One Night of Passion (15 page)

And when his head dipped down and his lips followed the heady path of his fingers, her mouth opened in a wide O of amazement.

Ever so gently, he parted the flesh between her thighs.

She started to quake, rising up in alarm at the shocking sensation.

“You’ll like this, Georgie,” he murmured. “Believe me.”

Her hips swayed to their own cadence, one her entire body seemed to recognize. As much as she had known that Colin wanted to make love to her, now she knew that what he was doing was going to bring her immense pleasure.

His tongue teased her, sending ribbons of pleasure unwinding in a wild jumble. His fingers parted her even further, and this time she had no hesitation over his exploration.

She wanted his eager kiss to continue to fan the fires building inside her—and she hoped he knew how to extinguish them.

Again and again, his tongue dipped and laved over her, and with each swipe of its rough surface, her hips rose and fell to meet him.

Suddenly the fevered pitch in her body became a discordant blur.

“Oh please,” she managed to whisper.
Please don’t let
this ever end.

Yet she knew it was about to, for her body was coiling tighter and tighter. Her heart raced, and her breathing, well, she could barely catch her breath as she gasped and searched for air.

And still he persisted—unrelentingly. His kiss continued even as he slid a finger inside her. This only added to her blinding need for his touch, her need to be filled.

“Where are you?” he whispered up at her.

“Lost,” she told him. “I’m utterly lost.”

“Aye, Georgie, so am I.” Colin grinned, as her hips swayed and bucked, searching for the heated pleasure that had been so abruptly wrenched away. “Let me help you.”

This time, his tongue washed over her in slow, deliberate strokes. He tormented her already beleaguered senses and brought them once again back to that stormy, windswept precipice. She was rising this time at a dangerous, dizzying pace, one he seemed to anticipate before she did.

She must stop him, she had to before she fell.

Fell into darkness, fell into oblivion.

Her fingers wound into his hair, stroking his neck, clutching and holding him fast, as she searched for something solid on which to cling—someone to catch her when she toppled from this quickly escalating spiral upward. Then her world exploded, awash in wave after wave of pleasure.

“Oh please, yes,” she gasped.

And even as she plunged headlong into the bliss of unchecked passion, he caught her.

Just as she’d always known he would.

Colin watched her find her release, the surprised and shocked moue on her lips, her lashes fluttering in surrender, her hands pulling at him.

He continued to kiss her, propelling her through her abandon, until she was gasping for air.

“Oh help me,” she was saying. “I’m falling.”

He gathered her up in his arms, kissing her lips, whispering encouragement into her ears, stroking her still trembling and responsive body through even more restless waves.

Finally she sagged against him, her head resting on his chest.

Then he felt something he’d never felt with a woman.

That she trusted him. Georgie trusted him utterly and completely.

But she shouldn’t. She couldn’t.

Though a notion worthy of striking terror in his heart, instead it filled him with a boundless sense of peace.

She trusted him.

Ignoring his own raging need, he cradled her closer. “I should take you home.”

He should have taken her home to begin with. Before she’d issued her challenge.

Who needs words . . .

Certainly not Georgie. And he supposed he didn’t either.

Words would have gotten in the way, and for once in his life he had wanted to feel. Just feel.

And Georgie was so touchable. So willing . . . so perfect.

“That was amazing,” she whispered. Her fingers ran absently over his chest, as if her limbs had grown heavy. “I didn’t know it was possible. Not like that.”

“Then I’m glad I could give you something to remember.”

“I doubt I’ll ever forget
that,”
she said so emphatically that he laughed. “What’s so funny?” She scrambled up and looked him squarely in the eye, her unforgiving honesty demanding answers.

“It isn’t,” he told her, tweaking her nose. “It’s just
you.”

She didn’t ask what he meant, a sly smile turning her lips. She nestled even closer to him, her bare legs curling into his lap, her arms winding around him. “I’m glad the servants are all out, though it is odd that they are
all
gone. It is almost as if you planned on having such an evening.” She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. “I thought you said you hadn’t come to the ball seeking companionship. But I fear you’ve been found out.”

