Jordan, Nicole - Notorious 1 (30 page)

His eyes would not free her from their intensity as he undressed her, starting with her mask and ending with her stockings. When she was fully naked, he led her to the bed and pressed her down on the cool satin sheets.

As she lay back, she was startled to realize that a gilt mirror was affixed to the ceiling overhead. She could see herself and all of her body’s secrets, her pale skin a starkly erotic contrast to the black satin.

“So you can watch yourself being pleasured,” Damien explained in a low voice.

She lay there willingly until he reached for a silk sash and began to tie her wrist to the bedpost. Vanessa tensed, gazing up at him warily.

“Surely you don’t mean to turn shy now?” he dared her. “You insisted on experiencing a brothel. This is your chance.”

She raised her chin at his taunt. Damien had become a stranger tonight, ruthless and more than a little dangerous, but she didn’t believe he would ever actually hurt her. And she had become a stranger to herself.

“I only trust you will make the experience enjoyable,” she retorted, throwing the challenge back at him.

He smiled coolly though his eyes smoldered. “I promise to do my utmost.”

He completed his task of tying her arms overhead, but left her legs free, to her relief. She watched him as he went to the table and returned with an ivory phallus to sit beside her on the bed.

His scorching gaze swept over her nude body, touching her intimately. “This is my fantasy, angel, having you at my mercy.”

“Hasn’t that been the situation all along?” she replied tersely.

Her rejoinder was ignored. She felt the cool caress of the ivory on her skin as slowly he brushed it against her inner thigh.

Vanessa shivered as a rippling thrill of alarm and arousal ran through her. She could understand why some women enjoyed this fantasy—a powerful, sexual male, fully clothed and dominant, holding her captive, while she was naked and vulnerable to his every whim. The mound at the apex of her thighs was pulsing sweetly in anticipation of his attentions.

But Damien didn’t immediately gratify her desire. For a moment all he did was stroke her lightly with the smooth ivory.

Vanessa moved restlessly on the black satin, her thighs instinctively stretching wider, hungry for his caress. He seemed intent, however, merely on sexual torment. Without haste he brushed her feminine cleft with the ivory tip, circling the outer rim, careful not to touch the delicate bud of her sex itself.

“Damien,” she murmured in a pleading voice.

“Patience, sweet. I want you to be fully ready.”

Shewas ready. In the mirror she could see the ripe lips pouting beneath her moist pubic curls, shining with her own juices, sleek with readiness.

For several moments longer he toyed with her, sliding the ivory crest over her warm, slippery cleft, anointing it with the honeyed liquid that seeped from her body. His free hand moved to her tingling, hardened nipples, playing lightly.

She was throbbing with need when at last he relented.

“You’ll like the feel of this

” He slid the ivory tip slowly into her pulsing depths.

Vanessa let out a gratified sigh—a sigh that became a breathless moan as he began to work the ivory shaft in a languid rhythm within her, withdrawing it almost to the end, then carefully thrusting the cool, thick length inside her again.

“Is this not highly arousing, sweet, being forced to experience pleasure?”

Itwas highly arousing. Wildness raced through her blood as he pleasured her. When he thrust deeper, into the shuddering reaches of her body, Vanessa writhed, her arms straining at her bonds, her inner muscles clutching tightly on the ivory shaft. His pace quickened as his hand stroked and squeezed at her throbbing breasts. She was burning with feverish need, a heartbeat away from delicious orgasm

And there Damien halted.

Her eyes opened in bewilderment to find him regarding her. The half-smile on his lips was slightly mocking.

“I would rather you wait for me, angel.”

He left the phallus in place, between her thighs, as he rose from the bed. Vanessa wanted to curse him. He had abandoned her on the brink of ecstasy, trembling with the frustration of unfulfilled desire, humiliated and helpless. The erotic image in the mirror showed a nude woman on the threshold of climax, her skin flushed, her nipples peaked, her white thighs glistening with her own wetness.

She bit back a moan of thwarted longing. Damien comprehended full well what he was doing to her, leaving her in such acute need.

