The Danger of Desire (30 page)

And his hand grappled its rough way across the scoop of her belly, and his fingers grazed across her, there, and drenching heat and blissful icy water exploded in her belly, and she was gone.

CHAPTER 21

S
he came back to herself slowly, floating down as if her body were a river, free and flowing within its own banks. And Hugh was right there next to her, holding her, touching her, stroking his hand lightly along the length of her skin. It was strange and wonderful, this physical closeness, this intimacy. He seemed not to have exhausted his curiosity about her body. He was looking at her hair, running the choppy strands through his hands carefully.

“I am sorry I upset you by cutting it.” Her voice was small, as if it traveled a long distance to arrive at her lips.

“Shh. No matter,” he murmured, and kept touching her, making her feel new inside herself, as though she had never fully used her senses before. Then, he rolled up on one elbow to look at her, with one of his legs angled across hers, and contradicted himself by asking, “Why did you?”

She automatically tried to shrug away the question, but he was too close.

“Tell me.”

“I was scared. I suppose, I wasn’t really thinking. I wanted to make sure the papers were dry, and I was getting soaked. And cold. So I went to the rag traders, and then, I thought it would be best, if they were looking for a girl, that I be a boy. It’s always easier to go about unmolested at night if you’re a boy. And I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It doesn’t. All that matters is you got back safely.” He gathered her to him, her back tucked snug against his chest.

“And that you got the evidence you needed? Then you’re not angry?”

“No.” His words vibrated through her body as he shifted subtly behind her. “Does this feel like I’m angry?”

His mouth came down to gently kiss and worry at that spot, that sensitive place where her collarbone met the side of her neck. Sensation flared anew under her skin.

“No.” She wondered if he could hear the capitulation and encouragement in her voice. “But you said you didn’t like it.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” He ran his hands through her hair, over and over, tugging and drawing it out, fanning it through his fingers. Stroking her like a cat. “I’ve decided to be enthralled. Because now I can see the back of your neck all the time without moving your hair. I can use my hands to do other, more interesting things.” His palm slid around her hip to span her belly and then stroke lower.

She closed her eyes and felt the glorious heat of him all around her, surrounding and pressing into her, fanning her arousal to life. She wanted more. More of his heat and his comfort. More of the intensity of his unwavering focus. More. “Yes. Please.”

He took her permission to steal both hands around her hips and arrange her legs so she was open to his touch. She let him, surrendering her will gladly to the coming pleasure.

“Is this what you want?” he asked as he slid one long finger into her flesh, his palm warm and rough against her mound.

“Yes.” She could feel the hot strength of his erect rod against her bottom, and she arched back against him, seeking the exquisite friction of his body and his hands.

“You’re wet,” he rasped into her ear. “Your body is ready for me.”

“I’m
ready for you,” she answered.

And then, in one strong movement, he rolled her forward onto her belly and came over her, pressing her down into the mattress. The air whooshed out of her lungs on a gasp as the weight and strength of his body settled over her.

“Hugh?” His name felt strange upon her lips. Everything felt strange. He was kissing the skin along her shoulders, loving her with little biting nips that sent shocking rays of sensation shooting down deep into her belly. She shouldn’t like it so. “Hugh!”

“Hush.” He laced his fingers through hers on the sheets. “Does it feel good?” He let his glorious body slide along hers, rubbing against her. The shocking little sensations intensified and ignited a low fire of tension that built between her legs. She clenched down the feeling, but it only brought tight waves of yearning pulsing up from her belly, pushing higher through her whole body. Crushed against the mattress, her breasts began to swell and ache for his touch. She tried to push back against him, to appease the chaos of sensation rioting through her, but he held her down with the weight and power of his body above hers. His large palm settled into the small of her back, holding her still before him. “Do you trust me?”

She didn’t know what to answer. She didn’t trust anything, not even the waves of pleasure lapping at her belly.

“I’m going to teach you to trust me,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m going to teach you to trust this.” He reached between them and stroked his hand up the cleft of her bottom.

Her body knew the answer, rising up into his hand, his touch. But she did trust him, far more than she trusted herself. Because she knew already what she had given up to have this—this man’s possession of her body—and feared what more she would be willing to give.

“Open to me,” he pleaded in a gritty voice. Her body reacted to his words with a spike of lust that made her clench and spasm in opposition. The feeling intensified as he impatiently urged her to comply, kneeing her legs farther apart. “Yes.”

She could hear the urgency in his voice and breathing, and she could feel it in his heavy, possessive touch. And it felt good to know she pleased and aroused him in return. She had gained power as well by putting herself into his control.

The thought sent another wave, shocking in its intensity, careening under her skin, urging her on, urging her to abandon herself to the power of his body. Of his need for her.

Her own need, to possess and be possessed, to love and be loved, rose in response.

