Tempted (19 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Don’t stop
, Mary begged with her lips.
Just kiss me.
And his lips answered her pleas, kissing her in a way at once commanding and yet gentle. That left her anxious and yet wanting. That made her forget the truth that had penetrated when he’d been dancing with her.

She would have to leave him.

And then he pressed her into her seat, Mary’s hands coming up against his naked chest. Her mind registered the way his hair felt beneath her hands; the wiry texture of it, the hard ridges of his muscles. Her fingers slid up to his shoulder, marveling at how his skin could be so soft, yet his body so hard, the cord along his shoulders a ridge that made her realize he was no weak-muscled lord.

And then his own hands began to explore. They found the tightness of her nipples, a tautness that had blossomed at the sight of his naked chest. She bent to his will, lifting herself for his hand’s eager exploration, crying out when he moved his mouth to the spot that his fingers had just teased.

“Mary,” she thought she heard him whisper. “We shouldn’t—”

Shouldn’t what?

“But—” he abruptly kissed her again, then pulled away. “I—” Back to kissing her again, and pulling back again. “Can’t. Seem. To. Stop.”

“Bugger this,” she said, holding his head at her breasts because, blast it, she wanted him to kiss her there, wanted to feel his wet, hot mouth working her nipple. Wanted him to touch her, to know her, to do things to her. Lord, if he only knew how much.

And he must have gotten the message for he opened his mouth, half-biting the sensitive tip of first one breast, then the other, the heat of his mouth prickling the tip of nipple even more. But he wasn’t satisfied with kissing fabric. No, he pulled the edge of her dress down. And then his tongue fluttered at the tip. Mary pulsed everywhere, but most especially between her legs. She watched him turn the tip into a hard nub. Watched as he lapped at her next, then—oh heavens—suckled her.

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

She wanted more. Needed to feel more, and the craving came from that most private part of her. She pushed against him, thought she heard him moan, felt that need she’d only ever felt in her dreams begin to build.

Please
, she silently begged him with her eyes.
Please, give it to me, whatever
it
is.

His hand trailed down her belly, headed for that part of her that wanted to be touched. And for a fleeting moment the memory returned of other men trying to touch her there, of how she’d fought against them.

“Mary,” she heard him say.

And she realized then that she’d stilled for that moment, and that he’d sensed it and had stopped, his expression one of question as he looked at her.

But the heat between her legs raged, her body demanding she finish whatever it was she started. Nay, not demanded, begged.

“Touch me, Alex,” she said. “Touch me and show me that it will be all right.”

He blinked at her then, his expression undergoing a change. The hardness in his eyes faded, was replaced by a tender desire she’d never seen on a man’s face before.

“Tell me where you want to be touched, Mary, and I shall. Tell me when to stop, and I shall. Command me as if ’tis I who am your servant, for tonight I am all that and more.”

She searched his eyes, no, his soul, Mary’s mind seeming to touch it for one brief moment.

“Kiss me, m’lord,” she said.

He slowly lifted himself, though the carriage made it difficult for it lurched and shook about them. Or mayhap ’twas her that shook? Mayhap, it was all in her mind? She only knew that Alex rose to kiss her and when he did, she felt everything within her still and then scatter like fall leaves before an October breeze.

And then their lips met, only this time ’twas a tender kiss, a gentle, soft and achingly beautiful kiss. Mary felt tears rise.

Slowly, almost as if he didn’t want to startle her, his hands rose again, only this time they bypassed her breasts, though she arched into him in anticipation of it. This time he touched her jaw, framing it with both hands, gently, oh so gently, asking her to open for him.

Could she? Did she dare let him kiss her so intimately? What would happen if she did?

She opened for him. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, the warm heat of it a masculine invasion she’d never felt before. She almost withdrew, for the shock of it made her stiffen, but then she got her first taste of him, so spicy and different from her own. And then she got her first touch of him, his pliant tongue stroking her own. Then she almost lost him, that same tongue withdrawing so quickly, she moaned in protest.