His gaze remained locked with hers as he stood over her to undress. The golden lamplight gilded the hard planes and muscles of his body and his darkly engorged erection. When the quivering tip arched against his belly, Vanessa trembled at the enormous pulsing size of him. Her inner flesh clutched helplessly at the thick ivory between her legs. She could almost feel Damien inside her; she wanted him inside her. Desperately.

He came to her magnificently naked, magnificently aroused. Joining her on the satin sheets, he eased the ivory shaft from between her thighs.

“Would you prefer the real thing, my sweet?” he murmured huskily, covering her body with his own. “Would you?”

“Yes,” she rasped, impatient with his delay. She knew he could see how swollen she was, how sleek and ready. She felt the pulsing crest of his manhood probe for entrance, and she moaned, wildly eager to receive him.

His gaze plunged deeper into hers as her pliant flesh stretched at his slow thrust. His faint smile and glittering eyes were as triumphant and possessive as his body. He sank hilt-deep, and she knew she was lost. Her body clenched as wave after wave of shuddering tremors rippled over her, and she gave in to burgeoning ecstasy.

Damien managed only slightly more control. He’d spoken the truth earlier. With Vanessa he didn’t need games or sexual instruments to feel desire. He never had. With her he felt a brilliant, heated glory of wanting. She was a fever in his blood, a yearning in his soul.

He’d told himself he wanted to be free of her, free of his insanity for this beautiful woman, but that was a lie. He wanted to brand her as his possession, to mark her as his own. His strongest urge was the primitive need to bind her to him now, this moment.

He took her with hammering wildness, surging upward, each plunging stroke merciless, uncurbed. He would make her remember him, remember the hurtling sense of pleasure, the fierce rapture, so that she could never lie beneath any man without thinking of him, only him

Her legs locked around him, drawing him even deeper. His breath came in harsh, rapid gasps as he plunged over and over again, but she arched and shuddered and matched his every stroke. When she cried out in another climax, he felt her joy and gritted his teeth, letting the madness take him. His body contracted as savage, unrestrained bliss exploded within him, and with one final thrust, he collapsed upon her, shaking.

For a long time afterward they lay unmoving, spent in the aftermath of passion, his chest crushing her breasts, their skin sheened with moisture.

Damien’s thudding heartbeat was beginning to slow when he heard a muffled sound that might have been a sob. Startled, he raised his head. Vanessa’s eyes were shut, but tears glistened on her flushed face.

His heart contracted. “Did I hurt you?”

For a moment she didn’t reply. Damien eased his weight off her, feeling as much bewilderment as alarm. His lovemaking this time had been fierce, yet no more violent than in the past.

“Vanessa?”

He could see her swallow as she made a visible effort to stem the flow of tears. She couldn’t wipe her eyes because of her bound arms.

“Did I hurt you?” he demanded, reaching to untie the silken scarf at her wrist.

Her eyes opened, while her chin lifted as if with determination.

“Not at all,” she replied tonelessly, but the hurt in her luminous eyes belied her words.

Vanessa stared blindly out the window of Damien’s traveling carriage as they sped steadily north from London, the wet, gray day mirroring her spirits.

She had lied last night. Damien had indeed hurt her. Not physically, of course. On the contrary, he’d given her body pleasure as great as any she’d known.

It was her heart he had shattered without even being aware of it. His cold, casual experiment in carnal gratification at Madame Fouchet’s had reminded Vanessa of how foolish she was to dream about impossibilities. She wanted his love, while he wanted only her body.

Strangely Damien hadn’t appeared to enjoy the visit to the brothel any more than she had. Instead, he’d seemed dangerously angry when he escorted her home last night, whether at her or himself she couldn’t tell. His brusque announcement had startled her.

“I should like to return to Rosewood tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? So soon? ”

“It is a few days early, I realize, but I should think you’ve seen enough of the demimonde by now. And I doubt there is much more I can teach you.”

Truthfully Vanessa had seen enough of the depraved side of London to last her a lifetime. Far from being disappointed, she was actually relieved to be leaving. Damien’s decadent world of luxury and license held little appeal for her, especially since the man she had fallen for so hopelessly seemed to have vanished. During their entire time in town she’d seen no evidence of the tender lover and friend she’d initially glimpsed at Rosewood. There was only the wicked rakehell known as Lord Sin.

