A Heart for the Taking (30 page)

“You do not really expect me to
willingly
. . .” Words failed her and she glared at him.

He smiled. “Yes, sweetheart, I do.”

Lounging negligently against the tall bedpost, his arms folded casually over his chest, Chance looked far too confident, far too handsome, for Fancy’s peace of mind. The curve of that chiseled mouth and the glitter in those blue eyes as they roamed appreciatively over her aroused curious sensations deep within her. Sensations she wanted desperately to deny. There was something thrillingly feral and vastly appealing about him as he regarded her steadily across the all-too-brief distance that separated them.

The flickering candlelight from the pewter sconces on the wall caressed his compelling features, making her breathlessly aware of the strength and rugged character inherent in his face. His thick black hair was brushing his shoulders, a lock falling carelessly across one brow. Staring at him, she
admitted helplessly that he was the most fascinating, beguiling,
infuriating
male animal she had ever met.

Her emotions in chaos, Fancy remained silent, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. To her alarm and shame, she was conscious that underneath all her anger was a growing sense of excitement—that she was actually
en
joying
this confrontation between them. Appalled by that admission, she tried to tell herself that it was mere rage making her heart pound and her blood race, but with a sinking feeling in her chest, she realized that she was lying to herself.

“But suppose you are wrong?” she finally said in a small voice. “Suppose I refuse to fall tamely in with your wishes?”

Chance pushed away from the bedpost and approached her, pulling her easily into his arms. Fancy stood warily in his embrace, and he brushed his lips against her temple as he said quietly, “Fancy, I know that you want to continue fighting me, and a part of me applauds your spirit and determination. But, sweetheart, you cannot win against me.”

If his words were meant to soothe her, they did not, and feeling her stiffen, he cursed his clumsy tongue. Wryly he admitted, “That was not quite what I meant to say, even if it is true.” He pulled her closer to him, and against her mouth, he murmured, “Fight me all you want to. I look forward to it. But not here and not now.”

With his mouth brushing hers, his scent, clean and male, drifting in her nostrils, his arms strong and hard about her, Fancy was finding it difficult to concentrate. Worse, everything within her was urging capitulation.

“A truce for tonight?” she asked cautiously. Dare she risk it? He held the winning hand, even she realized that, but his unexpected offer gave her a way of accepting the inevitable while yet allowing her to have at least some control over the situation. There was much about his suggestion that she abhorred, and under different circumstances, she would have thrown it contemptuously back into his handsome face. But at the moment, it seemed very tempting.

“For all our nights, sweetheart,” he promised against her tingling lips. “All our nights.”

Toying with the lace at the front of his shirt, she said carefully, “You realize that a truce for the night will change nothing. You have
still
taken gross advantage of me, and I shall probably hate you for the rest of my life.”

His lips traveling in a burning path down her throat, he said thickly, “Of course, Duchess. We both understand how you feel about me. What an unprincipled cad I am.” Nipping lightly at that tender spot where her neck joined her shoulder, his hands cupping her buttocks to lift her against him, he muttered, “I shall always respect your feelings for me . . . even your hatred.”

Fancy’s arms slid slowly around his neck, her fingers tangling in the rough black hair, her mouth shyly following the outline of his ear, and Chance’s breath caught in his throat. At the touch of her soft mouth, desire thrummed through his veins and his fingers tightened on her firm little bottom.

“As long as you understand my feelings,” Fancy breathed huskily, “I suppose that a truce for the hours of darkness would be . . . acceptable.”

A great weight, a weight that he hadn’t even been aware of, suddenly slid off Chance. With a low sound, half growl, half laugh, he swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He instantly followed her slim form into the welcoming softness of the feather mattress, his mouth greedily finding hers, the desire that had been barely held in check bursting free as he lay beside her and dragged her into his arms.

He had sworn to himself that this would be no swift coupling, such as the one they had shared on the bluff overlooking the river. Yet when Fancy’s lips hesitantly opened for him and he tasted the moist, inviting depths, he wondered dazedly if he had set too vast a goal for himself. Repressing the urge to fall upon her like a ravening wolf, Chance wooed her with kisses and lingering caresses, his hands moving warmly over her as he reacquainted himself with the soft, seductive curves that had taunted him unmercifully through several long, lonely nights.

