on tiptoe to put herself closer to his mouth, since she had serious plans for it. “So does this mean you’ll join me in having a glass of exceptionally good wine?”

“Maybe later.” He dipped his head toward hers to meet her halfway. “There’s something else I want to have first.”

Their mouths connected in the sweetest, most delicious kiss Lucy had ever experienced. Max kissed her as if she had become a part of him, a part he never wanted to lose. He brushed his lips lightly over hers, once, twice, three times, then traced her lower lip with the tip of his tongue. As he kissed her, he skimmed his fingers down the length of her arm again, past the end of her sleeve, over her bare wrist, electrifying her when his bare skin made contact with hers. When he tangled the fingers of his right hand with the fingers of her left, he raked his thumb over the ring on her finger and hastily pulled away. Then he held up her hand between the two of them, the ugly monstrosity squatting on her finger like a toad.

“What about this?” he said, sounding more hurt than anything else. “We both seem to have forgotten that you’re supposed to be getting married soon.”

Lucy had indeed forgotten about both the repulsive ring and her faux fiancé. For the last couple of days, she’d even forgotten about who she really was, where she really came from, and why she was really here. She’d been so focused on Max and his happiness, and how his presence in her life brought her happiness, that she simply hadn’t thought about any of the things that made her unhappy. To be reminded of them now, of Archie and her family, the murder charge and the police, just when she and Max were so close to finding what they had both been seeking for so long...

She untangled her fingers from his, but couldn’t make herself stop touching him, flattening her palm against his. “That’s a mistake,” she said. “All of it is a mistake.” She looked at Max’s face again. “It’s not real. The ring and everything it signifies... None of it is real. It’s not like what I have here. With you.”

Every word she spoke was the truth. Her life back in Newport was nothing compared to the life she had here. It wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what she needed. It wasn’t what made her happy. That was all right here, in this room. All she wanted and needed was Max. He made her happy. Nothing mattered but him.

“I never loved Archie,” she said. “And I never told him for sure I would marry him.”

“Then take the ring off.”

“I can’t.”

His expression hardened. “Why not? If you don’t love the guy, and you’re not going to marry him, then—”

“It’s stuck,” she interrupted. “I can’t get it off. Believe me, Max, I’ve tried. It won’t budge.” To prove it, she gave the ring a good, hard tug...

...and was amazed when it budged. She tugged harder. It budged again. Another tug. Another budge. Little by little, Lucy twisted the ring higher, ignoring the pain when it abraded her knuckle, until, astonishingly, she slid it from her finger completely.

She gaped first at the ring, then at Max. “I don’t believe it. It was stuck fast. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it off. I...”

She must have lost weight since coming to Harborcourt. That made sense, because she’d been too nervous to eat much of the time, and she’d been more active than usual with the physicality of her work. For the first time in weeks, Lucy felt free. For the first time in weeks, she was free. Free of so many things that had held her down for so long. She smiled at Max and let him pluck the ring from her fingers. He tossed it carelessly onto the coffee table, then pulled her close again. When he kissed her this time, it was with passion and hunger and need. And when he kissed her this time, he didn’t stop.

Again and again, he slanted his mouth over hers, first one way, then the other, as if he couldn’t decide which way he liked best. Lucy battled with him for possession, turning her head to complement his actions, opening her mouth willingly to invite him inside. She fisted the fabric of his chauffeur jacket in both hands, then spread her fingers wide over the broad expanse of his chest before pushing her hands higher, over his shoulders and neck, and into his hair. She felt her robe slide down her arm, then Max’s mouth moving along her jaw and down her throat, over the sensitive skin of her bare shoulder. She threw back her head as he went, her breath coming in quick, rapid bursts.

He ran first his lips, then his tongue, along her collarbone, then pulled her robe lower, until it opened over one pink-lace-covered breast. When he realized what he had revealed, he pressed his mouth to the bare flesh peeking out of the top of her bra. He did it with such aching tenderness, such reverent adoration, that Lucy went weak all over.

