The Courtesan's Bed (29 page)

“They would love and admire their mother as much as their father does.”

“My heart would break if my children regarded me with contempt for my past.”

“There are no guarantees in life, for any of us. All we can do is try our damnedest and hope for the best.”

Her gaze slid away. “I feel as though I'm being pulled in two.”

He caught her chin. “Look at me.”

She did, and saw sincerity and solid abiding love shining from his eyes.

“Do you love me?”

She took a deep breath. “With all my heart.”

“Then we can overcome any obstacle. Besides, you know that the French are more forgiving of a grand horizontal's past than the straitlaced English.”

“That is true. Several of my sisters in sin have married respectable men, even noblemen, and now live lives of exemplary virtue.”

Darius grinned. “As Lady Clarridge, you would be above reproach, like Caesar's wife. Except, of course, when you're in my bed. Then I'll expect you to practice your passionate courtesan's wiles on me.”

Hope filled her for the first time. “Do you think we could have a future together?”

“As long as we love each other, I don't care about the rest of the world.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh, Darius…”

“Say yes, Régine. Just say yes. I promise you won't be sorry.”

She took his face in her hands and stared deeply into those expressive winter eyes. “I do love you so.”

“Then prove it by becoming my wife.”

Seven years ago, she had dreamed that she would one day marry Penbry, her first love. Now she was grateful that she hadn't, because his son was the far better man. Darius wasn't arrogant or selfish, and he would never torment her with infidelities. He would protect and cherish her and their children. If only she had the courage to take her destiny in hand as she once had seven years ago.

Then, in the deepest recesses of her mind, came Odile's voice as clearly as if her friend were standing right beside her. “You can't live this life of sin forever. You love each other. What else is there but
amour
? The rest of life will fall into place. You'll see. So accept his proposal,
chérie
, otherwise you'll regret it for the rest of your life.”

You'll regret it for the rest of your life.

Before she could change her mind, she clutched him by the shoulders. “Yes! Yes, I will marry you.”

His smile lit up the room, and he let out a jubilant whoop. He pulled her against him and held her as if he'd never let her go. “You have made me the happiest man in the world.”

“We should celebrate with champagne.”

He gave her a hard, claiming kiss. “Later. I have a far better celebration planned.”

She pulled away reluctantly. “Perhaps we should wait until our wedding night.”

“Our wedding night?” His expression of dismay was comical to behold as he looked down at his stiff erection. “You couldn't be that cruel to a desperate man in pain.”

She giggled. “No, I couldn't, but I do adore teasing you.”

She lay back against the pillows and stared at Darius with a hunger that began in the depths of her heart. Soon, he would be her husband. His handsome face would be the first thing she saw in the morning and the last when she went to bed at night. They would have children together and grow old together, sharing life's sunshine and shadows.

All her other protectors had been lovers of her body, most forgotten as soon as they moved on, but Darius was the lover of her heart, the one she would never forget.

Darius gazed raptly at her as if memorizing her features. He ran his fingertips lightly over her eyebrows, down her nose, caressing her lower lip with his thumb, then her chin.

“I never get tired of looking at you,” he whispered, his face aglow with happiness.

“Good, because you're going to be looking at me for the rest of your life, even when I'm old and wrinkled.”

“And making such sweet, transporting love to you for the rest of our lives.” He kissed everywhere his fingers had touched, her brows, nose and chin. He settled his warm, hard lips on hers, gently at first, then more demanding, teasing, insistent, his tongue seeking entrance.

She parted her lips and welcomed him, stroking his sweet tongue with her own, back and forth, letting the first stirrings of excitement awaken and build.

Darius flung back the covers with an impatient hand, baring them both to each other's hungry gaze. He stroked her only with his lips, not his hands, from her neck, down her arms and down her body. He was claiming her, branding her as if his kisses could leave visible marks, telling the world that she belonged to him and him alone.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the light, soft tracks of his touch as he kissed her inner thighs, hovering perilously close to her thatch. After trailing down her legs and finishing at the base of her toes, first on the right foot, then the left, he retraced his sensuous path up her body to settle on her lips once again.