Alex must have heard, for he gave it back to her again. And again. And again, until she was dizzy with the way that sweet stroking made her feel.

How long they kissed like that, Mary didn’t know, but though her body craved the return of his tongue over and over again, her body also craved something else, something that mirrored the movement of his tongue. Aye, she wanted him inside her, that she knew, for she hadn’t worked amongst men and horses not to know how a male and female joined.

But he seemed determined to kiss her all night and so she reached up and grabbed one of his hands, and even his fingers felt harder than her own. Aye, all of him felt harder than her, most especially that place pressing against her thighs.

Lower and lower she guided his hand, his mouth still covering her, their breaths still mingled as one. Her hand brushed his hardness, and she thought she heard him groan. And then she pressed his hand into her, placed it on that spot that had begun to tingle and moisten and burn.

He drew back, murmuring, “Mary,” against her lips. “Please,” she answered back.

His lips returned, and with it, his hand, his wide palm pushing into her.

Oh, but he knew how to touch her, for his fingers probed the fabric of her dress, found her nub and pressed into it.

“Alex,” she heard herself moan, the muscles in her back flexing, her hips lifting, every sinewy cord in her body tensing to the point that it almost seemed to hurt. No. Not hurt. It felt…she threw her head back. It felt so marvelously wonderful, so different from her vague and nebulous dreams it was like looking into a mirror after a fog had been wiped clean. Lord, she thought, straining against his hand. Lord, lord, lord. She wanted…she wanted.

What? she almost cried. What the blazes was it? She’d begun to pant with the strain of that want, that craving to have him finish whatever it was he started. And then he was moving her hand, moving it to the hard length of him tucked down the left side of his leg. He pressed her fingers against him, showed her how to stroke him, and then he lifted her into his arms. And touching him like that, controlling him, aye, making him moan was almost as powerful as the feel of him touching her.

And then she was spinning, spinning, or maybe it was him spinning because all of a sudden she was beneath him on the seat he’d just vacated, his body covering her own. His hands seemed to be everywhere, but most especially beneath her cloak, on her breasts. No, wait, between her legs. God help her, she never wanted him to stop touching her between her legs.

She touched him, too, his hands leaving her again to go to the waistline of his trousers. It gave her pause, the cessation in his assault. She recovered herself momentarily, her heart beating so rapidly she felt it might be close to harm. He stood over her—or as near as he could beneath the roofline of the coach—the carriage lantern swinging about, the cabin swaying. His eyes stared at her so intensely, so heatedly and so unwaveringly, Mary couldn’t look away.

And then that look changed.
Say the word
, he silently seemed to say.
Say the word and I’ll stop.

But heaven help her, she didn’t want him to stop. Having committed to the course, she would ride the tide all the way.

He nodded. Or perhaps it was the movement of the coach, but suddenly his shoulders tensed, his arms moved around the front of him, the hands that had left her in such a state undoing first one catch, then the other, the flap of his breech, dropping on one side and then the other. His arm muscles flexed, his own nipples turned hard, the light sprinkling of hair on his skin a perfect T across his chest, fading as it went lower, then resuming again in a dark tumble just below his belly.

His breech dropped.

Mary’s gaze fell with it only to catch on his shaft, the soft pink of his flesh startling her, as did his size.

“It’s—” She swallowed. He lifted a brow. “Bigger than I expected.”

He laughed, the sound filling her soul with a winged joy. But then his eyes grew serious, the lids floating down and turning the irises almost black. “Touch me, Mary Callahan. Touch me and feel how much I desire you.”

The coach swayed, rounding a bend, but Mary hardly noticed. Oddly enough, just staring at his appendage made the heat between her legs blaze all over again. Like a burning log stabbed by a poker, she began to glow and burn.

“Touch it,” he urged.

She reached out hesitantly, her hand moving with the motion of the carriage. He seemed to flex toward her, his lids lowering as her hand hovered.

“Please, Mary,” and his tone was a plea.

She touched him.