Fancy was silk and fire in his arms, her mouth unbeliev
ably sweet as he drank deeply, the curves and hollows of her slender body a tactile delight for his questing hands. He groaned when her tongue innocently traced the shape of his. His breathing was labored, and desire, hot and fierce as a dragon, coiled and twisted deep in his loins as she moved against him, her breasts burning into his chest, her belly pressing against the rigid, aching shaft of his manhood.

Fancy was no more immune to Chance’s proximity than he was to hers, and a shudder went through her when his hand fondled her breast and he gently squeezed the yielding flesh. She had told herself that what had happened between them on the bluff had been an aberration, that her memory had been befuddled, that she had only imagined the exquisite pleasures of his mouth and hands on her. But she was giddily aware as his lips slid from her mouth to her breast that in this, too, she had deluded herself.

Until Chance had come into her life, she hadn’t known that one could ache for another’s touch, that one could burn for the brush of a certain pair of lips, or that one’s body could come stingingly alive from the caress of just one particular person.

Chance’s lips closed around her breast, and Fancy arched up off the bed, the tug and pull of his mouth on her plump nipple, even through the fabric of her gown, sending a spiral of hot sensation streaking through her body. She clutched at his shoulders, anxious and unbearably pleasured at the same time, wanting more and yet frightened of losing control of herself, of becoming that shameless creature who had writhed beneath him on the bluff.

But Chance didn’t give her time to think. His blue eyes full of a primitive hunger, he reared up suddenly and, leaving the bed, began to tear at his clothing. In bemusement she stared at the powerful body being revealed to her, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of his sheer male beauty.

Despite her years of marriage, Fancy had never seen a fully naked man before; her husband had always come to her in the darkness. Watching as each piece of Chance’s clothing fell to the floor, she was utterly fascinated by what
was revealed. The candlelight flickered and danced over his body as he stripped off his garments in feverish haste, the soft light casting a golden glow here, a dark shadow there. Mesmerized, she stared at the broad shoulders, the play of the strong muscles revealed in his arms and chest with every movement he made.

Chance turned away briefly to dispense with the remainder of his clothing, and when he swung back toward her, Fancy’s breath froze. Unable to help herself, she stared intently at the springy thatch of black hair between his thighs, most particularly at the hard rod of flesh that jutted outward from the center. Despite having little to compare him with, she knew that Chance was generously and magnificently endowed everywhere and that he was . . . oh, utterly
beautiful
.

Aware of Fancy’s fascinated gaze upon him, Chance felt his body respond, desire tightening its carnal grip on him. The expression on her face made it clear that she found the sight of his naked body not unattractive, and a frisson of pleasure went through him.

As Fancy continued to look at him, Chance did some looking of his own, enjoying the picture she made as she lay on the bed, her pale gold gown in appealing disarray around her, one shapely calf and half a thigh revealed. His hungry gaze reluctantly left that sweetly formed thigh and traveled upward, past the tantalizing junction of her legs and flat stomach, to linger on her breasts, the dampness from his earlier caresses making the material cling revealingly to the firm flesh, the nipple hard and thrusting against the fabric. His eyes could not seem to move from that spot, the need to see her bosom bared to his gaze suddenly very strong.

Rejoining her on the bed, he reached for her and murmured, “I believe, Madame Wife, that you are wearing too many clothes.” And he proceeded swiftly to divest her of the hampering garment.

When he had completed his task, his breath sucked in audibly at the loveliness that lay before him. Not even his most erotic imaginings had prepared him for Fancy’s finelimbed beauty. She was delicately made, her bones small
and fragile, yet her shape was utterly feminine, from the small, gently rounded breasts to the flare of her slim hips and long, shapely legs. She was the color of palest cream, the tips of her small breasts a rosebud pink and the triangular patch of silky hair between her thighs almost black. Chance found her enchanting.

Shy beneath his gaze, Fancy sought instinctively to conceal herself, one leg shifting to hide that most feminine part of her, her hands coming up to cover her breasts.

