Andrea Kane (16 page)

Briefly, Trenton wondered how Ariana would react to whatever conniving plan Baxter had conjured up, and if she would agree to help him. True, she was a Caldwell, but she was the only Caldwell who seemed to possess some sense of honor. Would she stoop to theft and deceit, even for her brother? And, if she refused, would she be strong enough to resist the pressure Baxter would doubtlessly exert? She was far too innocent to suspect what her brother was capable of … or to what extremes Trenton would go to ensure that Baxter failed.

Inevitably, Ariana would be caught in the crossfire.

Which brought Trenton back to his unanticipated quandary.

Unwillingly, his gaze slid to the slumbering angel lying before him. Caldwell or not, she was breathtaking when she slept, more so when she was awake.

And so incredibly passionate.

His body still burned with the memories of last night, memories he’d been unable to squelch all day, memories that had driven him from her bed at dawn … and brought him back hours earlier than he’d intended. For despite his vehement struggles to the contrary, Ariana unfurled something raw and warm inside him, tested his control in ways he’d never guessed, bared emotions he’d long since forsaken.

He remembered the way her eyes had blazed sparks of outrage when she’d stood up to him today, the tears she’d refused to shed. She was a brave little thing, his bride, brave and innocent and principled.

So unlike Vanessa.

Bringing his glass to the nightstand with a thud, Trenton forced himself to face the truth. He could no longer use the Caldwell name to justify his irrational behavior toward Ariana, no longer punish her by pretending she was an exact replica of her despicable older sister.

In truth, Ariana was the antithesis of Vanessa. And, having already taken away his untainted wife’s childhood, stripped her of her former life and home, why did he still want to strike out at her, to hurt her as he had that afternoon?

With mounting ambivalence, Trenton contemplated the humiliating cruelty of his verbal assault. What the hell had possessed him to say such a degrading thing? He gritted his teeth. Just because he’d returned to find his bride rumpled and laughing on the front lawn with his brother, chatting as if they were old friends, looking so incredibly
happy …

Unconsciously, Trenton slammed his fist to his knee. He’d never been a jealous man before. Certainly not of Dustin, the one person he
knew
would never betray him. Yet that’s exactly what he was: jealous, vulnerable … and livid about both.

The cold truth was, Trenton hated the pull that drew him back to Broddington and his bride, detested the fact that she had barely noticed his absence and gotten along fine without him, loathed the idea that Dustin could make her smile in a way he knew he couldn’t. Damn it to hell! Why did this one woman inspire such emotional upheaval inside him?

Savagely, Trenton gripped his thighs. He wanted to hate her incessantly.

He hated to want her incessantly.

And he couldn’t muster the former, nor master the latter.

So marriage to Ariana would reap him his vengeance, but it would do nothing to appease his relentless anguish. In fact, it would worsen it, for he’d be trading one type of agony for another.

“Trenton?”

Trenton started, blinking dazedly at the bed. Ariana was sitting up, waves of coppery hair tumbling about her slender shoulders. She reached for her robe and slipped it on, climbing from beneath the bedcovers. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t answer at first, watching her walk toward him, the soft folds of her nightgown outlining every luscious curve of her body. How could someone so exquisitely beautiful represent everything in his life that was so very ugly?

“Why are you in my bedroom?” Ariana repeated, stopping in front of him. She glanced at the glass on the nightstand. “Drinking?” she added.

“I’ve had only one drink,” Trenton replied. “And I was watching you. And thinking.”

She drew a shaky breath and purposefully straightened her shoulders. “About the apology you were going to extend to me?”

Despite his black humor, Trenton’s lips twitched at her dignity and courage. “In part.”

Her expression shifted from startled to relieved to curious. “I see.”

“Wouldn’t you like to hear what else I was thinking?” he inquired.

Her small jaw set. “First I’d like the apology.”

Trenton drank her in, head to toe. “I was reflecting on how intoxicatingly lovely you are.” He leaned his head back, his voice deep and rich, his gaze seductive, as hot and explicit as an intimate caress.

