Lady Vixen (78 page)

Lost
in her own unpleasant thoughts, the abrupt opening of her door caught her by
surprise, and she couldn't quite control the small gasp that escaped her at the
sound. Her startled gaze fell on Christopher as he stood reeling slightly in
the doorway.

It
was obvious that he was half drunk—his hair, rakishly disheveled, spilled onto
his forehead; the pristine white cravat was no longer so neatly arranged; the
bottle-green jacket was swung carelessly over one shoulder; the tail of his
shirt was freed from the yellow pantaloons. With a decidedly wicked leer he
slammed the door shut, causing Nicole to flinch and to eye him warily as he
stood there. Only by the greatest control was she able to remain precisely
where she was, stoutly refusing to be intimidated by his looming presence.
Every instinct called out to scramble away as he approached, but caution
counseled she do nothing to enrage or antagonize him, and so outwardly serene,
she looked up at him. Coolly she asked, "What do you want,
Christopher?"

A
crooked grin curved his mouth. "Ah, now that is a very good question, my
dear," he replied levelly, the words perfectly clear. Casually, as if he
did it frequently, he sat down on the corner of her bed, throwing the jacket on
the floor, and beginning absently to take off his cravat. He said slowly,
"I've thought about that a lot this evening. What exactly
do
I
want?" Not looking at Nicole, he finished with the cravat, wrenched off
his boots, and began to undo the shirt.

Her
mouth dry, she watched as a rabbit watches a rattlesnake, fearful of moving,
knowing a swift retreat is the only safety, yet frozen to the spot by the
other's mesmerizing quality. When the shirt joined the other clothing on the
floor, he stood up, and as he commenced to unfasten the yellow pantaloons, some
of her rigid control broke and she croaked indignantly, "What do you think
you are doing?"

Not
stopping or hesitating in the least with what he was doing, he glanced over at
her. "Well, now," he murmured, "that question has a direct
bearing on what I want. I
want
you, my dear. And I
think
I am
going to have you!"

"You're
drunk!" Nicole accused, unconsciously beginning to edge away from him.

"No.
You're wrong there," he answered quite without heat. "I have been
drinking, drinking a great deal, but I am not drunk. Besotted, mad perhaps, and
filled with longing for a bewitching creature who gives me no peace" —his
voice lost some of its detachment and hardened— "now
that
I
am!"

Sliding
inch by inch away from him, Nicole swallowed nervously; she had never seen him
like this before. Maybe he wasn't drunk, as he said, but he was certainly
behaving queerly. He bent over, pulling off the pantaloons, and surreptitiously
Nicole angled one foot toward the floor. But quick as a striking snake
Christopher's hand struck, capturing her wrist. "No," he said
quietly. "You are not going anywhere—at least not until I have finished
with you."

Her
cheeks rosy with temper and apprehension, she fought against the hard iron
grip. "Damn you, let me go! And get out of my bedroom." Her eyes met
his, and what she read in the gold depths increased her now-desperate struggle
to escape him.

Unmoved
by either her words or her actions, Christopher only said softly,
"No," and quite, quite deliberately with his other hand ripped the
cambric gown from her body.

There
was never any question of her escaping him, though she fought as fiercely and
furiously as she was capable. Ignoring the blows she rained about his head,
oblivious to the vicious movement of her knee, he simply pulled her into his
arms, the thrashing of her naked body against his only adding to his heightened
awareness. Effortlessly he found her mouth, feeding on the soft lips like a man
with a long hunger to assuage, his tongue exploring and tasting the sweet wine
within.

Despising
herself, Nicole could feel her body beginning to awaken to the sensual magic of
his as he continued to kiss her. His hands, when not holding her prisoner,
lightly caressed her. His mouth left her lips, traveling with a trail of fire
down her neck to her breast, and breathlessly Nicole whispered, "Don't,
please, Christopher, don't do this to me."