He gasped, his hips arching toward hers, bringing him closer to her, Mary’s fingers gliding along the soft edge of him. He gasped again. She touched him with her fingertips once more.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, Mary, just like that.”

Soft, he was. So soft. And yet hard. She ran her finger up and down that hardness, thinking she’d done this to him, that she made him grow hard, made him moan in pleasure. He might be heir to a dukedom, but right now he was all man.
Her
man. Hers to command, hers to rule, hers for tonight.

Only tonight.

The coach lurched even more, Alex having to put out a hand to stop himself from falling on to her. But it was only the sudden loss of vibration, the instant stillness that made her realize they’d done more than round a corner.

“Alex?”

But Alex needed no warning, for he’d already reached down, already pulled up his breeches.

The coachman opened the door just as the fabric cleared Alex’s hips, and it was obvious the driver could see what Alex’d done through the carriage window.

But if she had any doubts, they vanished the moment the coachman said, “I see the breeches were muddy too, m’lord.”

Chapter Twenty

Embarrassing. Humiliating, Mary thought, closing her bedroom door behind her. It was bad enough the upper servants thought of her as a tart, but now the outside staff would too.

And Alex…

She closed her eyes. Alex would follow.

Though he’d given her a polite goodnight below, though he’d bowed over her hand with that ridiculous blanket around his shoulders, she knew he would follow.

The question was, would she let him in?

She crossed her room, shivering. She’d removed the borrowed cloak downstairs, handing it off to a servant just like a toff. Someone had started a fire and for that Mary was grateful, though she supposed the staff was forced to treat her like a proper guest, no matter that it chaffed.

And now the marquis would come to her. Now he would ask to finish what they started in the carriage. The question was, would she let him? Would it be so terrible to have him for a night? Just one night, for as certain as the sun would rise, she knew she’d have to leave him on the morrow. She cared for him. Lord, after tonight, she might more than care for him, and that she couldn’t have, for with the caring would come the desire to stay with him.

Ach, Mary, and would that be such a terrible thing?
She closed her eyes, the orange glow from the fire penetrating her lids, the heat from the fire gently nudging her face.

Would it be so bad?
she asked herself again.

Fancy clothes? A carriage? Money? She’d be a gentleman’s fancy piece. And not just any gentleman, but a marquis, heir to a dukedom, very nearly a prince. And if she could keep his attention long enough, bind her to him in a way that she knew a woman could do, it could last a very long, long time—

She shook her head, surprised at the keening desire that filled, the ache that almost hurt to give in to the urge. But she couldn’t. Just couldn’t.

But she could have tonight. Aye, just the night.

But why not more?

Because she couldn’t, she argued with herself. Always she’d prided herself of the way she controlled her destiny. Aye, those fancy women might hiss at her as she performed. They might call her by rude names, but Mary knew that when the sun went down, she would still be Mary Brown Callahan, seaman’s daughter. Not lord soand-so’s mistress.

Ach, but she would love…

Something fell down her cheek. Mary was disgusted to realize it was another soddin’ tear. And she knew why she cried, too, she knew it was because a part of her wished, lord how it wished, she was a different sort of woman—

Someone touched her shoulder.

Mary jumped.

Alex stepped in front of her, near enough to touch, close enough to kiss, though how he’d sneaked up on her, she had no idea.

“Why do you cry, Mary Callahan?”

Because I think I’m falling in love with you,
she silently answered as she stared up at him mutely.
Because I’m going to have to leave you.

She closed her eyes again. Bowed her head.

But then he touched her. He lifted her chin just as he had before, the tender gesture making her heart melt. And just the soft touch of his finger against her cheek started the burning. Just the look in his eyes increased the craving. Aye, she wanted this man, if only for a night.

Only a night.

She opened her eyes, reaching up to take his hand, his fingers so much larger than her own. So much harder, too.

“Have you changed your mind?” he asked. “For if you have, I will—”

“Shhh,” she said, placing her other hand against his lips, his breath whispering across her fingers, his mouth warm beneath her hand. “Shhh,” she warned again, her hand having begun to shake. “Don’t say a word, m’lord. Just kiss me.”

