Lovers Forever (17 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Lovers Forever
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Around two o'clock in the afternoon she ate a light repast at a small table that had been placed near one of the large windows in the main salon—having decided that the dining room was far too grand and spacious for a simple meal—or a lone diner. When she'd finished, she pushed aside the remains of her meal and, sipping a cup of hot tea, stared out at the rainy day, her thoughts drifting irresistibly to the earl.
By keeping occupied, she had managed to keep at bay all the thorny dilemmas that beset her, but now, with the rain beating softly against the panes, the fire crackling pleasantly on the hearth, she knew that she could put it off no longer. When he arrived, as he was certain to do, how was she to greet him—politely? frigidly? angrily? indifferently? She grimaced, not liking any of the choices.
If only I knew who I was, she thought despondently. She was faced with decisions any decent woman would find difficult, but knowing nothing about herself made her task even more formidable. What if, she wondered, plainly horrified, it turned out that she was the daughter of some country vicar? Or the cosseted daughter of some powerful lord? Or a great heiress? Suppose she were betrothed? Or had been a novitiate in a nunnery? She giggled at that idea, then sobered—the problem was, she could be any of those things! And that stubborn, obstinate,
infuriating
gentleman who had brought her here, didn't believe her story of lost memory!
It would serve him right, she thought darkly, if I did turn out to be a great heiress from a powerful family. Tess amused herself for several minutes as she contemplated the thunderstruck expression on the earl's face if such should prove to be the case.
The sound of a vehicle and horses caught her attention, and as if she had conjured him up, Nicolas's equipage swung into view and a second later he had tossed his reins to John, who had run to greet him, and was quickly crossing to the house. Her mouth suddenly dry, her fingers trembling slightly, she stood and faced the entrance to the room.
Her hands clasped tightly in front of her to hide their tremors, she greeted him with outward calm. “Good afternoon, my lord. Rather a beastly day, isn't it?”
Tossing aside his dripping greatcoat and curly-brimmed beaver hat, Nicolas grinned at her, his teeth flashing whitely in his dark face. “I've been in far worse with far less comfort.” He glanced around, noticing the additions. “Good! I see that the rest of the furnishings arrived—I had wondered if the rain wouldn't cause a delay. Is everything satisfactory?”
“It's very comfortable,” Tess replied stiffly, wishing he didn't look so vital and handsome as he stood there in a form-fitting russet jacket and buckskin breeches, the fabric molding itself lovingly to his muscled thighs. She tried to remember all the reasons why she was supposed to view him with loathing, but her wretched brain seemed to have gone fuzzy. All she could do was stare at him and remember his mouth moving hungrily on hers and the feel of that warm, hard body pressed intimately against her own....
Nicolas cocked an eyebrow at her tone and rigid stance and strolled over to her, tipping up her chin. His thumb rubbing rhythmically against her bottom lip, he asked lightly, “Miss me, sweetheart?”
With an effort, Tess kept herself from jerking her chin away from his disturbing touch. “Of course not! I had other more important things to do than think about you!”
“Hmm, is that so?” he murmured, bending closer. “Obviously I arrived not a moment too soon....”
His hands shifted, and Tess suddenly found herself swept into an embrace, that fascinating mouth capturing hers, his arms cradling her next to him as he kissed her thoroughly. Despite her best intentions, she couldn't help responding to him, her fingers curling in his thick black hair, her slim body leaning into his as the surprisingly familiar ache flared into life low in her belly. Her mouth softened, and Nicolas muttered a thick sound as his hands slipped to her buttocks and tightened around the yielding flesh he found there, pulling her against the rapidly rising bulge in his breeches.
Giddy with the emotions flooding her body, Tess welcomed his liberties; no thought of resisting him crossed her mind as her lips parted and his tongue surged into the honeyed warmth of her mouth. She shuddered as stronger, more powerful sensations began to wreak havoc with whatever frail barriers she had managed to erect against him. To her despair, she realized she
had
missed him ... immensely; that she had been only half alive since he had left her last evening; that she had been unconsciously longing for his return. Dimly she was also aware that she had already made her decisions about him— had made them that first, almost mystical moment she had laid eyes on him....
It was Nicolas who broke the kiss, pushing her away from him, his expression dark and stormy as he stared down into her face. “How do you do that?” he asked roughly, desire clearly evident in the glitter in his eyes. “I had no intention of kissing you, certainly no intention of tipping you over that damned table and easing myself between those soft white thighs of yours! Yet all I had to do was look at you and that's exactly what I want to do! What are you? A witch?”
Still shaken by the fierce emotions he had aroused so easily within her, Tess trembled violently, trying desperately to regain some semblance of normality. Nicolas mistook her reaction, and with a muttered curse, he swept her up in his arms and swiftly carried her to a long, low sofa. His lips brushing against her ear, he murmured, “Sweetheart! I didn't mean to frighten you—I know I haven't given you any choice about this, but I'm not a monster. You don't have to fear me—
never
be afraid of me.” He smiled crookedly at her. “Not even when I'm in the devil's own temper—which I suspect will be often enough where you are concerned.”
He laid her gently on the sofa, seated himself on the edge, and took one of her hands in his. Pressing a light kiss on her fingers, he said, “I know I've handled this badly....” He grinned at her ruefully. “I've done some rash things before, but I've never abducted anyone in my life. And to my everlasting damnation, I find that I do not feel the least remorse about it! But I will not harm you, and while I seem unable to keep my hands off of you, rape is something that you do not have to fear from me.”
