Lady Vixen (32 page)

And
Christopher, lost in his own hell, had no intention of fighting against himself
and what he wanted. Nick was in his arms where he needed her, and he wasn't
thinking of anything but the exquisite sensations of part-pain, part-pleasure
it gave him to feel her soft, supple body twisting against him. She filled his
arms as no one had before, her tall, slender body fitting as if she had been
fashioned precisely for him and him alone. Somewhere at the back of his mind he
probably wished she wouldn't deny him so, but now it didn't matter—all that
mattered was that he be relieved of this demanding pressure between his legs.
He ached with it, and it seemed that Nick was the only woman who had the power
to satisfy it. And as he continued to kiss her, his hands now cradling her
head, holding her to his mouth, Nicole's struggles gradually ceased, and she
let the hunger that she hadn't understood before sweep over her, knowing that,
for whatever reasons, only Christopher had the ability to assuage it.

Feeling
her melt into him, he raised his head and stared intently with a narrowed hard
look down into her wide dark eyes. His own were bright with passion, and seeing
his own desires reflected tremulously back at him, he murmured beneath his
breath, "Oh, God! I want you... I hurt with it, Nick. Heal me!"

Unaware
of what he had said, or even what his words would have unwittingly revealed if
Nicole had heard them, he slowly and deliberately undid her wrapper. And Nicole
shivering with the knowledge of what he was going to do with her body—wanting
it as badly as he— made no move to run when he released her long enough for his
robe to be flung on the floor beside hers. Then he swept her up in his arms and
took her to the bed.

And
what followed was like no other time that they had come together in the past.
They moved in slow sensual motion like people in a trance; Nicole for the first
time in her life discovered what was meant by making love. For they did make
love—not just satisfying lust or animal passion, but expressing what neither
would admit in the most natural and beautiful way possible.

Christopher's
flesh was a warm crushed velvet beneath her wandering fingertips as her hands
slowly explored him, moving gently, almost dazedly, down across his face, his
nose, his mouth, which curved with passion, to his chest covered with black,
curiously soft hair, sliding across his back and feeling with an unaware frown
the ridges and scars that marked him, then up again until her fingers
encountered the dark rough silk of his head. And it was she who brought his
lips to hers, holding his face in both her hands as she tantalizingly moved her
mouth across his in sweet provocation.

At
her first tentative touch Christopher had stilled, caught in the sensual web
she was deliberately weaving. And trembling with the force of his ardor, he let
her discover the dangerous pleasure of tempting and yielding as her fingers
left his face and wandered down his body, her hands curving over his buttocks,
exploring as they moved the shape and texture of him.

He
endured it as long as he could, this exquisite aching pleasure, but when her
breast lightly brushed against his chest and her hands finally found him, he
groaned and, swiftly rolling over, trapped her beneath him. Catching her bottom
lip tightly between his teeth, he growled thickly, "Torment me, will
you?"

Loosening
her mouth, his lips began a slow, searing trail down her neck to her bosom, his
hands gently caressing as they followed the curve of her body to the swell of
her slender hips.

His
lips teasing the sensitive nipples of her breast, Nicole felt her entire body
quiver as the nipples hardened with increasing desire, and her breath caught in
her throat as his hands, with gentle insistence, slid between her thighs,
seeking the softness within. His touch, delicate, yet demanding, as his fingers
caressed the most private part of her, evoked a piercingly sweet agony of
longing, and her body of its own will began to writhe in rhythm with the
movements of his hand. But this time she was not content with a passive role,
and with an urgent tug of his hair she brought his mouth to hers, and her hand
went unerringly to where Christopher most wanted it. As her fingers encompassed
him, swollen and bursting with desire, he made a low sound at the base of his throat,
a sighing growl, and swiftly covered her, their bodies meeting and melting into
one another as he slid deep into the warm silken sheath of her.

He
filled her and stretched the delicate softness, until a low moan of
pleasure-pain escaped from Nicole, but when at the sound of her half-animal
cry, he hesitated, she tightened her legs around him and whispered huskily,
"No! Don't leave me . . . not yet,
please!"
His body gave a
convulsive leap at her words, and his eyes narrowing into gold slits of bright
intensity, he began to thrust in a slow, almost lazy rhythm with her eagerly
rising hips, his mouth moving with increasing urgency across her face.

Nicole
was full of him, as was every fiber of her being. It was as if she were
absorbing him—the scent of him, the faint lingering hint of tobacco, the sharp
scent of whiskey, and the musky masculine odor that was essentially
Christopher. She was spinning in a sensual dream, drunk on the taste of him,
her open mouth sliding down his neck, her tongue tasting the salt of his
shoulder, only to return hungrily for the tender savagery of his kiss, as he
explored her willing mouth with a sweet fierceness that was as intoxicating as
wine.

The
soft prickly crush of his chest against her tingling nipples, the touch of his hard
legs on her thighs, drove her to the point of madness, and she twisted
uncontrollably under him. Christopher's hands came down swiftly to her hips,
urging and guiding her movements with a desperate need for release. Both were
engulfed by the searing flame of desire devouring them, their bodies coming
together with a feverish intensity.

The
ache in her loins grew until she was rigid with a sweet, piercing agony that
suddenly exploded into a wash of pleasure so intense that unconsciously she dug
her nails into his back and sobbed aloud, crying his name, her body trembling
and damp from the force of the exquisite, shattering ecstasy that he lavished
upon her slim body.

Floating,
drifting, almost dizzy from the pleasure he evoked, she lay there in the bed, savoring
the feel of him, the jump his body gave when at last he, too, could bear the
intensity no longer and spilled himself deep inside her.