“Nay, nay, sweetheart,” Chance breathed softly, his hands gently pushing hers aside. His dark head bent, his lips caressed her nipples. “Your loveliness should never be hidden from me. You are undoubtedly the most beautiful creature I have ever seen . . .
ever.”

His warm lips on her breasts, as much as his words, lessened her self-consciousness, and, trying for a light note, she murmured, “Then everything is, um, acceptable?”

“Dear God, yes,” Chance averred passionately, his mouth leaving her tingling nipples to trail a path to her lips. “I find you
most
acceptable,” he murmured, then kissed her passionately.

Fancy sought for another light retort, but she couldn’t think. The heat of Chance’s naked body against hers, the feel of his hard lips moving on hers, his tongue plundering her mouth at will, left her flustered and at the mercy of her awakening sensuality. Hazy memories of Spencer’s lovemaking, his cool, practiced passion, flickered through her mind. He had never made her feel like this. Never made her burn and yearn for that ultimate joining between lovers, never made her pulse pound and her heart thump, never caused fire to race through her veins.

Lovemaking with Chance was an all-new, wondrous experience. Fancy was becoming aware, for the first time in her life, of the pleasure to be derived simply from touching, her fingers trailing over Chance’s back and daringly down to explore his hard buttocks. She was thrilled when he groaned at her naive caresses, elated when her actions seemed to arouse him even further, and thoroughly bedazzled by his
unstinting pleasure in her body. He could not seem to stop touching her, first with his hands and then with his lips. Every place in which he touched her, her flesh came to life, wickedly pleasurable sensations flowing over and through her, making it harder and harder to concentrate on anything but the intoxicating magic between them.

“You are a witch, sweetheart,” Chance muttered suddenly, his lips traveling from her mouth to her cheek and then her brow. “Such a sweet,
sweet
witch. So very sweet and so utterly irresistible that I fear you have me completely in your power.”

Fancy’s eyes were wide and luminous as she stared up at him, her mouth softly swollen from his passionate kisses. He felt something stir within him, something more than just desire.

Fancy couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight, with him looking at her that way, his blue eyes hot and intent upon her face. Her gaze fixed helplessly on his mouth, she said thickly, “If I am a witch, then, sir, you must surely be a warlock.”

A twisted smile crossed his face. “If that be true—shall we see what sorcery we can find in each other’s arms?”

Her eyes locked on his, Fancy nodded slowly, and with a low growl Chance fell upon her, his lips capturing hers in an urgent kiss. Snared by the age-old spell he evoked between them, she returned his kiss with equal fervor, the fire in her loins flaring higher and hotter with every second.

He kissed her a long time, his lips hard and hungry on hers, his tongue bold and plundering. She gloried in her body’s wild response to him, the trembling of her limbs, the swelling of her nipples, and the melting ache between her thighs. When his mouth, hot and demanding, settled on her breast and his teeth lightly scraped the tender flesh, an arrow of sharp delight speared through her, making her gasp and arch up under his caress. She was dazed at her reaction, the ache in her belly and between her legs becoming fiercer, more demanding, the need to have it assuaged dominating her thoughts.

Helplessly she twisted against him, her hands gripping his hair as he fed at her breast, her legs moving erratically on the mattress. She wanted . . . she wanted him to take her again to that exquisite pinnacle they had shared on the bluff.

As his hand slid slowly down her body, her breathing quickened, and when he touched her, when his fingers parted that secret flesh between her thighs and began to probe the damp heat he found there, Fancy moaned aloud her pleasure. She had no thought of denying him, no thoughts of shyness or modesty. The feelings, the dizzying sensations, he created as he effortlessly brought her to the peak made her oblivious of all but what he was doing to her and how very much she wanted it to continue.

It was a powerful storm he brewed within her with every caress and kiss he lavished upon her welcoming flesh. Her entire body was taut with longing, every nerve yearning for the final phase of these sweet teasings. Fancy’s hands roamed over him with increasing wantonness. She grazed the tiny hard buds of his nipples with her fingertips, explored the lean length of his back and the shape of his buttocks, his ragged, encouraging sounds driving her to finally seek and touch the rigid bar of flesh that so fascinated her.