A sadness swept over her, so intense it made her ache. Had she only imagined the intimate, caring part of him that he kept hidden from much of the world?

Beside her on the carriage seat, Damien was absorbed by his own brooding thoughts as his conscience soundly flayed him.

It had been a mistake to expose Vanessa to Fouchet’s brothel last night. He’d seen her shock and disillusionment reflected in the dark luster of her eyes. Disillusionment withhim .

Damien winced inwardly. Vanessa must have known the sort of life he led; certainly he’d never attempted to hide it from her. But the reality clearly was more unsettling than she’d expected, the entertainment far more salacious. If she’d thought him debauched and dissolute before, she now had irrefutable proof.

Her tears had cut at his heart. Almost as tormenting was her lack of candor when she’d refused to tell him why she was crying. Perhaps it was absurd, but he wanted honesty between them.

Had Vanessa perhaps been comparing him to her late husband? Had his wicked sexual games reminded her too closely of her pain and shame at Sir Roger’s hands? Or had the comparison started earlier in the evening, upon seeing the Swann at Vauxhall? If memory served, Sir Roger’s last scandal was the result of a duel over an actress

Good God, Elise Swann.

Damien swore profanely under his breath as he remembered Vanessa’s stricken expression at the encounter in the pleasure gardens last night. How could he have failed to see the reason for it?

He’d thought her wounded look due to simple jealousy. Given the troubled history of her marriage, she would understandably be upset to have his own former relationship with another woman brandished in her face. But her distress clearly went far deeper. Her husband had been killed over the same actress he himself had enjoyed and showered with emeralds. It had devastated her to have her most terrible humiliation flaunted in her face—and he was to blame.

Then he’d compounded her misery by taking her to a brothel and treating her like any sophisticated harlot— even though a sophisticated harlot was precisely what she was determined to become, and what he had set out to make of her.

Fiend seize it, he couldn’t go through this charade any longer. He couldn’t pretend indifference while Vanessa strove to win a place in his wicked realm. She didn’t belong in his world, any more than his own sister did. There were doubtless other less destructive ways for her to obtain the financial independence she so determinedly sought. He would have to end this gut-wrenching scheme of theirs if his conscience was to have any peace at all.

Damien turned to stare out the carriage window, through the gloomy mist. He despised himself just now.

His careful tutoring had been designed to forearm Vanessa against the sort of libertine she would doubtless encounter in her new role. Rakes of his own ilk. But if he had any pretensions to nobility, he reflected darkly, he would protect her fromhimself .

The drizzle had subsided by the time they arrived at Rosewood. Damien escorted Vanessa into the house, where they were greeted by an unsmiling Croft.

When Damien asked where his sister could be found, the butler’s frown deepened. “I believe Miss Olivia is in the garden, my lord. She is entertaining a gentleman caller.”

Vanessa froze in the act of surrendering her pelisse. Her first thought was of her brother. With her heart suddenly quickening, she followed Damien through the French doors of the drawing room, out into the garden.

Olivia was not immediately visible, but a few moments later, they spied her in the distance, seated in her invalid chair beneath a linden tree. A man sat on the bench before her, holding both her hands in his.

Recognizing Aubrey, Vanessa blanched.

“Damien, wait

” she urged breathlessly, fearing what he would do. He merely quickened his step, long, angry strides that carried him rapidly toward his sister.

Hearing footsteps, the couple looked up guiltily as he approached. Both of them went still.

Vanessa knew the exact instant Damien identified the caller, for he came to an abrupt halt. She could see the wave of cold rage overtake him; every line of his body went rigid.

Far from fleeing in fear, though, Aubrey rose slowly to his feet. “My lord,” he murmured, standing his ground.

Vanessa couldn’t help but admire her brother’s bravery. She felt the blistering force of Damien’s wrath as she came to a halt beside him.

Silence followed, as potent as the aftershock of a lightning bolt.

It was Olivia who spoke first. “Damien

I did not expect you—”

“What the devil are you doing here?” Damien demanded of Aubrey. “I thought I gave you fair warning to keep away from my sister.”