“It isn’t like that,” he managed to say, suddenly realizing he hadn’t given much thought to his forgotten bride in the last hour.

Not even a passing moment of regret.

And even as he tried to summon up Diana’s features in his mind’s eye, as he tried to put the image of her petite form in his arms, imagine her curled up to him, he couldn’t see it. Couldn’t imagine that she would have cried out with such reckless abandon as she found her release.

No, she would have come to his bed out of duty . . . an idea he now found more repulsive than he would have thought possible.

He’d never be able to take another woman to his bed, not unless . . .

He shook his head, unwilling to finish that thought.

Unless she was just like his willful Cyprian.

She hadn’t cringed at the sight of his work-callused hands. She’d touched them reverently, just as she’d touched his battered sea chest.

None of the treasures in the house impressed her or held her in their rich thrall, nor the money he’d offered her, now scattered on the floor like crumbs for the birds in Hyde Park.

No, she’d found joy in the parts of him that most in the
ton
would have snubbed or misunderstood.

So who was this woman who loved the sea? Who longed for the sights that still brought gooseflesh to his arms even now, after all these years of sailing?

Georgie touched and understood a part of him that no one else ever had. And he wondered if anyone ever would.

Glancing over at his packed sea chest, he felt a twinge of regret at the sight of it.

He didn’t want to leave. For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to sail away.

And in that moment, he truly understood what the poets and troubadours went to so much trouble to try to explain.

He understood the unexplainable.

In his arms, she continued to ramble on, talking about their encounter with an openness he found refreshing.

“ . . . and I fear I would have died of embarrassment if someone was to come in to tend the fire, or had heard me and come to investigate.” She glanced up at him. “Was I too loud? I think I was rather loud.”

“No, you were just right.”

She let out a long, relieved sigh. “Good. It was tremendous and I wanted you to know. I didn’t think I could manage a round of applause, for truly you deserved a standing ovation, so I just called out. I didn’t realize how loud it was until I said your name.” She finally paused and took another breath. “I would hate to think I was so loud that I woke the neighbors. Especially the magistrate.”

Colin laughed again. “I believe all the neighbors are old and hard of hearing so you may make as much noise as you want. And if we wake the magistrate, I’ll pay the fine quite happily.”

“We, milord?” She wiggled her brows at him, her own quirky attempt at suggestive flirtation. “It would be my honor to make you call out in the night—and see you in dun territory, for I fear your fine will be rather hefty.” Her hand slid down his chest, past his waistband to the hardness still raging with need.

Her fingers stroked and teased him, and he forgot any thought that this was some innocent miss, for her touch was bold and sure.

“I . . . I . . .” he started to say, but his words trailed off as she found the buttons on his breeches and began prying them open, one by one.

He tried to protest, but her lips came up and silenced his mouth. Her saucy, outspoken tongue challenged him to keep up with her. And as their mouths tangled and danced, her fingers were quickly working to release the round oval locks that held him prisoner.

When the last one opened, she murmured against his lips. “Now, milord, let us see who awakens the poor magistrate.”

Her hand wrapped around his manhood, easing it free of his breeches and welcoming it with a reverent stroke of her fingers.

He groaned. “You wicked chit.”

“Oh, I plan on being terribly wicked,” she said. “If that is what you want.”

She nearly unmanned him, his need clambering free of the fragile restraint he thought he could maintain.

He wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman before.

She infected his senses, left him breathless. And suddenly it wasn’t enough—he wanted her in his bed. He wanted her beneath him. He wouldn’t stand for anything less than seeing her once again restless and ragged with need, begging for him to follow her into oblivion.

A growl rumbled in his chest.

“Come with me.” His words were hardly a request. And before she could respond (or argue, knowing Georgie), he swept her into his arms and carried her from the study.