He
stopped and stared up at her, beguiled and enchanted by the beautiful features
so near him. "Stop?" he muttered thickly. "I cannot. You say you
do not want me. But you lie, Nicole, you have always lied. If you did not want
me,
this
would not happen." And gently his hand caressed her
breasts; the nipples, betraying her, hardened instantly into tiny mounds of
desire. "Nor this!" he added softly, his hand insidiously sliding
between her legs, touching tenderly the yielding softness he found. With a low,
ashamed moan of pleasure, Nicole melted, unable and unwilling to deny that she,
too, wanted the physical meeting of their bodies.

It
was like the night of the thunderstorm—both of them submerging all their doubts
and questions, reality being only the touch and caress of the other. Nothing
else existed except this world of warmth and softness, tenderness and
savagery—love and hate.

Nicole
did not deny him; her body responded as always to his lightest touch—nor did
she remain passive and merely let him have his way. She, too, wanted him,
wanted that glorious release that only Christopher could give her. Once she had
lost the battle against him, her hands eagerly explored the hard, muscled body
sprawled next to her.

Like
a wondering child discovering some wondrous enchanted land, her fingers
traveled over the curiously soft hair on his chest, down across the flat, taut
stomach, delighting in the way his body shivered at her touch.

"Ah,
Jesus, Nicole," he groaned softly, when at last she found the rigid,
pulsating hardness of him. "You're a witch, my love. A witch with a
terrible power over me."

Hungrily
he drew her next to him, his body straining against hers, his hands feverishly
moving along the slender spine, gently fondling the gentle swell of her hips,
until not content with that, he shifted their bodies so that he half lay across
her, his mouth able now to taste and excite the tempting honey of her body.

He
was like a starving man at a feast, Nicole's long-limbed, slim shape his only
sustenance as hungrily his mouth burned a trail of desire down her body.
Kissing the madly beating pulse at the base of her throat, his lips slid, down
her chest to her breast; his teeth gently nibbled on the hardened upthrust
nipples. One hand tangled in the burnished fire of her hair, the other lightly
caressed and kneaded her flat stomach, tantalizing her, teasing her, by deliberately
not reaching where she was throbbing and most hungry for his probing touch.

She
was aflame with desire, too long denied his possession and driven by an emotion
as old as the world; without volition her body betrayed her longing by the
sensual motions she made, her back arching to meet Christopher's hand, her hips
twisting helplessly in erotic rhythms.

Slowly
Christopher slid his body over hers, slipping easily between her thighs, his
knees holding her legs outstretched. But he did not take her, nor did his mouth
reach for hers again; instead his lips traveled lingeringly down her smooth
skin, past her stomach, filling her with a giddy anticipation as the warm mouth
slipped lower and lower until...

Nicole's
entire body leaped with half-shocked, half-stunned pleasure when his lips found
the delicate silken flesh between her thighs, his hands lifting her to meet his
searching mouth. Instinctively she recoiled from this new and intoxicating
havoc Christopher was lavishing on her, but he would not let her escape; his
hands tightened on her hips, holding her to him, as softly his tongue caressed
and explored her. The touch of his mouth, there where she never dreamed of it,
was exquisite agony. Nearly maddened by the unfamiliar, and yet so well
remembered, sensations engulfing her, Nicole was an abandoned creature, aware
only of Christopher and what he was doing to her, her head twisting frantically
from side to side, her body arching and rushing up to greet eagerly the darting
of his tongue. Sobbing aloud her intense pleasure, trembling with the near
ecstasy that was beginning to shake her body, blindly she reached out for him,
wanting violently to touch him, to taste him, to feel him, to communicate
somehow to him this wild, fierce enchantment. Her groping fingers encountered
the crisp darkness of his head enfolded between her thighs, and with a low
animallike purr of satisfaction, she clutched the black hair, reveling in the
very texture of it. Unconsciously she urged him on, unaware that her soft cries
of pleasure were as potent as any caress, driving Christopher to increase the
tempo, until Nicole felt wave after wave of the most powerful and acute surge
of ecstasy break over her, leaving her gasping and shuddering, her body
floating in some blissful newly discovered world of physical enjoyment.

