A Daring Passion (22 page)

“No…Philippe.”

“Open,
meu amor.
I want to taste you.”

With a relentless pressure he pulled her thighs apart, ignoring the sharp tugs on his hair as he pressed his mouth against her. Dragging his tongue through the honey-sweetness he teased and stroked with a practiced skill.

Just for a moment she battled against the pleasure coursing through her body. Then with a moan her hips lifted to press against his tormenting mouth. He waited until her breath was coming in soft pants before he slid back up her body. Covering her lips in a fierce kiss, he tilted his hips and entered her with a sharp thrust.

His fingers threaded through her satin curls as he pumped again and again, his ragged breathing echoing through the room until he at last felt the small pulses of her release that massaged his thick shaft. With a grunt of satisfaction he plunged into her one last time and poured his pleasure into her throbbing body.

S
HADOWS HAD BEGUN TO ENTER
the bedchamber when Raine stirred from her sleep. With her eyes still closed she absorbed the feel of Philippe cradled close behind her, his arm curved over her waist and his hand cupping her breast with a possessive grasp. Even more shocking, she realized that his flesh was still deeply embedded within her.

Sensing the moment she awakened, Philippe shifted to trail his lips over the curve of her shoulder. His fingers toyed with her breast until her nipple was hard.

She wanted to protest. What sort of woman so eagerly responded to the touch of a man holding her captive? A man who saw her as nothing more than an object?

Unfortunately her body refused to listen to the voice of caution that warned she was courting disaster. Instead her eyes slid closed in aching need as he slowly began to rock himself inside her, his hand slipping down the length of her body to stroke the tiny nub of her pleasure.

He whispered soft words in her ear, refusing to increase his slow steady pace until her entire body cried out for the fulfillment he promised.

“Philippe,” she rasped, her fingernails digging into his forearm as he tormented her. “Please.”

“Do you want me,
meu amor?
” he demanded. She remained stubbornly silent and he gave the lobe of her ear a sharp nip even as he halted his delicious thrusts. “Say it, Raine. Tell me you want me.”

She nearly screamed in frustration. He had taken her freedom, her body and an increasingly dangerous part of her heart. Did he have to take her pride, as well?

It seemed that he did as he continued to hold himself still within her.

“Damn you,” she muttered. “Yes.”

“Say the words,
meu amor.
I want to hear them on your lips.”

“I want you,” she breathed, the words so low that they barely stirred the air.

Philippe moaned as he buried his face in the curve of her neck and began to drive himself into her with a raw, powerful force that had her swiftly arching in a shattering explosion.

She sighed deeply as he gently pulled from her, and then with a gentle care turned her onto her back so he could study her with his thoughtful gaze.

“I will never have enough of you,” he murmured softly. “Never.”

Raine ignored the treacherous warmth that flooded her heart. For the moment he was obsessed with her body. Why that should be so she hadn't the faintest clue. But she did know that sooner or later he would tire of her. It was as inevitable as the sun rising. She would be the worst sort of fool to believe he could truly desire her to remain at his side.

Opening her mouth to offer a pert retort, Raine was halted by the embarrassing sound of her stomach rumbling in hunger.

A blush touched her cheeks as Philippe chuckled and stroked a familiar hand over her belly.

“I see that I have not yet managed to sate all of your hungers, you greedy angel,” he said as he brushed a kiss over her forehead.

“You were the one to keep me from my luncheon,” she reminded him in tart tones.

His smile was smug, not at all repentant for having kept her in bed half the day.

“So I did. Something easily rectified.” He rolled off the bed and reached for his robe. “Remain here and I shall return in a moment.”

Raine lay back on the pillows, watching as he tied the robe and moved with predatory grace toward the door.

He was a wondrous creature. A lion that stalked through the world and took what he wanted with a ferocious will. And for now he wanted her.

Bloody hell, her entire body still tingled with the force and pleasure of his touch. She always felt sated when she left his arms. But today, there had been a raw edge of savagery in his lovemaking that left her feeling oddly disoriented.

It was as if he had been determined to…what? To prove to both of them that she did belong to him? To ensure that she would never be able to forget his touch? To steal what was left of her battered heart?

What the devil did he want from her?

 

P
HILIPPE HAD FILLED A TRAY
with delicately roasted pheasant, broiled potatoes, peas in a cream sauce and a delicate pudding that was Raine's favorite.

Returning to the bedchamber, he set the tray next to Raine and settled on the bed to watch her eat with a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach.

He had a dozen tasks that needed his attention. Not the least of which was meeting Carlos, who no doubt was already awaiting him in the garden. But still he lingered, his gaze watching her every delicate movement, his senses drinking in the scent and feel of her.

It was ridiculous. Absurd.

His lust was sated, his body pleasantly weary from the force of his climaxes. And yet still, there was a part of him that felt restless, unsatisfied. As if he were seeking something from this woman that he could not name.

At last he forced his lethargic muscles to stir, and he pulled on a pair of dark breeches and a rough wool coat that was more suited to a dockhand than a gentleman of means.

Setting aside the empty tray, Raine lay back on the pillows and watched him with those beautiful dark eyes. “Where are you going?”

Philippe's groin tightened as his gaze swept over the fragile ivory features and the glossy amber curls spread across the pillows. The urge to rip off his clothes and return to the soft delight of her arms raged through him.

Meu Deus.
The woman had cast a spell over him. That could be the only reasonable explanation.

“I do have duties that cannot be fulfilled by lying in bed with you,
menina pequena,
” he said harshly. More for his own sake than hers. He was beginning to fear that he could forget everything—his responsibilities, his family, even his precious vineyards—to be with this tiny slip of a girl.

She flinched at his words, even as her chin predictably tilted in a blunt challenge.