Cupping her hands over his shoulders, she took a step forward, silently urging him to take a step back. As he did, he kissed her, long and hard and deep. They repeated the action until, step by step and kiss by kiss, they made their way to the sofa. When Max sat down, his hands landed on her waist, and for a moment, he only held her there, as if he feared she might somehow slip away. Then he moved his hands lower, over the curves of her hips, parting his legs and pulling her closer, until she stood between them. Lucy curved one hand over his shoulder and wound the fingers of the other through his hair, loving the closeness of their positions. He moved one hand to the tie of her robe, and with one fluid gesture, loosed it and pushed the garment from her body. It pooled around her feet like a froth of pink cotton candy, and she stepped out of it, kicking it aside. Then she moved back in front of Max. Her knees collided with his, and she faltered a bit, until he lifted his hands to steady her, placing them gently on her hips once again.

He stroked the pads of his thumbs lightly over her skin, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was touching her, flesh on flesh. The gentle friction generated a strange sort of heat in the deepest part of her, spiraling outward from her belly to her thighs to her breasts. When he tilted his head back to look at her face, his cheeks were flushed, his lips were parted, and his eyes... Oh, his eyes. His eyes were dark and full of wanting, his pupils nearly eclipsing the smoky irises. Lucy suddenly felt more powerful than she had ever felt before. Max wanted her. He wanted her. He didn’t care that she had faults and imperfections. He didn’t care that she wasn’t a bright, shining beacon of society like her sister, or a rising star of academia, like her brother. He only cared that she was Lucy. And knowing that made her love him all the more.

Her gaze never leaving his, she reached behind herself to unhook her bra, then let the tiny scrap of lace glide over her shoulders and arms, until she could discard it behind her. Max’s gaze dropped immediately to her breasts, and his grip on her hips went tighter, more possessive, more insistent. But he didn’t release her. Thinking maybe he needed a little encouragement, amazed by her own boldness, Lucy lifted her hands to her breasts, cupping each lower curve gently, silently offering them to him.

His lips parted, and his fingers twitched on her hips, as if he were battling the urge to do what should come naturally. So Lucy lifted a hand to her mouth, touched her middle finger to her tongue to wet it, then dropped it back to her breast to slowly circle the rosy aureole. The hands on her hips went tighter still as Max pulled her forward, snugger between his legs, and lifted his mouth to her breast. She continued to hold it for him as he sucked her deep inside, cupping her other hand behind his head to hold him close. He licked her wildly as he moved his hands to the waistband of her panties, pushing them down, down, down, over her hips, her thighs, her knees, until she stepped out of those, too.

There was something so exquisitely erotic about being completely naked while he was completely dressed. Lucy felt at once vulnerable and indomitable, both fragile and unyielding. Max nudged his legs between hers and lifted her into his lap so that she was straddling him with her own legs spread wide. He continued to consume her as he splayed one hand over the small of her back, holding her in place as he shifted his other hand to her thigh, close, so close, to where she lay open to him. Lucy draped her arms over his shoulders, curling her fingers around his nape to steady herself as she lifted her feet off of the floor. Max dragged his fingers with aching slowness along the inside of her thigh, closer and closer, until he was finally touching her. She gasped at the press of his fingers against the damp folds of her flesh, reveling in the twin sensations of his mouth tugging relentlessly at her breast and his fingers rubbing insistently against the hot core of her. Over and over he stroked her, back and forth, up and down, drawing imperious circles in the wet heat that drenched her. Lucy was just getting into the rhythm, lifting and lowering her hips against his hand, when suddenly his fingers were parting her, and one was slipping inside.

“Oh, Max,” she gasped as he penetrated her. “Oh, sweet Max...”

He moved his finger out of her, then back in, deeper this time, then out, then in again. Over and over he entered her, first with one finger, then with two. Lucy felt as if she were melting inside, becoming a hot velvety stream that spilled over him.

