A Bride by Moonlight (33 page)

“Ah, yes, your theory of non-attachment.” His voice had flattened. “I think we had this discussion already.”

“Yes,” she said swiftly. “But tonight, Napier, I’m tired. Of being alone. Of wanting you.”

“Lisette, it will never—”

“Shush.” She set her fingertips to his lips. “I don’t delude myself. In a few days, we’ll go back to London. We’ll go back to being what we used to be.”

“To one another?” His gaze drifted down her face. “And what was that, Lisette? Mortal enemies?”

On another faint laugh, she shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “We were nothing to one another. We scarcely knew of one another’s existence. I won’t be staying in London, Napier—perhaps not even in Britain—so I’m not looking to . . . to
ensnare
you in any way.”

He caught her wrist, kissing her pulse point. “And what if I wished to ensnare you?” he whispered.

“You would soon rue it,” she said honestly. “And you would always wonder—”

He dragged her to him and cut off her words with his kiss.

Napier wasn’t even sure when the longing in Lisette’s eyes became something he could scarcely bear. She wanted him to pleasure her—and he would agree to it, of course. No sane man would refuse her.

So he kissed her determinedly, as if he mightn’t stop, cradling the back of her head in his hand as his other hand worked down the buttons that fastened her blue dinner gown. The silk was cool against his hand, her mouth hot and seeking beneath his.

And as he worked each button free, he closed his eyes tighter, unable to bear the desire that softened her eyes and left her languid in his arms.

Couldn’t bear it because it wasn’t enough.

Not until she totally surrendered to him.

And Elizabeth Colburne surrendered to no one. She might surrender to his body—for this, for what he could make her feel. And he
was
making her feel—rather desperately, if her breathy sighs were any measure. She straddled him now, her head thrown back as he worked her bodice down. Her breasts sprang free, full and ripe, begging for his mouth.

Still cradling her head with one hand, Napier suckled Lisette until her fingers tangled in his hair and she began to whimper, and then to murmur what she wished him to do to her.

And he surely meant to oblige her; had meant to since allowing her in the door, if he were honest. Indeed, at this point, he could hardly have stopped himself. Scooping her in his arms, one hand sliding beneath her lush bottom, Napier rose from the sofa and carried her to the bed. Lisette was kissing him now, her lips sliding down his neck with murmured supplications, her long legs wrapped around his waist, her hands twining around his neck, sinuous as a cat.

Perching her on the edge of the high mattress, he undressed her with slow deliberation. When her fingers went impatiently to her hooks and buttons, he pushed her hands gently away, unwilling to surrender the pleasure.

Unwilling to give in to her completely.

“Patience, love,” he murmured. “I want to savor this.”

She dropped her hands and sat docilely. Lisette desired him for this one thing. And in this one thing, he was determined to have his way. With this one thing, he could enslave her—if only for an hour or two.

Or three, perhaps, if he measured himself out carefully.

Already Lisette’s eyes were glassy with need. The silk dress settled around her waist in a pale puddle, luminous against the cream of his counterpane. Her loosened corset followed, and her shift fell after that. Kissing his way down her breastbone, Napier snared the tie to her drawers in his teeth and pulled it free, pausing only to tease at her navel with the tip of his tongue.

She shuddered on a breathy sign. Then Napier lifted Lisette to her feet and let it all fall, leaving her bare save for garters and stockings. After dispensing with those, he swiftly undressed himself and this time she stood watching passively save for the occasional catch in her breath.

When his shirt drifted to the ground, she reached out and set her hand over his heart. He pushed his drawers and trousers down in an untidy heap, and her hand slid lower.

“Slowly, love,” he said, urging her back onto the bed.

Napier mounted her, crawling over her and pressing her down into the softness with his weight as his mouth took hers on a deep, plundering kiss. Lisette’s head fell back into his pillows. She exhaled on a little shudder, her hands going to the rounded muscles of his shoulders. He thrust his tongue into her mouth again, sliding it sinuously and repeatedly along hers in that age-old mimicry; warning her of his intent.

In response, Lisette sighed and let her eyes fall shut, her thick lashes feathering over her pale skin. Urging her legs wide with his knee, Napier turned his attention to her breasts, his cock lying thick and throbbing against the alabaster flesh of her thigh.