“Go then, sir. Go and do not return. It matters not to me.”

His anger fled as swiftly as it had risen, and with a self-mocking shake of his head Philippe moved to plant a fleeting kiss on her delectable lips.

“Seurat will have heard that I arrived in Paris by now, and unless he is considerably more stupid than I suspect, he will have managed to discover I am staying at this cottage.”

She frowned. “You think he will come here?”

“Not directly, but I do not doubt he has been sniffing around in the hopes of learning if I am a danger to his nefarious plans.” A cold smile touched his mouth. “I had Carlos hire a number of young lads to keep an eye on the cottage from a distance and come to him if they noted any strangers lurking about the place.”

“And did they?”

“He left a message waiting for me in the kitchen.”

Her frown deepened. “What do you intend to do?”

“That depends on what information Carlos has for me. I shall hopefully return before dawn.”

With one last kiss Philippe left the bedchamber and headed out of the cottage to cross the garden.

Dusk had already arrived, bringing with it an icy chill that sent the few citizens scurrying down the streets to the comfort of waiting fires. Philippe ignored the cold as he entered the cramped stables and waited for Carlos to detach himself from the shadows.

His friend was wearing the same rough clothing as himself, with the addition of a woolen cloak that he kept pulled around his large body as he glared at Philippe.

“Damn, I thought you intended to keep me waiting in this frozen garden for the entire night,” he groused.

Philippe shrugged. “I received your message only a short time ago.”

“And were obviously in no hurry to answer my summons.” Carlos studied him with a sardonic gaze. “Since when do you allow yourself to be distracted from your goal by a quick tumble?”

“Take care, Carlos. No one is allowed to show Miss Wimbourne disrespect.”

“What do you care? She is nothing more than a…”

With a blur of movement, Philippe had crossed the short distance and had his friend backed to the wall.

“I will not warn you again.”

“Be at ease, Philippe.” Carlos held his hands up in a gesture of peace, his eyes narrowed. “I am merely curious as to why this woman is so different than the others.”

Well, that was the question, was it not? Thankfully it was a question that he refused to contemplate at the moment.

“That is none of your concern,” he muttered.

Carlos gave a lift of his brows. “If you say so.”

Philippe grimaced as he stepped back and realized just how close he had come to planting his fist in his friend's face.
Meu Deus,
he was truly losing his mind.

“Tell me what you discovered,” he demanded. “Was Seurat seen?”

“Yes, but the man is surprisingly cunning.”

“What do you mean?”

“He disguised himself as an elderly priest who seemed to be wandering aimlessly through the village. If the lads had not been watching for him he would easily have escaped notice.”

“Did you manage to catch sight of him?” Philippe demanded, wanting more than the word of a handful of boys who were anxious to be paid for their work.

“
Sim.
He hid behind the stables for nearly two hours before he at last slipped away.”

“Would you recognize him again?”

Carlos shrugged. “It would be difficult. He managed to keep his hat pulled low and most of his face was covered by a thick scarf. I can say little more than that he was a small man with a faint limp.”

Philippe did not miss the hint of smugness in his friend's countenance. The man may not be able to recognize Seurat, but he did know something.

“What else did you discover?” he demanded.

“I followed him to Saint-Marcel. He must have rooms in the neighborhood.”

A flare of satisfaction raced through Philippe. He could always depend upon Carlos. No matter what he might ask of him.

“Saint-Marcel,” he said softly. “A nasty place.”

Carlos gave a slow nod, his expression somber. “Even nastier than usual. The mobs are growing restless and discontent beneath their new king. It is only a matter of time before the city erupts into riots.”

Philippe grimaced. He had sensed the same dark pulse that throbbed beneath the frantic gaiety of the streets. Despite the revolution and efforts to halt corruption, the disparity between the wealthy and masses of poor and immigrants remained unaltered.

For the moment the soldiers managed to keep the peace, but it would take only a spark to kindle the waiting bonfire.

“I intend to be far away by then. After I am gone they can tear the bloody city to the ground stone by stone as far as I am concerned.” Moving toward the horses that Carlos already had saddled, he vaulted on top of the black stallion. “Show me where you last had sight of Seurat.”

Carlos readily mounted his own horse and glanced toward Philippe. “Are we going alone?”

Philippe took a moment before giving a decisive nod of his head. “Yes. We do not want to startle him into flight. If we are careful I can have my hands around his throat before he ever realizes we are near.”

“Do not forget we desire him alive,” Carlos warned.

“Only until my brother is free. After that the man will learn what it is to threaten a Gautier. Let us go.”

 

A
S USUAL THE STREETS OF
Paris were clogged with pleasure-seekers strolling past the crowded cafés, the arcades and the theaters. The air was filled with the sound of their chatter and the incessant calls of the street vendors.

And that was not all the air was filled with, Philippe acknowledged as he wrinkled his nose at the pervasive smells of food and sewage and decay that were rampant in any vast city.

It was little wonder that he far preferred his pristine estate on the cliffs of Madeira.

A sense of longing for the untamed beauty of his home washed through Philippe. What would Raine think of the rolling hills that were covered with his vineyards? Or the tiny villages where the fishermen anchored their small boats and their wives waited on the shores for their return?

Would she be bored by the solitude as his father and brother were? Or would she sense the subtle charm that had enchanted him since he was a child?

“Philippe, you might wish to take heed.” Carlos abruptly broke into his musings, his voice dry. “This place is seething with pickpockets and cutthroats. You will not do Jean-Pierre much good if you end up floating in the Seine.”

Philippe stiffened as he realized that he had, indeed, been careless. Even a moment of inattention in such a neighborhood could lead to disaster.

Still, he was not about to admit as much to his friend. Not when Carlos was bound to suspect that his thoughts had once again been consumed with Raine Wimbourne.