Tempted at Every Turn (19 page)

Faster and faster he moved their hands and he
could feel her body get more and more rigid as her climax built. He leaned back up, not wanting to miss the sight of her release. He didn’t have to wait long. Her body went still and then the waves of pleasure rocked her from her shoulders to her toes.

When she had subsided he moved their hands and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. Her eyes fluttered open and she gave him a tentative smile.

“So beautiful,” he said. “Do not be embarrassed with me.”

She nodded.

He laid back against the bed. “Come and sit on me, love.”

She sat up and crawled across his body, straddling his legs and positioning herself against his erection. He bucked against her and she rubbed against him in return.

“Now, Willow, I need to be inside you now.”

She leaned forward and kissed him passionately, almost fiercely, then she lowered herself onto him, taking all of him inside. She required no instructions, but followed her instincts and moved against him. Leaning forward so that she bent over him, giving him perfect access to her breasts. He cupped one and nipped at the other one.

She was so tight and so wet and she moved perfectly around his shaft. Pressure built inside him
and he concentrated on her breasts. He suckled at her breast while she moved up and down.

And then he felt her tighten around him as another climax hit her. She tossed her head back and moaned loudly as she continued to ride him. The sound of her peak tipped him right over the edge as his own release overtook him and he yelled her name.

W
illow rolled over on her belly and set her head on James’ chest. Absently, she raked her fingers through the mat of hair sprinkled across the plank of muscles.

“You’re quite different from your family,” she said.

His eyebrows raised slowly. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, for one, you’re taller than all of them.”

“Are you implying that I might not belong to my father? That’s quite the accusation and from such a proper young miss.” He gave her a playful swat on her bottom.

She laughed. “Young miss.” She eyed the sheet draped loosely around them. “And not so proper anymore. I most certainly was not implying that. My brother and I look nothing alike. That does not mean he’s not my brother.” She raked her fingernails across his flesh. “It was
merely an observation. You’re just different.”

“Yes, I am. I’ve always been different. Not interested in the same sorts of activities, less inclined to adhere to Society’s rules.” He shrugged. “Less impressed with myself than my brother and mother seem to be. My father follows the majority because it’s easier. Which means allowing my mother to do and say as she pleases, because if she’s displeased, she makes the most noise about it.”

“So your father placates her to keep peace in the family,” she said.

“Yes.”

“And your brother?”

“Is the same as my mother. Only taller,” he added with a smile.

“So you’re probably more like your father—he just chooses not to antagonize them anymore.”

“You,” he touched her nose, “are very astute.”

She kept her attention on his chest and the rippled contours of his body.

“How did an earl’s son end up in the Scotland Yard?” she asked.

He smoothed her hair with his hand and was quiet for a long while. Perhaps deciding whether or not to share his story with her, she was unsure. She watched his eyes darken a shade while he continued to be silent.

“When I was a boy,” he began, “my uncle committed a crime but never paid for it. That seemed
rather wrong to me; so, when I grew up, I joined the Yard.”

“That’s it?” she said.

“That’s it,” he repeated.

There was more, though; she could sense it. More that he didn’t want to share. “Hmm…were you close to this uncle?”

“Yes. My mother’s brother. He used to visit us and we’d often spend summers at his estate.”

He continued to answer her questions. Perhaps he merely did not know how to talk about this particular subject. Family secrets were the most closely guarded of all. She knew all about that. “What did he do?”

“He killed a servant,” he said flatly.

She propped herself up on her elbows. “You’re certain of his guilt?”

He nodded, then sighed. “He claimed the girl tripped and fell down the stairs, but two other servants saw him push her. He’s a marquess,” James added with a smirk, “so what could the servants possibly know?” He did nothing to hide the sarcasm from his voice. “Those two servants were dismissed, probably never worked again, and nothing happened to my uncle.”

“Nothing at all?” she asked.

“He wasn’t even questioned officially. His peers all said he was a gentleman, that he could never do such a thing, but my brother and I knew better.”
He paused a moment before continuing. “Uncle Felix was jolly fun to be around until he was in his cups, and then everything would change.”

“Your mother?”

“I don’t know if she believes him or not.” His hand absently stroked her back. “I know we never spent another summer there, and he’s only been to our home twice since then. He stays in the country now. Evidently he still writes my parents, as they just received word that he’s ill. My mother is deciding whether or not to visit him.”