“Mary,” she thought she heard him whisper.

“That’s a word—”

He kissed her, pulling her against him, his lips insisting she open. And she did, the flood of feeling that entered her soul returning with a force that made it near impossible to breathe. She wanted him. Aye, how she wanted him. And she would take him. There would be no looking back once the deed was done. Aye, except, perhaps, to revel in the memory of it.

His tongue flicked into her mouth. She gave him her own tongue, kissing him in a way that sent her blood thrusting through her veins, that made her whole body tighten in response. His hand reached between them, cupping her breasts and her mind screamed the word,
Yes.
Her body told him,
Take me.

Or perhaps she’d said the words aloud, for suddenly he was looking down at her again, his eyes staring at her with such fierceness, she felt her breasts tighten like a night-blooming flower kissed by the sun.

He grabbed her by the hand, leading her toward the bed and Mary knew the moment had come to make up her mind.

What mind? I lost it the moment we first touched.

He turned her, made her face him and look into his eyes. “Mary—”

“Would you quit talkin’, m’lord?”

She thought she saw him smile, but she couldn’t be certain for he was kissing her again, aye, that and pulling her down on the bed next to him. And Mary went willingly because she wanted him in the same way he wanted her. She let him undo the catches on her dress because she craved his touch just as he craved hers. She let him slip her gown and chemise off, then watched as he undressed himself, too, because when it came down to it, they were equals, she and he. They weren’t lord and servant. They were two beings that wanted to be one, and for her, that meant whatever the consequences.

“Would you like a cover?”

Her gaze roved over him. “It’d be a crime to cover you, m’lord.”

“I meant
you
,” he said.

“I know,” she answered back, for she lay naked, completely and utterly naked beneath him.

He gave a bark of laughter, his naked body glowing in the firelight, his hair loose around his shoulders though she had no recollection of him freeing the strands. That his desire had returned there could be little doubt, his manhood jutting out from between his legs. Yet he didn’t seem ashamed. And it occurred to her then that he might feel the same as she. Their nakedness might be a powerful excitement that a part of Mary wished would last forever, the other part wanting satiation in whatever way he would give it to her immediately.

“You make me laugh, Mary Callahan.” He began to lower himself. “You make me smile.” His body covered her own, his flesh as hot as a burst of steam. “You make me burn for you in a way I never thought possible to burn for a woman.”

He half covered her, his lips now inches away.

“Take me, m’lord. Take me now, for I don’t want to wait.”

She thought he’d kiss her again, right then, but to her surprise, he held back. “Oh, no, my dear, for I’ve longed for this night too often to rush it.”

“Rush it.”

He laughed again, his breath wafting over her ear and the nape of her neck.

“No, my dear, for I am determined to give you a pleasure unlike any you’ve ever had. I’m determined to savor you in the same way I would savor a fine wine. I am determined to make this an evening you and I will never forget, starting now.”

She almost told him that this was her first time. That, miraculously, she’d managed to keep her virtue through all the strife of her early life. But to do so would reveal her lack of a husband, and that she couldn’t do.

The thought made her somber, and then he covered her fully, and that made her forget her past, made her focus on tonight. Lord, the feel of him against her made her a wee bit mad. He kissed her breasts, and then it returned, that wonderful feeling only he’d ever aroused. Back arching, she clutched at his head, holding his head there for she didn’t want him getting any ideas about stopping.

Then he moved lower.

“What are you—”

“Shh,” he warned, kissing her belly. She jumped, her body jolting, her limbs buzzing like she touched a piece of metal that was electrically charged by static. Her legs jerked apart. And she wasn’t too ashamed to admit that she wanted—oh, lord she wanted—his mouth. There. Yes, there.

She dug her hands into the covers.

“Alex,” she moaned.

He left her for a moment. She looked down. He looked up, his intense blue eyes just visible between the apex of her thighs. And then she felt the warm, moist slide of his tongue.