Limp
and satiated, too replete to move, she was only dimly aware of Christopher's
body covering hers, his mouth finding her lips unerringly as quickly and gently
he penetrated her. She could taste herself on his lips, smell the faint
muskiness of herself as he kissed her deeply and hungrily, his body moving
slowly on hers. With a jolt she felt desire begin anew to flood her; the
earlier lethargy vanished abruptly, leaving her eagerly thrusting up to meet
the plunge of Christopher's hard body, her lips moving sweetly against his, her
tongue a small brand of fire as she returned his searching caress.

With
the taste of her still on his tongue, Christopher was oblivious to anything but
the slender body beneath his, the searing caress of her hands as they roamed at
will across his scarred back down to his driving hips. And in that instant
every other woman he had ever known faded forever from his mind and there was
only Nicole, Nicole with her welcoming softness, her proud young bosom crushed
under his chest, and her hands driving him nearly wild, until he could bear it
no longer, and with a deep, husky growl in his throat he spilled himself into
her.

Nicole
felt the eruption of Christopher's held-back passion, and the jump and
convulsion of his long body against hers was bittersweet. Her own body
uncontrollably throbbed and shook with the force of another piercingly sensual
gust of fulfillment, proving once again how effortlessly he could lift her to
the heights of passion, how powerless she was in his arms.

The
cold gray light of winter dawn was filtering into the room when Christopher
awoke. For several seconds he lay there, not quite certain where he was. Then
as Nicole moved lightly in her sleep, her slender body pressing closer to his,
awareness and the memory of last night came hurtling back.

Gently,
so as not to disturb her, he shifted his big body away from her and, propping
himself up on one elbow, stared intently down into her sleeping face, wondering
bleakly why she of all women should be the one he wanted most in the world. And
want her he did. Just watching her as she lay sleeping was enough to make his
pulse stir, his breath come faster, his body harden with desire, and not even
conscious that he did it, he slowly slid the blankets from her body, his eyes
caressing her. Ah, Jesus, he thought dully, she was fashioned by the devil to
make men mad, and I have no defense against her. What in hell's creation am I
going to do? I cannot tear her from me, she has sunk her fangs in too deeply,
has twisted herself around me, until all I know is that I want her . . . that
she is mine.

For
a long, long time he stared down into Nicole's face, noting, with a derisive
smile at his own enchantment, the way the long curly lashes lay like great dark
shadows upon the pale cheeks. Her lips were bruised ruby, the soft fullness
inviting, but with a great effort Christopher stilled the sudden impulse to
lean over and kiss her awake.

Chilled
by the cold air on her naked body, Nicole stirred uneasily in her sleep, and
not wishing to awaken her, Christopher gently replaced the blankets and
determinedly left her bed. If she woke, he would make love to her again, and
while his body was eager for her, his mind wanted time—time in which to think,
to puzzle out this dilemma in which he found himself.

Slipping
quickly into his scattered clothes, he departed silently from her room and
walked quietly down the long carpeted hall and crossed quickly into his own
room. He tossed his jacket and crumpled cravat on a chair and dropped his boots
near the door. With deft, unhurried movements he stripped off the remainder of
his clothing and crawled beneath the blankets of his own bed.

Sleep
was the farthest thought from his mind as he lay there, his hands behind his
dark head, his eyes fixed blankly on the heavy damask canopy of the bed. Last
night he had hoped to resolve something, and instead he was more deeply
entangled in his own emotions.

When
he had said he was not drunk last night, he had told the truth. He had gone out
to a waterfront dive to put Nicole from his mind, but he discovered to his
horror, and not a little anger, that she was still there, tempting and
tantalizingly out of reach. The later the hour grew, the more he convinced
himself that he had only to take her one more time, to feel once again that
exquisite shudder she gave when, despite herself, she was swept along with his
lovemaking, and then he would be free. Then he could set her aside and live as
he had done in the past.