“Sounds like she might be inclined to believe that he was guilty. She kept her children from visiting him again,” Willow said.

“She did not want a scandal. So we never discussed what happened.”

“His station in life saved him,” she said.

“Yes.”

So this was why. It wasn’t arbitrary that he refused to follow rules. It was to segregate himself from a system he believed had failed. And he’d been trying to change that ever since, with each of his investigations. That’s why he sometimes crossed lines. Because sometimes lines needed crossing.

“Enough about the miscreants in my family,” he said. “What about your family? Which of your parents are you most like?”

She wanted to say more to him, to let him know
she understood—but she did not know how. He wanted to change the subject, wanted to talk about her family now. “I don’t know. I suppose I am like my father as well. Edmond is very much like our mother. He’s impulsive and full of life.”

“You say that as if to imply you are not.”

“I’m stodgy and bossy, that is not the same as being fun and impulsive,” she said.

“You’re not stodgy, and fun and impulsive are not the only definitions for being lively.”

She poked him in the side. “I see you didn’t object to my calling myself bossy.”

“I try to be agreeable most of the time.” He couldn’t hide his smile.

“I’m more subdued, that’s all,” she said.

“Tell me about your mother.”

“You mean the way she is?”

He nodded.

She frowned. “It started so long ago, it’s hard to remember if it wasn’t always a part of who she is. When I was a young girl, it was fun, her reckless behavior. She was exciting and childlike herself. But at some point, I recognized that tea parties in the rain and searching for gypsies in the forest at night were not safe or reasonable activities for mothers to engage in. She should have been chiding Edmond and me for such foolishness. Instead my father had to watch us constantly to make sure we came to no harm.”

He said nothing, just continued to stroke her hair.

“She would never harm us, you understand, but she did leave us places a few times and she would get so distracted and upset about the silliest of things.”

“And it’s been getting worse,” he said.

“Yes, as she ages, she slips further and further away, her behavior becoming more and more erratic. The doctor wants my father to drug her when she has an episode to calm her down until she comes out of it. But none of us can bear to do that. She looks so sad when she’s medicated, like a shell of herself.”

He kissed her head.

“My father is older than she is. By fifteen years. So I know he won’t be here with her forever. It’s my duty to care for her. Edmond needs to marry and produce an heir. He’ll be viscount someday.”

“So this is why you never married.”

It wasn’t a question. His green eyes bore into her and the intensity made her want to look away, but she found she could not. And why she’d declined his offer. It was unsaid, but it hung in the air, thick and impossible to ignore.

“Yes, this is why I never married. I don’t think I could balance each responsibility equally. Someone would suffer. My husband, or children. I could never abandon her.”

“No one would ask you to,” James said.

Meaning him? “It matters not. I will not marry.” She laid her head on his chest to look away from him. She couldn’t deny she wished he’d ask her again. Perhaps this time she would be unable to say no. Now she wanted more, but she knew she simply could not have it.

James traced his fingers across Willow’s forehead. Thick lashes rested against her cheek as she slept soundly, tucked against him. Without the worries of the world weighing on her, Willow’s features were a picture of peace. So lovely, so beautiful.

Her naked body was warm and plush next to him. So many contrasts between them: she was so fair where his skin had seen too many days in the sun, her body was soft and pliant while his was rough and covered in crisp hair. And that was merely the physical differences. He couldn’t ignore the obvious disagreements they had about following rules or ignoring them. Yet they both had their reasons, their scars.

Despite their differences, he’d never respected a woman more. And while she’d made it clear she would not marry him, he could only hope she would reconsider, that she simply needed time. Time to adjust to wanting something for herself. And to realize that she had every right to claim it.

Her eyes fluttered open. A shy smile slid into place. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“Not long,” he said.

She burrowed her body closer to him. The citrus scent from her hair filled his nose.

“And you? You are not tired?” she asked.

“I didn’t want you sneaking out of here without me knowing.” He rubbed his thumb against her lip. “And you look lovely when you sleep.”

She blushed and gave a slight eye roll.

He leaned forward and nuzzled the sweet flesh at her neck. “And so delectable. It’s been a considerable challenge for me to lie here and keep my hands off of you. You look positively seductive wrapped in nothing but sheets.”

Her gaze met his and he felt that familiar surge flow between them. Desire so thick, so hot, he nearly couldn’t breathe. He might never persuade Willow to marry him, but he knew she was the only woman he’d make his bride, the only woman who could ever be his wife.