He kicked the adjoining door to the bedroom wide open with his booted foot. Storming through the portal, he set a straight course for the large bed that took up most of the room.

His hot blood and need for passion clashed with the calm, understated elegance of their surroundings. He had instructed the servants to have his bedchamber be as comfortable and welcoming as possible for his virginal bride.

Several vases overflowing with hothouse roses were set about the room, scenting the air with their rich perfume. A single candle burned in the holder near the bed, its meager light to afford the bride some modesty. The bedsheets and thick comforter had been turned down, awaiting a timid bride and a patient groom.

With one hand, he wrenched the carefully done bed apart and tossed the woman in his arms into the middle of the rumpled sheets.

She laughed with glee, her arms opening to him, calling for him to join her That she wanted him, craved him as much as he desired to join with her, filled him with a reckless sense of daring.

Reckless.
She’d said she wanted a reckless night.

So did he.

She was struggling up from the chaos he’d created, crawling to the edge of the bed, her hands eager to get ahold of him. She plucked and pulled at his shirt, until he yanked it off, mindless of the tearing threads. His boots came off in the same heedless manner. And even as his last boot came free, her hands were already tugging his breeches down over his hips.

Her shift followed, coming off in a flurry of muslin.

When it came to her corset, his fingers fumbled over the tied cords that held her body imprisoned.

“Damn this wretched thing,” he muttered.

“Oh, let me,” she said with the same impatience, pushing aside his hands, and quickly freeing the knot he’d managed to make. With that undone, Colin caught either side of the garment and ripped away the aged and frayed silk lacing.

Instead of being shocked by his force, she purred in triumph to be free from its confinement. She fell back onto the bed, naked and welcoming.

Come to me,” she said, holding out her arms. “Love me, Colin. Love me for the rest of this night.”

He was atop her in an instant, his mouth covering hers. She kissed him back, her hunger once again challenging him.

“Oh yes,” she said, encouraging him. “Love me, Colin.”

His hand went down to her apex again. This time he was only going to tease the fires, before he filled her with his manhood.

She reached to touch him as well, her fingers enslaving him, stroking and rubbing the glistening wet head.

Long-limbed, her legs wrapped with his, her thigh rubbing against his hip, her body swaying already, calling to him to come dance with her, to tame her endless need.

She shifted beneath him, guiding him toward her.

He needed no further encouragement. While he wanted to bury himself in her, dive into her with one triumphant stroke, something held him back—made him use the only bit of restraint Colin could still claim.

Slowly he eased himself inside, sliding a bit deeper with each stroke. Beneath him, her impatience was waging war with his restrained pace.

Her hands grasped at his hips, bidding him to go deeper, pushing and pulling at him, urging him to match the frantic pace her hips had found.

“Take me,” she pleaded. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop for
anything.
”

Recklessly, he let go and filled her.

And even as he did so, he felt something stop him. A barrier undeniably breached and irretrievably broken.

Colin stopped, his eyes springing open and staring down at the woman in his arms.

A virgin?
His Cyprian was a virgin?

Impossible.

He swore he saw something of a grimace on her face, before she once again moved restlessly beneath him.

“What are you waiting for?” she whispered, her lips and teeth nipping at his shoulder, her hands pulling his hips toward her, her body rising to meet his. She was not about to let him break the magical cadence that had been drawing them both closer to fulfillment. “I want you so much. I need you so much.”

He began to move again, and she murmured in approval, her body happily rocking to meet his. The moment passed so quickly, he told himself he was imagining things.

A virgin at the Cyprian’s Ball? Unlikely.

And yet he’d swear . . .

Whatever he’d discovered, it quickly faded from his mind, as he found himself gazing down at her, the warmth of her body heating his, the soft scent of her perfume invading his soul, an unthinkable notion started to take root in the back of his mind.

How can you let her go when you’ve fallen in . . .

Colin pulled her closer and let himself fall into the unbelievable.