When he finished kissing her, he stared deeply into her eyes. “I'm a very lucky man.”

“And I am the luckiest woman.” She ran her fingertips along his hard, sculpted shoulder and down his arm. When she came to his hand, she drew it to her left breast.

The minute his palm cupped her soft flesh, the bright light of lust softened the harsh planes of his face. He squeezed, raising the nipple into a long, hard button.

Régine gasped and shivered in delight.

“I love watching your expression change when I touch your breasts.” He cupped the right one. “Mustn't neglect this one, or it will feel slighted and sulk.”

“We can't have a sulking breast.” She lay back, offering herself to him. “I love your touch.”

He sat up and reached for them both, flicking the rosy, straining tips with his thumbs. He caught them between his fingers, his thumbs gently pulling and stretching while Régine groaned in enjoyment.

He continued tormenting her until she thought she'd go mad from the pleasure clenching her insides.

He stopped and inspected his handiwork. “Now they're ripe and just the right size to bestow pleasure.” He took the swollen nipple into his mouth and sucked.

A lightning bolt of bliss sizzled along her nerve endings, settling in her groin and growing, spreading throughout her lower body, turning her wet and ready for his possession. She reached down to thread her fingers through his thick, silken hair, encouraging him.

He took his sweet time, licking, sucking, gently raking his teeth against her sensitive flesh, causing Régine to arch her back and cry out his name.

Satisfied, he planted one kiss on each breast before stroking down her belly, his caresses as feather light and arousing as she'd ever experienced.

A wicked smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Is my bride-to-be ready for me?”

He held her mons and slid one finger experimentally along her cleft already slick with moisture. “Ah, so wet and ready for my eager cock. But first, you deserve even more pleasure.”

His fingertip found her swollen clit, and he caressed it with a merciless rhythm.

Régine groaned as the heat pooled intensely around his relentless finger. She spread her legs wider in invitation.

“Tell me how badly you want me,” he rasped.

“Take me!” Her body ignited. “Take me hard! Now!”

“With pleasure.”

He positioned himself between her legs and penetrated her with one hard, quick push of his slender hips, and settled himself in for a wild ride between her thighs. His thrusts of possession were those of a rutting stallion, fast and deep, and Régine found the raw brutality of it so exhilarating that a sharp yelp of ribald laughter burst from her throat.

Her pleasure enflamed Darius further and he increased the tempo, moving faster, in and out, in and out, the bed creaking such sweet music from the violence of his lovemaking. His face was the twisted mask of a man tortured by pleasure, the cords of his neck visible with the strain. She rubbed his shoulders, slick and damp with sweat, and lifted her own hips to meet his every thrust.

Darius stared at her out of compelling wild eyes. “Touch yourself.”

She pinched her nipples, then slipped her finger down to her pubic thatch to stimulate her clit, feeling the movement of Darius's penis as she rubbed in a frenzy of desire.

Their moans were loud and mindless as they lost control in perfect synch, each galloping toward an elusive climax that hovered just out a range.

Régine wrapped her legs around his and reached up to dig her nails into his buttocks to spur him on. Darius flinched and moaned, but increased his pace at her command. Just as Régine felt her own hard-won climax start, the building contractions squeezing his cock inside her, Darius threw back his head, bellowed, “Mine!” and came again and again and again.

When they were both finished, he rolled off her to rest by her side, but he flung one arm across her ribs to imprison her.

“You'll be the death of me,” he said with a contented sigh.

“But you'll die with a smile on your face.” She snuggled closer, breathing in the delightful musk of their lovemaking clinging to their damp bodies.

His smile died, and an animal ferocity turned his gray eyes to steel. “When I saw how badly Dragomilov had hurt you, I wanted to kill him with my bare hands.”