For a moment, Ariana’s face registered indecision. Then she shook her head adamantly. “No!” she burst out, refusing him … and herself. “You treated me inexcusably! You humiliated me in front of your brother and made me feel like a harlot!” She turned her back, unable to bear seeing the derisive censure in his eyes. “Last night … well, you led me to believe my responses were acceptable, even enjoyable.” Her voice grew small. “Why didn’t you tell me that my wanton behavior angered you?”

Trenton’s jaw dropped. “You thought I was angry because—”

“Let’s not play games, Trenton,” she returned, whirling about to face him, twin spots of red staining her cheeks. “I cannot be like Vanessa. It just isn’t possible. But I
didn’t
to please you. So if I was too bold … too vocal … why didn’t you tell me? Not in public, but when we were alone?” Despite her shame, she pushed on, candid and direct. “After all, I don’t
know
how a wife should behave. I have no means of comparison. The only way I—”

“Come here.”

Trenton’s husky command cut into her tirade.

“What?”

“I said, come here.” He extended his hand, caught her fingers in his and drew her closer until the fabric of her nightgown brushed his knees. Releasing her fingers, he cupped her hips and, in one gesture, tugged her down until she was straddling his lap.

“Trenton …” She sounded more puzzled and breathless than angry, and Trenton smiled.

“What?” He glided his fingers up the contours of her torso, then framed her face with his hands. “I’m driven by demons, misty angel,” he murmured, caressing her cheek with his thumb, giving her the repentance she deserved. “Demons I cannot control. I allowed them to strike out at you, and for that I profoundly apologize.” He brought her mouth down to his. “Do you forgive me?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

“As for last night,” he muttered thickly, molding her lips to his and tangling his hands in her hair to keep her from pulling away, “you didn’t just please me. You set me on fire, burned me to ashes, re-ignited the embers.” He kissed her deeply, thoroughly. “You aroused me in a way I thought was impossible, seduced me with every innocent touch of your hands, your breath, your mouth.”

Catching her tiny whimper, he pulled her closer still. “Do you have any idea how exciting I found your responses? What your soft moans, your breathless pleas for more did to my control?” He rotated his hips slowly, letting her feel the full force of his arousal. “Can you possibly imagine how much I want to be inside you?” he rasped, pressing insistently into the cradle of her thighs, the heat of his body burning through her. “Can you, misty angel?” He didn’t wait for an answer but slid his hands beneath the pristine cotton of her nightgown, up along the silky softness of her legs.

“Oh … Trenton …” She sagged against him, shivering uncontrollably at his words, his touch.

“You make me tremble too,” he whispered against her parted lips, gliding his shaking hands higher along her inner thighs, dragging the flimsy gown up with them.

With graceful abandon, Ariana arched her back, instinctively inviting him to take more of her.

Trenton’s expert fingers found the warm haven they sought, delving hungrily into the glorious wetness that told him of her avid response.

And suddenly, everything converged inside him at once, splintering his control into fragments of nothingness.

“Ariana …” he choked out frantically, urgent in a way he could explain no more than he could understand. “I’ve got to have you … now.” He raised her up, simultaneously reaching for the buttons of his trousers.

Ariana clutched at Trenton’s arms, trembling violently. Confused and overwhelmed, she stared down at him, shocked by his frenzy … and her own. Immobilized, she watched her husband work desperately to free himself so they could be one.

“I have to fill you,” he panted, pausing only to ease a finger inside her, gently testing her readiness. “I have to.”

With a whimper of longing, Ariana tugged free, ready to bolt the short distance to the bed.

“No.” Trenton’s hands closed on her hips in a vicelike grip, and he shook his head wildly.

“But I want to—”

“So do I.”

“But the bed—”

“I can’t wait that long. Here. Now.”

Before Ariana could reply, he’d freed his rigid erection and, in one deliberate motion, lowered Ariana onto his full length. “Take me, misty angel,” he breathed into her hair. “Let me lose myself inside your softness.” He heard her gasp, then eased her away so he could see her face. “Am I too deep?”

Wordlessly, she shook her head, reaching for him even as he dragged her back, impaling her with his turgid flesh.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, pressing her flanks tightly to his. When he didn’t reply, she raised up to see his face. “Trenton?” she managed.