Strangely, she did not reach for him—did not run her fingers over his sensitive head or tease from him his essence as he’d thought she might. Instead Lisette lay quietly but wantonly beneath him, as if she knew what he wished.

What he needed.

To take her. Not against her will, no, but to be in utter control of her body—assuming there was no winning her soul. His hand weighed her swollen breasts in turn, thumbing her nipples into sensitive, dark rose nubs as he sat back on his heels and watched her breath ratchet up. Teasing her until the pleasure of his fingers became too much for her to bear and he was compelled to lean forward and soothe her with the tip of his tongue.

“
Napier . . .”
she whispered urgently.

Her patience—and passivity—was coming to an end, he sensed. As if he’d bidden her touch, Lisette began to move restlessly, the fingers of one hand stroking down the turn of his waist, then lower. His hand caught her fingers, then Napier sat up and drew them together through her nest of curls until her dew glistened both their fingers.

Her eyes widening, Lisette still lay against his pillows, her wild curls shimmering around her head like a halo of rubies, brilliant against the white linen. She looked like an angel—an angel, he feared, sent to show him hell here on this earth.

The hell of what he could not have. Not in any way save the most fleeting.

But fleeting passion, he had decided, was better than none at all.

In his mind, Napier considered all manner of tactics to torment and delay. He wanted to teach Lisette to touch herself as he watched. To tease her sweet nub with his mouth again. Perhaps even to feel the warmth of her mouth on him.

But she was untutored and already arching restlessly beneath him, and he—well, he was fighting down his own impatience. So he situated himself between those impossibly long legs and let his eyes feast, fearing he’d be wise to let Lisette’s feminine perfection sear his memory. For it was all, in the end, he might have.

“Lisette,” he whispered, “you are beautiful.”

And he meant it. Lisette was all leggy, coltish grace with firm, high breasts and a soft, creamy dip of a belly that invited a man to cradle his head upon it.

She gazed up at him through somnolent but knowing eyes. “And you are hard, physical perfection,” she whispered. “Come. Come inside me. Let me feel how perfect.”

Her throat worked up and down, her eyes pleading with him. But Napier had no intention of being rushed.

“
Now
,” she whispered.

In answer, he let his hands skate up the alabaster flesh of her inner thighs—all the way up—until he could run his thumbs along the lush folds of feminine flesh that embraced her delicate treasure.

Ever so gently he parted her and let his gaze take in the glistening, pearl-pink skin and the sweet jewel within. Lisette’s breath seized at the intrusion, her hand sliding restlessly down.

“Patience, love,” he said, touching her gently.

“
Aah
,” she whispered, her hips rolling against his hand. “Please. Inside me. Now.”

Again her hand lashed out, this time reaching desperately. And Napier knew if the witch stroked him once, he’d likely be lost. But it was no hard feat to snare her wrist in his and push her hand back up.

“Napier,” she begged, restlessly rolling her hips, “just hurry
—
”

But he was bloody tired of hurrying; he wanted to savor what little he had. To deny for as long as he could that the end neared.

“
Don’t make me wait
,” she whispered.

And suddenly the devil really was in him.

Later, when good sense returned, Napier blamed despair. But in that instant, he felt only raw, male frustration.

Reaching blindly around with his empty hand, he groped in the gloom until he found the cravat he’d tossed onto the bed. And before he’d had time to think better of it—before she’d even grasped what he was about—Napier had the linen looped around Lisette’s wrist and was urging it over her head.

“Napier?” Her eyes flew wide in the firelight. “What are you—?”

“Helping you temper your patience, love,” he interjected, looping it around the other hand and drawing the knot fast.

She gave a little jerk, only half testing the knot. “Ah, for my own good, is it?” Something was kindled in her eyes now; something that was not irritation and certainly not fear. “I ordinarily question when a man says that.”

“Some women beg for this, you know.” Napier wrapped the next turn on a little grunt, and felt raw lust surge through his loins. “Not that I asked.”

“My, how arrogant you are,” she said evenly. “Have I mentioned that lately?”

