Forbidden (63 page)

Their eyes met for a moment in the light of the dancing flames.

"I don't want to wait long," Daisy murmured.

"I don't want to wait at all," Etienne said, brushing his palm lightly over the fullness of her breasts.

Daisy's eyes shut as quivering need raced downward.

"Don't move," he whispered, kissing her gently on the mouth. Striding swiftly to the door, the Duc opened it, took a tray from Louis, thanked him and nodded his dismissal simultaneously. Locking the door after it closed, he placed the tray on the bedside table and returned to Daisy. "Take your hair down now," he quietly said, taking off his suit jacket, drawing up a chair and sitting down beside her.

The velvet couch was soft, cushioned in down, engulfing her in its sensuous luxury. She was reclining against the high tufted arm, her legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, her arms raised already to do his bidding, the rounded curve of her breasts lifted high.

And he watched as she slowly pulled out the small jeweled pins holding her hair in place, watched the heavy coils of her hair slip over her shoulders, slide delicately over the olivine green of her dress. Putting out his hand, he took the hairpins from her, moving his chair closer so he could reach more easily. When she'd removed them all, he deposited the handful of sparkling pins on the table beside the couch. Turning back, he reached out, touched the heavy black silk of her hair, stroked it, let it slip through his fingers, swept it downward to cover the rise of her breasts.

"This is mine," he said, holding a sleek length of her hair in his palm. "You're mine," he added, brushing her lips with the curling end of her hair. "I've missed you," he murmured.

"I've felt deprived…" Arching her back slightly as tingling anticipation raced down her spine, her breasts rose provocatively. "… of everything."

He smiled, her meaning clear. "I'm here now to see that you're no longer deprived."

"I like the sound of that." Her fingers slid the top button of her olivine silk bodice free.

"You look… professional," the Duc murmured, intrigued by the number of small jet buttons yet to be undone, "in that mannish cut."

Daisy's dress was severely tailored, in a silk faille that was heavy enough to restrain the mounded exuberance of her breasts. With long sleeves and collar and cuffs in black velvet, it had almost a military look.

"This is my court persona."

"In contrast to?"

"My personal life."

"Which is being… exposed now." Each button sliding free further opened the bodice front, her satin skin, the lace of her chemise, the alluring curve of her breasts slowly unveiled.

"For you," she said with a seductive smile.

"Only for me," he murmured, the barbaric ring instantly apparent. He smiled. "Forgive me. My droit du seigneur comes to the fore with you. Do you want help?"

Daisy shook her head, almost finished slipping the faceted jet buttons free. The dress top opened like a jacket, the gown composed of skirt and bodice, and she slipped it off slowly, aware of Etienne's intense gaze. Tugging the tight cuffs over her hands, she leaned forward to pull it free, her breasts almost spilling over her chemise top. And the Duc shifted in his chair.

She handed it to him with a small smile, as if he were her waiting valet, and he tossed it on a nearby chair without looking, his gaze intent on her. "Your breasts are larger already," he said, sliding his fingers over the pliant flesh, across the sheer mauve silk of her chemise.

"They feel… motherly," Daisy said on a sigh of pleasure, the sensation of his fingers vivid and acute. "I can feel the air on them like a blanket… any touch or change of temperature"—her eyes held his for a moment—"like now."

"Do you mind being pregnant?" She looked beautiful, radiant, her gleaming hair trailing in arabesques over the smooth curve of her shoulders, her slender athletic arms languidly disposed on the back of her couch, her voluptuous form fecund in its splendor.

"I'm luxuriating in the state," she replied with a smile, stretching like a cat against the soft dark green velvet, her breasts swelling in luxury over the lacy top of her chemise. "And you promised to indulge me."

"Absolutely," he murmured, his arousal obvious as he sat beside her. "My promise on it."

"You must take your clothes off then because I haven't seen you in months and I'm impatient."

"We're talking speed here?" The quirk of his brow was sardonic.

"Definitely." Her voice matched the sultry promise in her eyes.

Pulling his cravat free, he draped it over the chair arm, unbuttoned his vest and shirt swiftly, sliding them both off in a single shrugging motion, and dropped them on the floor with the careless disregard a lifetime of servant-filled homes allowed. He unbuckled his low boots next, kicked them off, and pulled off his silk stockings bearing his monogrammed crest. When he stood to take off his trousers, Daisy's gaze focused on his fingers unbuttoning the fabric stretched taut over his arousal.

He looked up for a moment, grinning. "Tailors never consider amorous situations—damnable number of buttons." Although there was no hesitation in his strong, lean fingers, their task accomplished with dispatch. His long muscled back turned to her briefly as he stepped out of the fine gray wool, the crisp cotton of his monogrammed underwear coming off with the same smooth movement.

He was beautiful as she remembered when he stood before her a moment later, dark as an Arab, powerful and elegant both in line and limb, his erection so large, she said on a small caught breath, "I forgot—"

"Let me refresh your memory then." The light in his tropical green eyes, amused and knowing, an arrogance, too, implicit in his tone. There had been too many women to miscue that breathless comment. He knew what he looked like aroused.

"I should resent that tone."

"Perhaps under less dramatic circumstances you could afford to," he softly replied, sitting on the couch beside her.

"There's drama in ravenous desire?"

"In a manner of speaking. Actually," he added with a wicked grin, "It outranks any other form by a wide margin. Feel my heart." And taking Daisy's hand in his, he placed it over his heart.

She could feel the racing beat, strong and thudding beneath her palm. "You're emotionally involved then." There was pleasure in her smile and lush teasing in her voice, her delirium echoed in the tripping beat of his heart.