Tess regarded him with wide violet eyes, a funny little ache in her chest. He was so handsome, so oddly dear, as he stared down at her, his features intent and concerned, a lock of black hair falling rakishly across his brow. It was so unfair, she thought miserably. She was supposed to hate him, yet he had only to touch her and, to her shame, she melted spinelessly into his arms. It would certainly make her task easier, she decided blackly, if he'd act the brute instead of treating her with kindness.
She took a deep, steadying breath and casually took her hand from his, deciding to test the strength of his words. “Does this mean that if I say I don't want to be your mistress, you'll let me go?”
Nicolas grimaced and looked uncomfortable. “Not exactly,” he admitted reluctantly.
Her eyes sparkled warningly. “Then what exactly
do
you mean?”
Nicolas ran a caressing finger down her cheek. His eyes locked on hers, he said, “It means that I will not
force
myself upon you, but that I maintain the right to keep you safe and in my keeping.”
“You're not going to make love to me anymore?” Tess blurted out incredulously, alarmed and ashamed at the feeling of disappointment that swept through her.
A sensual curve to his full lower lip, Nicolas replied huskily, “I didn't say that—I said I wouldn't force you, and I have enough confidence in my own ability to make you welcome—nay, eager—for my lovemaking.”
“Do you really?” Tess asked icily, scooting away from him and sitting bolt upright on the sofa, an angry flush staining her cheeks.
A watchful expression in his black eyes, he slowly nodded. “Yes, I do—the night we spent together at the Black Pig, as well as the kiss we just shared, only proved my point—you might pretend not to want me, you
say
you don't want me, but you forget that I've tasted all that sweet passion of yours. I can remember quite vividly the way you
willingly
gave yourself to me not two nights ago.”
“Only after you plied me with brandy!” she replied hotly. “I was exhausted and confused, and you took base advantage of me! You know you did!”
A muscle jumped along his jaw. “Shall I prove the lie of your own words?” he demanded. “You're not exhausted now, and I doubt very much that you can claim to have been at the brandy decanter at this hour of the day.”
“That has nothing to do with it!” she shot back desperately, gallingly aware that he had only to touch her to make her forget all her rational resolutions.
“Doesn't it?” he replied grimly, reaching for her, his hands closing firmly around her shoulders. Despite her efforts to avoid him, he pulled her across his lap, and with her clenched fists jammed between their bodies, he held her against his broad chest.
Tess guessed that he was very angry, that her words had pricked his pride, cast aspersions on his manhood, and she tensed. Expecting the harsh assault of his mouth on hers, she was prepared to resist with all her might, but to her astonishment and despair, his lips, when they found hers, were gentle, deliberately coaxing a response from her. She held herself stiffly, trying not to react, but at the touch of his mouth applying teasing pressure against her lips, her senses seemed to explode within her, her breasts tingling, her unruly body responding wildly to him.
He didn't rush things, just held her and took his time kissing her, his teeth nibbling seductively at her tightly held lips. The hands that had held her prisoner now caressed her neck and spine. Tess could feel herself weakening, could feel the tension draining from her body, could feel herself leaning into him, her lips half clinging to his. She was hardly aware of his hand traveling to her breast, and when he lightly cupped her there, she gave a muffled groan of hopelessness.
Nicolas's head lifted. “Will it help,” he said thickly, “if I confess that I have no control where you are concerned—that I have only to touch you and I cannot think of anything but how sweet you taste, the pleasure it will give me to sink deep within you and hear your own joyful cries of release?”
Tess had no answer for him, but he must have read something revealing in her expression, for without another word he swung her up in his arms and carried her toward the stairs. As he ascended the staircase, her traitorous body made no effort to escape from him; her thoughts were foggy and unclear, desire thick and compelling eddying in her veins.
Never hesitating in his destination, he kicked open the door to her room and with his shoulder slammed it shut behind them. Then and only then did he release her, letting her soft form slide down his body, his hands guiding her gently. As her feet grazed the floor, he pulled her hard against him, his mouth finding hers.
There was nothing gentle about the kiss that he gave her—it was an aroused male kiss, his lips urgent and demanding, his tongue hot and bold as he took what he wanted. Tess denied him nothing; her mouth opened to allow him to plunder where he would, her arms clung to his neck, her body strained eagerly against the rigid flesh between his thighs.
When finally he lifted his head, they were both breathing hard, and Tess knew that her eyes glistened with the same dark passion she saw in his, that her cheeks were as flushed as his, and that they shared the same driving need. She wanted him—it was that simple and that complicated....
His hands on her waist, he backed her into the center of the room, those mesmerizing black eyes never moving from her face. After releasing her, his gaze still locked on hers, he slowly, deliberately, tore apart the neat, intricate folds of his cravat and tossed the crumpled linen to the floor. His jacket went next and then his boots. With his shirt half undone, he pulled her unresisting form into his arms once more.
Hating him and herself as well, Tess went blindly into his embrace, her mouth lifting obediently for the hungry possession of his. He kissed her passionately, and as her lips parted easily for him, his arms tightened painfully around her and a shudder went through him.
He gave a muttered imprecation and swiftly lifted her into his arms. He carried her to the bed, his body following her slim form down into the soft feather-filled mattress to lie beside her. She was vaguely aware that she was allowing him to seduce her once more, but his touch, his kisses, his caresses, were far too potent for her to resist.
She ached everywhere—her lips for his kiss; her breasts for his touch; her body for his possession. Damning herself for a weak-willed little fool, she gave up any pretense of resistance. She wanted this, wanted him, wanted to feel him moving fiercely within her, and she could not deny it.
His hand at her breast surprised a soft moan of pleasure from her, and she arched up helplessly into his palm. The sweet ache of desire was burning stronger within her with every passing second; her blood flowed hot and thick in her veins, her nipples swelled, her lower body softened and throbbed. The elemental need to join with him overrode all other senses.

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