“I don’t believe so.” Napier drew the next knot tight, a little disturbed by how arousing he found it. “But you did touch on
stubborn
and
devilish
and—oh, what was it?—oh, yes.
Hard
.”

“This,” she said darkly, casting her eyes up, “had better be good.”

“Oh, it certainly will be good for me,” he murmured, yanking snug the next knot. The back of Lisette’s hands slapped the headboard. “For I mean to have my wicked way with you. Stubbornly and devilishly, of course.”

“And hard,” she murmured. Her eyes were drifting down his cock, now swollen so thick the veins stood out. “Very . . .
literally
.”

“And for as long”—he drew Lisette’s wrists tight together with the last knot—“as is humanly possible.”

At that, she shuddered beneath him. “Napier, please.” This time she did not sound quite so bold.

Finally Napier sat back with satisfaction at his handiwork: the pale, slender arms fastened loosely but fairly firmly above her head.

Could
she wrench herself free?

He decided it was possible—but not easy. Moreover, he was morally confident he could distract her from her efforts.

“You must admit, Lisette,” he said, his eyes trailing over her, “that thus far you’ve been mighty dictatorial in this relationship.”

“That I have
what
—?” Her voice was softly incredulous.

“It’s a little humbling, my girl, for a man to find himself so utterly willing to answer every crook of a woman’s finger,” he went on. “I warned you tonight. I suggested very strongly you not come in here.”

“And yet . . .
here I am
,” she said.

“Yes, and entirely at my mercy,” he replied. “And it shames me to admit how erotic it looks—though I know it won’t last.”

On a laugh, she tilted her head back and gave her hands a hard yank. The knots held, soft but unyielding. Slowly Lisette’s face fused with color and with it came reality.

That this was no game. No, not quite.

“Napier,” she said hotly, “let me go. This very minute.”

“
Five
minutes,” he returned. “Just . . . five minutes, Lisette. Is that so much to ask?”

“Five minutes of what?” she asked, her voice breaking.

But Napier had let his hands ease up her warm inner thighs again. “Five minutes of savoring this,” he said, holding her gaze. “Oh, Lisette, let me live the fantasy, even fleetingly, that you are in some small way within a man’s control. And then, if you ask prettily, yes, I’ll let you go.”

“Royden,” she fumed, “this not funny.”

“No, but it’s arousing as hell,” he said. “And by the way, I notice I’m
Royden
now. How sweet it sounds on your lips, love.”

Suddenly, she gasped. And this time she did not yank at the headboard, for he’d drawn his thumbs through her dew again, teasing lightly near her clitoris.

“My God, this is intoxicating,” he murmured, grazing the nub lightly on the next stroke.

“
Ohhh
.” The word was a soft moan.

He stroked again—the merest nothing—and she began to shake.

“Oh, Lisette,” he said warningly, “
I think you like this.
”

She closed her eyes, her throat working frantically. “
Touch me again,
” she whispered.

“Oh, yes,” he said, “I will, love—until you beg me to stop.”

He did better than touch her. He bent forward to nip his way down the soft flesh of her belly, sending another shudder deep through Lisette’s body. Then he soothed the trail of bites with the tip of his tongue, retracing until he reached her damp curls.

“
Royden
,” she murmured, her hips rolling restlessly.

Then, probing gently through her damp folds, he found her perfect spot with the tip of his tongue. He stroked once, firmly, and felt a deep shudder go through her. He stroked twice more, lightly teasing. Then Lisette went rigid and came apart, her sweetness warm against his mouth.

Good Lord.
Never had he seen a woman so easily—so wildly—aroused.

He watched it in stunned awe. He’d meant, in all honesty, to untie her. Instead, he found himself crawling over her like some feral beast, pushing her wide with one knee as he thrust himself deep.

Lisette arched on a soft, startled cry. Napier felt half mad with need. Grabbing the headboard with both hands, he thrust and thrust again as Lisette’s spasms slowly waned, tugging around his cock. Her eyes were wide, rolling back in her head, her hands bearing down on the knot on a shudder.

He rode her then, the soft sounds of their flesh sweet and wet in the dying firelight. Lisette’s knees came up, clasping him hard over the hips as her belly drew taut, urging herself against him. Over and over he thrust, his fingers clenching the walnut headboard as he moved on her.