“Bloody hell,” she moaned. “I can’t believe—”

He licked her again. Modesty made her want to clench her thighs together. Wanton desire made her open even more. And then she simply surrendered, her whole body going lax as she gave in to the feel of him lapping at her there, stroking her there, aye, suckling there. The musky smell of herself wafted up. She groaned at the forbidden smell. And then she began to tighten where he kissed, her muscles seeming to close in on themselves. Such an odd pressure, it was, one that seemed to grow in on itself in pulses and spasms—

He stopped.

She jerked her head up. “What are you doing?”

He looked up from between her legs with a wicked smile.

“For the love of God, don’t stop.”

Did he chuckle? Lord, she didn’t know, she was too busy throwing her head back in disappointment, for he didn’t resume that tortuous assault. No, he began to move up her body again.

“Don’t,” she moaned again. “Keep doing what you were doing.”

“I’m not going to stop. I’m going to do this—” His finger entered her.

It made her cry out. Not in pain. Not in shock. But in a jolt of pleasure that made her back arch.

“Because I’m going to do this.” He withdrew the finger.

She let loose another moan.

“And this.” He entered her again.

Only this time she’d caught on. This time she flexed and arched as she lifted her hips in anticipation. This time she bore down on that finger, clenching it inside her.

“That’s it,” he said, and now his thumb worked the nub of her woman’s mound.

“Alex, if you don’t finish this I shall bash you—”

He kissed her again, and the salty taste of herself on him sent her over the edge.

“Alex—”

And off she went, the back of her shoulders coming off the bed as she threw her head back, her hair covering her eyes. Everything pushed outward in a release that made the rush of performing in front of a crowd seem dismal by comparison. Moisture slicked her thighs as a pleasure so incredible, so unexpected, forced the nub between her woman’s lips to contract in pleasure. And through it all, he held himself against her, even thrust his finger one last time. It felt like soaring through the air. Like what she’d always imagined flying would be like. She skimmed over the tops of trees on a wave of pleasure. Was thrust on high by an updraft, then down, then back up again. And as she slowly, ever so slowly returned to earth, Mary discovered what it meant to be pleasured. Oh, aye, ’twas a pleasure unlike any she’d had before.

Her body sank onto her coverlet.

Awareness began to return.

“Did you enjoy that?”

She opened eyes she hadn’t even known she’d closed, the self-satisfied expression on his face causing her to say, “You know I did, you scurvy knave.”

To which he smiled and said, “Excellent, then let us do it again.”

Again? Was it possible? Dare she hope?

He moved between her legs, his shaft finding her opening.

Oh, aye. ’Twas possible. As he slid inside her, she knew anything was possible, for this was a different feeling from before. And though she expected it to hurt— lord, what virgin hadn’t been told it would hurt like the very devil?—it didn’t. He slid right into her, buried himself to the hilt, and as he did, he grazed across an area deep inside that made her jerk.

“Alex?” she questioned, for the feeling was different from before, and yet the same.

“Let it happen again,” she heard him say. “Let it come again.”

And as he stroked her, his eyes staring into her own in a way that made her feel oddly owned by him, and yet not, she felt it begin to build again. Every time he stroked that place, that center of her being, she jerked and moaned.

His eyes grew glazed, and she had no doubt that her eyes looked the same. Suddenly, the need to give him pleasure became an obsession, a need that fueled her own passion in a way that near consumed her. She tightened around him.

“Mary,” he moaned.

Her ankles wrapped around the back of his legs, everything within Mary clenching and squeezing as she fought to give him a release while at the same time gaining her own.

His head dropped next to her ear, as if he couldn’t stand to hold it up any longer. “Lord,” he huffed. “Lord, lord, lord,” he repeated, moving in and out of her. His breathing came faster and faster. Mary’s breathing matched. Thrust for thrust, they met each other. Sigh to sigh. Mingled breath to mingled breath. And she was there, almost there, Mary’s body coiling in that now familiar way. Oh, aye—lord bless him—he was doing it again.

“Alex,” she answered back.

“You’re so tight,” he panted. “So bloody tight. I need to pull out.”