“What?” His teeth were tightly gritted against the rapture that was escalating too hard, too soon.

“Please …” she repeated, looking lost and bewildered and so damned beautiful that he longed to merge their very souls into one.

“Move,” he told her instead. “Like this.” He seized her hips, raising and lowering her, teaching her the rhythm … and driving himself insane in the process.

He felt it the moment she took over. Her small hands gripped his shoulders, her slender legs hugged his thighs. And her tight, velvety wet passage absorbed him, enveloped him, stroked him with fingers of fire.

Trenton groaned, letting Ariana set the pace, greedily arching into every downward shift of her hips. With each thrust he penetrated deeper, withdrew, farther, reveling in his wife’s glorious, abandoned response, her limbs tightening around him, possessing him as totally as he was possessing her.

Waiting was never an option. Trenton was peaking too fast, the pleasure too acute to repress. With a guttural shout, he lunged upward, lifting her with the force of the motion, clamping his hands on her hips and forcing her down to meet him until he heard her softly cry out … in pain or pleasure he wasn’t sure. And then he was plummeting over the edge of white-hot sensation, calling out to her, over and over, spilling himself in an endless, unbearable, shattering release that drained his strength and renewed his soul.

He was still moving as he opened his eyes, and the look on Ariana’s face made him shudder anew. She was watching his expression intently, her own registering both awe and joy.

“You’re magnificent,” she whispered.

Trenton’s gaze dropped to the hard points of her nipples, so clearly defined through the fine cotton of her gown, and he felt a stab of guilt and regret. “I gave you no pleasure.”

“But you did,” she protested, profoundly aware of him still hard and pulsing inside her.

Slowly, he shook his head. “No, my little innocent, not the kind I intended.” Before she could protest, he brought her mouth down to his and, with their bodies still joined, slid his fingers between them. Slowly, erotically, he touched her, caressed her, moving his body and his hand in the ways he knew would maximize her pleasure.

Ariana melted around him, her body so feverishly aroused that it took mere seconds to push her beyond herself. Her eyes widened with shock as she realized how frantic she was for release.

Trenton smiled darkly, unsurprised by the magnitude of her response. “Now, Ariana,” he said, nipping lightly at her lower lip, “now you’ll feel it.” He arched into her, never breaking the motion of his fingers. “Come apart in my arms,” he ordered softly. His thumb circled her achingly sensitive flesh. “Now, misty angel,” he demanded, pushing that extra inch inside her. “Now … give yourself up to it. … Give yourself to me.”

The pleasure exploded into rainbows of shimmering sensation, so powerful that Ariana cried out again, clinging to Trenton and sobbing his name. Succumbing to the wrenching spasms, she buried her face in her husband’s shoulder until the tremors had subsided. Then, with a weak, sated sigh, she collapsed against his chest.

She was floating, limp and dazed in his arms, when he gently carried her to the bed.

He lay her down, tugging off her robe and nightgown, and quickly stripped off his own clothes. Then he lowered himself beside her and began to pay slow homage to her body, relishing the silky texture of her skin in a way his urgency hadn’t permitted mere moments before.

“All night, Ariana,” he promised huskily, “I’m going to make love to you all night.” Lightly, he outlined the shell of her ear with his tongue, breathing explicit vows in a rough, deep voice, describing all the different things he planned to do to her … all the exciting things they would do to each other.

And then he showed her.

“Trenton …”she whispered at one point during the night, placing a restraining hand against his shoulder, her eyes, her voice filled with the shadowed questions that lay between them.

“Later,” he replied, easing over her, kissing her hand and bringing it around to his nape. “Much later.” He parted her thighs and penetrated her wet warmth inch by glorious inch until her eyes slid closed and she said his name again, this time not in question. “Ah, my beautiful, exhilarating, misty angel,” he murmured, guiding her legs around his waist, “… much, much later.”

Dawn’s first rays were flickering through the narrow opening in the drapes when Trenton finally eased away from his exhausted wife.

Feeling the cool air strike her body, Ariana came instantly awake, a wave of panic sweeping through her.
Will he want to leave again?
she wondered silently.
Like he did the other night?

She closed her eyes and waited. Would the magic vaporize along with the darkness?