“Do you like that?” he whispered.

Only then did she realize he had moved his head away from her breast so that he might watch her. Lucy watched him, too, her gaze wandering from his face to the hand between her legs and back to his face again.

“Oh, yes,” she murmured, the words sounding coarse and breathless. “I like it...very much.”

“I like it, too.”

Their gazes held as he continued to penetrate her manually, moving his fingers faster and deeper until Lucy felt the stirrings of an orgasm swelling inside her. She didn’t want her own climax to precede his, so she reluctantly circled his wrist with sure fingers to pull his hand away. His expression reflected his bewilderment, but he didn’t try to stop her.

“I want you inside me,” she whispered raggedly in explanation.

“I was inside you,” he said with a wicked grin.

She shook her head weakly. “No, I want you inside me. Now, Max. Please. Please make love to me now.”

His grin went slow and sexy. “I’m a little overdressed,” he said again.

“Not for long.”

She moved her hand to the top button of his jacket, but her progress was hindered when he took advantage of her action to cover both of her breasts with his hands. As she fumbled with the buttons, he flicked the pads of his thumbs over her sensitive nipples, slowing her completion of the job. Finally, though, Lucy spread the fabric wide, burying her fingers in the dark hair on his chest. The skin beneath was hot and alive, and she let her hands rove wildly over him, exploring every inch. When she dropped her hand to the waistband of his jodhpurs, Max didn’t flinch. He only moved one hand from her breast to her backside, curving his palm over the tender flesh of her bare bottom, giving it a gentle squeeze as she urged the zipper of his fly downward and tucked her hand inside.

She curved her palm over the damp head of his shaft, enclosing him in her fist, and he uttered her name, low and rough. She circled him more confidently and pushed her fingers slowly down the length of him, then back up, eliciting a sound from him that was just this side of ecstasy. His other hand joined the first on her fanny, but he only held her steady as she rubbed her fingers over him. Again and again, she caressed him, feeling more of his release with every feverish stroke. Then before she realized what was happening, and in one fluid motion, Max was shifting their bodies until she was on her back beneath him, and he was kneeling between her legs.

“It’s been a long time for me,” he said. “I don’t think I can last much longer. I’m sorry, but this first time between us won’t be the best that it could be, because it’s going to be over too soon. But every time after this, Lucy...” He smiled. “Every time after this, it’ll be phenomenal, I promise.”

That was good enough for her. Not just the phenomenal part, but the every time after this, too. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s been a long time for me, too. I want you inside me, Max. Now. Please. Make love to me now.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, he jerked his pants over his hips and reached for her. Still wearing the gaping jacket and jodhpurs, still wearing the black shiny boots, he shoved his hands beneath her bottom and jerked her upward. He pushed one of her legs over the back of the sofa and curled the other around his waist, then hurled himself forward, plunging himself deep, deep, inside her.

Lucy felt the penetration all the way to her soul, so completely, so perfectly, did Max fill her. They both cried out at the joining, as if neither of them had ever felt anything so exquisite in their lives. For that first, crystalline moment of their union, they remained utterly still, to adjust to the coupling of their bodies. Then, his gaze never leaving hers, Max began to move. Out and then in again, the friction of him inside her nearly more than Lucy could bear. Forward and backward he moved himself, gripping her hips hard in his hands to facilitate his entry. He lasted longer than she thought he would—she bucked against him over and over, crying out as he filled her more and more deeply. Just as she felt herself go spiraling out of control, he lunged against her one final time, and with a ragged sound, spilled himself hotly inside her. Then, little by little, he relaxed and released her. And little by little, she felt herself uncoil. Before she could lie fully back against the sofa, he was moving their bodies again, this time placing himself on his back and pulling Lucy atop him. He wrapped both arms fiercely around her, covering her mouth with his, then kissed her and kissed her and kissed her.