“Your restraint is showing promise,” she said, dragging her hand down the side of his arm. “But I don’t believe you’ve quite mastered it yet.”

Her touch seemed to spark energy into every nerve in his body. He felt himself grow heavy again with arousal. It seemed his need for her was never satiated.

“I do know how to control myself,” he said.

She braced herself on her elbows, bringing her face closer to his. Her nose nearly touched his own. “Are you quite certain?” she asked with a mock frown. “Because it seems to me that you make a practice of indulging yourself on every whim.”

“I could interpret your remark as a challenge. And I could win said challenge by teasing your flesh for the rest of the evening. You would be writhing beneath my touch and begging me for more. But I would only tease you, and never indulge myself. I could endure, but I’m not certain you could withstand the torture.” They both knew he was lying. He could no more deny his desire for her than he could take his next breath.

He pressed his erection against her hip, then slanted his mouth across hers. Hungrily, he kissed her. Their tongues met and melded, rolling against one another’s in a lustful dance. Fire pounded his loins.

What had this woman done to him?

She turned her body toward him so that her full breasts pressed seductively against his chest. Her flesh was warm and soft and her peaked nipples brushed against his mat of hair. All the while, they kissed. Feverish, wanton, hot, wet and intense.

One of her hands slid down his torso, past his waist, then his hip until it rested at the top of his thigh. His erection pulsed with need. As if she’d
sensed his want, she wrapped her hand around the length of him.

The tender touch of her fingers against him nearly shot him over the edge, but he managed to keep his control. There was no hesitancy in her touch. Willow faced lovemaking with the same fervor she had in every other aspect of her life.

Slowly she moved her hand along his shaft. Pleasure rippled through him.

“Willow, sweet Willow,” he breathed. “Do you know what you do to me?”

She pumped her hand tighter and he rode the sensations until he could take no more. He clasped her wrist and pulled her hand away. Then he pushed her onto her back and leaning over her, he held her down at both wrists.

Her eyes widened with surprise, but he found no fear in the brown depths. Instead a devilish smile slid onto her face and she cocked one eyebrow. He moved against her, teasing her, but all the while, tormenting himself. Her flesh was so warm, so soft.

Desire had stained her skin in a lovely pink. In that moment he’d never seen a more beautiful woman and doubted he ever would. Entwining their fingers, he moved in for another kiss. With one swift movement he entered her. She was slick and hot and she cried out when he pulled back and then plunged back into her.

“James,” she breathed.

His name, uttered from her lips and spoken with such pleasure, was a heady mixture.

Willow. His Willow
.

With her legs wrapped around his waist and her nails biting into his back, he plunged into her. Over and over he moved within her and the hot, wet friction was so intense, he couldn’t focus on anything else but the way her body felt. Beneath his own body, under his hands, the way she tasted, Willow surrounded him.

Her cries of pleasure poured over him like rain to the dry earth. Quenching. Bathing. Healing.

She bucked up to meet his movements. He knew she was nearing her climax, and he willed his own to wait until she slipped over the edge. Her heels dug into his back. And then her body tightened as her pleasure peaked.

He let his eyes take in her face as the last waves coursed through her. Her lips parted as she cried out and her eyes closed. And then his own orgasm rocketed through him.

After the sensations had subsided, he simply lay there, still inside her, their breath mingling, their hearts beating in perfect unison. She would leave soon, and he wanted to savor every moment until then.

James closed the door behind Willow and stepped back into his house. He leaned against the
hard wood and closed his eyes. She’d made no additional mention of his proposal and he suspected that meant she still fully intended not to marry him. But she had allowed him another night of passion in her arms. She still wanted him.

He sighed, then couldn’t help but smile.

He’d given it a valiant fight. Put on his armor and done battle as best he knew how. Yet still she had won. Had conquered him.

Not over the investigation, although that little wager they’d made had been lost somewhere along the journey. No, Willow had won his heart and he hadn’t even noticed it was available for the taking.

He laughed at the irony as he pushed himself away from the door and headed up the stairs. His bare feet pattered against the wood floor once he hit the second landing. Here he’d spent his entire life bucking convention to prove a point, to prove that privilege and birth should not absolve someone of his actions. He’d rejected propriety because it stood for the very core of what he loathed most and yet he’d lost his heart to the very embodiment of propriety.