And
afterward there were no words between them, just silence and completeness and
that half-drunk feeling that follows such acute pleasure. Replete and satiated,
Nicole blindly turned her head into Christopher's shoulder, and with a
promptness that was startling, like a child she fell asleep, her body still
pressed against the long length of him.

Sleep
was not so easy for Christopher. And having considerably more experience with
the physical aspect of desire, he knew that tonight had been something beyond
just a casual mating. Reflectively he stared down at Nicole's sleeping face. In
sleep her features took on the sweet innocence of youth, the dark lashes lying
like thick black fans against her skin, her mouth soft and tenderly curved, and
the burnished hair waving gently across one cheek. Staring at her, he was
conscious of the queerest sensations—puzzlement, because of the odd conflicting
emotions she aroused, and possessiveness. She was his! And that was a strange
notion coming as it did from a man for whom women were playthings—not even
quite human. And buried deep there existed a certain amount of fondness—if not
for Nicole Ashford, at least for Nick. Even now he could recall vividly the
feel of that skinny little body pressed against him that night five years ago
as they had left Beddington's Corner. He grinned in the darkness, remembering
too her ferocious attack on the stableboy. What a small hellcat she had been.
And if there was one thing he admired it was spirit. Without a doubt his Nick
was one of the pluckiest little devils he'd ever known. And suddenly,
inexplicably, thinking of the danger she had been in all those years on
La
Belle Garce,
his arms tightened instinctively around her. He'd kill anyone
who harmed her. Then he smiled to himself. Poor Nick, she was safe from
everyone but himself.

Drowsily,
his cheek dropped to rest on her hair. Well, he wasn't going to waste any more
effort thinking about Nick, tonight. It never did any good letting your
emotions get involved with women—they were amusing creatures and making love to
them was a pleasant way of spending an evening or two. Just don't ever develop
a tenderness for one, he thought sleepily; therein lay madness.

Nicole
woke slowly the next morning. She lay in the bed not quite awake, her body and
emotions satiated and at rest for the first time in many weeks. A soft smile on
her lips, she stretched luxuriously and reached for the pillow that bore the
imprint of Christopher's head.

At
what time he had left, she had no idea, but she suspected it must have been
near dawn. And judging from the faint light filtering into the room, it
couldn't be too many minutes past that time right now. The area where he had
lain still held a trace of warmth from his body. Her arms enfolded his pillow
as if somehow it had become Christopher's big vital body. She was drowsy and
relaxed, quite filled with contentment.

Her
cheek resting on his pillow, she admitted to herself that she was in love with
Christopher Saxon. And for some inexplicable reason this knowledge did not
engender the horror and revulsion that it should have. Whatever the cost to
herself, and no matter what heartache the future held, she could no longer deny
it.

Almost
shamefacedly she realized now that half her fury and dislike of Captain Saber
had been a form of self-defense, an attempt to ignore the growing attraction
she felt for him. Even taking sides against him with Allen had been only to
hide from herself the uncertain yearnings of her heart.

A
sad sort of smile flitting across her face, she shook her head as she
remembered the other women that had loved him and the other nights of passion
in his life. But last night was different, she thought fiercely. Frowning, she
eyed his empty pillow. He had left her without any explanation. Resolutely she
told herself that he wouldn't want his household buzzing with gossip that he
had been found in her bed. The thought that he didn't want their liaison to be
food for scandal comforted her somewhat.

She
sat up and rang for Mauer, thrusting the covers aside. He wouldn't have
departed yet if he was still holding to his original plan. She prayed most
fervently that what had happened between them had changed his mind about the
future.

After
bathing hurriedly, with Mauer's help she slipped into a jonquil-yellow gown of
soft muslin and dragged a brush quickly through her burnished-sable tresses.
Impatiently she sat still only long enough for Mauer to thread a yellow silk
ribbon through her shining curls.

Christopher
must
feel something for her—something beyond just the ordinary—she
thought stubbornly. If after last night he treated her with cool contempt, she
would absolutely
hate
him. Her feelings were too new, too fragile to
bear rejection or even indifference. She needed reassurance, some little sign
to let her know that last night had been special to him too.

Crossing
the main hallway and seeing his baggage stacked neatly by the door, she quelled
a sigh of relief. He hadn't gone yet, but the very sight of those packed bags
was not propitious. He still meant to leave this morning, and she tried to
convince herself that he would have an acceptable explanation—possibly he had
not departed already because he was waiting to talk to her.

Nicole
wanted passionately to believe that her sudden recognition of her love for him
had engendered an equal recognition in him. She was ready to meet him more than
halfway in
any
relationship that they might have. If he wanted her as
his mistress she would accept it, knowing in time she could make him love her.
But if he turned from her, she didn't think she would be able to bear such
pain. She didn't want to hate him—she wanted most passionately to love him. And
she was certain that he must feel
something
for her.

For
a moment she stood in the hall, uncertain where to find him. Then as she took a
hesitant step toward the library, Sanderson startled her by coming out of the
dining room on the opposite side of the hallway.

Seeing
her standing there, Sanderson said in greeting, "Good morning, Miss
Nicole, you are up early indeed today!"

She
flashed him an almost-happy smile and asked, "Have you seen Mr. Saxon? He
hasn't left already, has he?"

"Oh,
no! He won't be leaving for an hour or so yet. I've just served him breakfast.
Will you join him?"

"Thank
you, that's exactly what I'd like to do!"

As
she came in a second later, Christopher looked up in surprise. She was looking
exceptionally lovely this morning, he thought, a pretty flush in her cheeks,
the bright sparkle in the topaz-dark eyes adding to her beauty. The
jonquil-yellow gown brought out the gleaming hints of fire in the sable curls,
and remembering that hair sprayed out across her pillow, he felt something
tighten painfully deep inside.