"Oh, yes." he whispered, lifting the green silk of her skirt. Slowly pushing up the diaphanous mauve of her petticoat, he ran his hand up her silk-stockinged legs to the lace garters circling her thighs.

"You have a great number of undergarments on," he said with a smile, sliding a garter down her leg, "for someone who wants to hurry. You're shielded against invasion."

"My day clothes. We came home so late from court."

"Even drawers," he noted with a sidelong look of ironic query. "I remember when you made a point of not wearing any." He was untying the bow at her waist and drawing the lace-trimmed garment down over her hips.

"Now that you're here," Daisy murmured, feeling him lift her to slide them off, "I've reason to discard them again."

"So you can always be ready for me?" He stroked the silky hair between her thighs.

"Yes…" she whispered.

His fingers slipped downward to glide over the luscious liquid evidence of her wanton need, his fingers gliding sleekly inside, invading gently, deeply, and she moaned as rich luscious splendor inundated her senses.

"You
are
ready," he murmured.

She was always ready with him, she thought, like a houri whose hours were devoted only to her master's pleasure. It always astonished her how erotic sensation was stimulated by his presence: his touch, his beauty, the sound of his voice. His smile could make her forget completely who she was or where she was, make her heedless of her carefully cultivated independence, make her feel like a docile possession. She smiled at her personal enthusiasm.

"When you touch me, kiss me, want me—I'm completely abandoned, meek, and compliant, as if I must do what you ask or…"

"Or?" he softly prompted, his fingers gently stroking her slick hot sweetness.

Her eyes were half-lidded against the heat coursing through her body, an exquisite throbbing urgency spiraling up from his expert touch. "You won't…"

"I will, though," Etienne whispered, his proficient fingers bringing her nerve endings very near to orgasmic release. "And I understand." He knew what Daisy meant because his need for her had inexplicably altered his life. And if someone had told him six months ago he'd meet a woman who would do this to him, he would have scoffed.

"I can't wait," Daisy breathed, pulling him toward her, her hands on his shoulders strong, urgent.

And when he moved over her, to satisfy her passionate need, she touched the swollen pulsing crest of his erection, her fingertips gentle and guided him into her honeyed warmth. He filled her slowly, penetrating in measured degrees until his entire length was deep inside her. Then slipping his hands under her hips, he slid her down so he could invade a fraction more. And when he thrust forward that small extra distance, Daisy cried out in ecstasy.

"Welcome home," he murmured.

They made love in a fevered tempestuous haste the first time on the green velvet couch before the fire because it had been too long for both of them. And it was over swiftly.

"You embarrass me," Etienne said, short moments later, breathless and panting, his long black hair swinging forward to frame his face as he looked down at her. "I'm like an unchecked schoolboy."

He lay lightly over her, the crushed volume of her silk skirt and petticoats, buoyant, smooth and heated on their skin, a magical dissolving tenderness pulsing through their senses.

"I'm coerced by the same unbridled eagerness… so we're matched," Daisy murmured, touching the full sensuous curve of his bottom lip, the diminishing waves of sated passion balmy and sweet.

"I'll make it up to you." He was serious and teasing at the same time.

"A man after my own heart."

"Greedy woman."

She smiled in a delectable languid way. "So I'm not absolutely perfect."

But she was, he thought, like a man in love would think.

He carried her a short time later to the bed, placed her sitting on the edge and finished undressing her. Untying the ribbons gathering the décolletage of her chemise together, he pulled it over her head while she dutifully lifted her arms to his murmured command.

Smiling up at him as he reached for the buttons at the waistband of her skirt, she said, "I'm all sticky."

"We'll have to remedy that. Now be good and sit still," he ordered because she was stirring slightly on the bed, "while I finish undressing you and then I'll wash you."

"It doesn't feel… displeasing." Her voice held a sultry insinuation.

His faint smile took on a wolfish cast. "How does it feel?"

"Like there's a hot part of you still inside me."

"Clever child," he teased, dropping a kiss on the fullness of her bottom lip. "You noticed."

"Kiss me here too," she softly said, touching her tingling nipples. They were still distended and stiff as though her body was ardent yet, ready for love.

"Let me undress you first or we'll never manage to get the rest of your clothes off."

"How can you sound so reasonable and look like that." Reaching out she stroked the rigid length of his arousal. He was hard again, as enormous as though he'd not climaxed short moments ago.

"Someone has to be reasonable," he said with a grin.

"Why?" Coquettish dark eyes gazed into his.

"Because I want to get rid of this damnable interfering skirt and these petticoats. This waistband is too tight," he added, the button reluctant to be dislodged.

"I'm beginning to add an inch or so, here and there."

He gazed at her for a moment, desire, affection, an odd contentment in his eyes. "A pleasant thought," he murmured. "You need a new wardrobe then. Tomorrow."

"We can't do everything tomorrow and I may not want to get out of bed tomorrow."

"A gratifying possibility," he said, his voice hushed for a moment. "The next day then or we'll have someone come out here and you needn't get out of bed at all."

"This isn't decadent Paris."

"Tradesmen refuse money in Montana?"

"Gossip travels fast in a town this size."

"As it does in Paris. So?"

She grinned. "Will you always be a spoiled child of fortune?"

"In some things—yes. I intend to keep you forever. In that I won't be thwarted. And in other small ways, as well, I refuse to be gainsaid." He snapped the button off with a small ripping sound. "Smaller buttons or larger buttonholes from now on," he declared, his smile lighting his eyes, "If I'm going to be your dresser."

"And undresser."

"Even more, then, we'll need ease of operation."

"Right now, I'd be content to not dress for a month or so."

"I'll arrange it."