“I could see murder in your eyes, but I'm glad you didn't. I wouldn't want you to have his death on your conscience, as much as he deserved it for what he did to me and Odile.” She stroked his hip. “We owe Ivy Doucette a debt of gratitude.”

“One we can never repay. She was very brave to defy Dragomilov and come to me. If she hadn't, Anatole and I never would've found you in time. You'd be in Russia by now, at his mercy.”

“I wonder what she'll do now?”

“She's disappeared. When the police took Dragomilov and his accomplices into custody, he kept demanding that they bring Ivy to him. The police searched the house, but she was nowhere to be found. Finally, the head groom told them she'd taken one of the carriages into the city. Dragomilov was furious.”

Régine shook her head. “Talk about audacity, kidnapping a woman and bringing her to the same house where you're keeping your mistress.”

Darius propped herself up on one arm. “Do you remember the diamond necklace Dragomilov bought for you?”

“How could I ever forget?”

“Well, evidently Ivy absconded with it for parts unknown.”

Her eyes widened. “She
stole
the necklace? Those diamonds are worth a small fortune.” She burst out laughing. “Good for her! And I thought she was going to help me because of all I'd offered her.”

“Evidently Mademoiselle Doucette had her own agenda.”

Wherever Ivy landed, Régine hoped she would have a long, happy life with a kind, generous man who was worthy of her, like Darius. At least the lucky Ivy had escaped Dragomilov; Odile had not.

“I'm glad you pressed charges against that bastard,” Darius said, “even though he'll never serve any time in prison.”

She kissed his cheek. “At least he got sent back to Russia and will not be allowed to set foot in Paris for a long, long time.”

“Banishment is too good for him.”

“We must be satisfied with that.”

“Enough about Dragomilov.” Darius closed his eyes. “First, we shall rest, and when we awaken, we have champagne to drink and a wedding to plan.”

Régine closed her eyes with a contented sigh and dreamed of her wedding day and a long, happy life with the man she loved.

Wedding Announcement in
Le Figaro

Regina Willett, formerly Régine Laflamme, Queen of Fire, married Darius Granger, the Earl of Clarridge, on May 23 in a civil ceremony at Maxim's.

The bride, radiant in a deep green silk gown embroidered with dramatic peacock feathers on the skirt and train, was given away by the acclaimed journalist Anatole Beaucaire. She was attended by Lady Katherine Granger, the future Duchess of Sefton, her sister the Lady Emma Granger, and Miss Molly Wicks.

The groom's father sent his regrets.

About the Author

Sandrine O'Shea is the pen name of an author of fifteen historical romances published by traditional print publishers, and she's eagerly looking forward to the release of her first e-book. When she's not writing or reading romances and mysteries, she enjoys beading, wandering through art galleries and craft fairs, going to dog shows, and occasionally baking something fattening and delicious. She and her husband share their New England home with their cat, Mrs. Grumbles, who can't understand her parents' affections for dogs. Write to her at
[email protected]
and visit her website
www.sandrineoshea.com
.

If it feels right, do it…even if it could get you killed.

Honor Bound

© 2010 Myla Jackson

Bound and Tied, Book 1

After months of isolation—and celibacy—claim partners Zach Braun and Jake Thompson finally discover gold. And, as their celebration spills over into forbidden lust, an unexpected sexual attraction to each other rises. Then they discover they're not alone…and the spy is trying to make off with their clothes and their gold.

On the run from an Indian captor, parson's widow Honor Whitaker is hungry, desperate, and determined to never let another man control her. Stumbling upon two men touching each other in an extraordinary way, she finds herself mesmerized by their tryst. And scandalously aroused by a totally different kind of hunger.

Catching the little thief is easy, but Zach can think of only one way to silence Honor's panicked babbling. Kiss her senseless. One sample of her delightful lips leads to more…then to a night where Zach and Jake show her that a man's control over her body isn't necessarily a bad thing.