He sat back on his heels and ran his hands slowly around the curve of her bottom, dragging his palms and fingers down the long muscles of her legs to her ankles. She felt the heat of his gaze and the touch of his hand opening her flesh, readying her for his entrance, arranging her for his pleasure. The liquid heat of her body rose like a tide inside of her, carrying her along on the ocean of her surging need. Carrying her toward him, toward the pleasure that awaited just out of reach.

And then he put his hands upon her hips and surged into her with a strength that shocked a cry from her mouth. Her body bucked up into his, defiant and eager in its need.

“Hush.” He came over her, to push her deep into the mattress, to still her with his weight and his body. He covered her hands with this own and laced his fingers through hers. “Hold on,” he instructed.

And she did. She gripped his hands as if she could hold herself to the earth while his body created heat, and need, and bliss within her. He took her with fierce sweetness, strong and unyielding, while murmuring encouragement into her ear. She could not keep from crying out in wonder every time he rocked into her body, sending what little thought remained spinning into endless sensation. Meggs closed her eyes and held tight to herself, resisting the urge to let go, to hurl herself off this cliff of jagged passions.

Her cries only served to inflame him, her capitulation to encourage him. He let go of her hands to hold her hips and thrust harder, deeper. Held captive, surrounded by his body, his heat and scent, she could only feel him and his possession. She could only welcome his dominion over her body. His hands ranged over her back, around her shoulder, and down to steal under her chest. She pushed herself up on her arms so he could reach her aching breasts and roll the tight peaks between his thumb and forefingers, the rough abrasion sending fierce stabs of arousal twining with the pleasure coiling deep in the pit of her belly.

He lifted her up and onto her knees before him, then pulled her back against his chest. Every feeling, every sensation intensified. The cool of the air against her heated skin, the aching bliss of his hands, rough on her body, rasping at her nipples and then lower. The pleasure and the heat of his skin behind hers. The sweet friction of his body plunging into hers, sending liquid fire billowing under her skin.

“Meggs. Meggs,” he called, and there was desperation and triumph in his voice, and he pitched her forward and plunged into her with ferocious, searing abandon. And then with a suddenness that shocked her, she came apart, flying away, soaring upward into the sky.

She woke up warm, as warm as she’d ever been, but devilishly hungry and uncomfortable. Her hand hurt from being slept on. By him. The source of all the delicious warmth. And noise. He made a deep breathing noise as he lay on his back with one arm thrown over his head. All male strength and abandon.

She inched her arm free and debated going in search of food. Instead, she spent the moment looking at him, strange and curiously blank in repose. Meggs didn’t think she liked the way he looked asleep—inanimate, all his cares and concerns erased and pushed far away. She liked him awake, with those intensely searching eyes alert and sharply focused. Full of cagey, raw energy. Strong and reliable.

Oh, Lord help her, but she wanted to rely on him. Just this once, she wanted to let go of all the plans and strategies and just be here, in his bed, in his arms. For a little while at least. He hadn’t spoken at all of what was to come next, if he expected her to stay or go, or keep thieving for him. He had said an unspecified amount of time—but how long was that? And what was to come after? She knew the answer—knew what it had to be. He knew what she was, what she had chosen to become. If she was ever going to put this life behind her and go respectable, she was going to have to leave all traces of Meggs the thief behind. She needed to start fresh and put all the mistakes of her past behind her.

And lying with Captain McAlden was a mistake—a glorious mistake—but a mistake nonetheless.

She followed the contour of his well-muscled arm as it lay over his head, almost reaching out to touch the skin on the inside of his elbow, when he suddenly rolled over her, all awake and alert.

“And do you like what you see?” he asked in his sleepy growl.

“You snore.”

Improbably, he smiled. “Do I?”

“Yes. Hasn’t anyone ever told you?”

“Mmm.” He kissed the side of her neck. “No. Never woke up with anyone else before.”

Something about the unguarded, spontaneous way he spoke made her pause and look at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

Hugh could hear the pointed curiosity as well as the dawning incredulity in her voice. He slowed his hand, and instead of pulling her close as he wanted, he settled for brushing a stray lock of hair off the frown she was pleating into her forehead. This was not a conversation he was particularly enthralled to have. He would much rather talk about breakfast. Better yet, he would much rather have
her
for breakfast. So he concentrated on distracting her by exploring the texture of her lips. Her soft, plush, mobile lips. But she was drawing back to stare at him.

He rolled off her and subsided onto his back. She was too clever by half.

“But ... Oh, right. A man wouldn’t want to spend a whole night with a ... I mean that would cost a lot ...”

“No. That’s not it at all. You are simply the first.”

He stated the fact without any elaboration.

But she sailed right on by, holding to the same tack. “To spend the night here, with you? Am I meant to be flattered?”

“Very much so.” He turned to smile at her. She really had no idea. And that was fine.

But she was a clever girl, and she continued to look at him, concentration and puzzlement darkening her eyes. “Very much so?” she echoed his words before she asked quietly, “How many women have you had?” Her question was so characteristic—direct and straightforward. No dancing about the bad facts.

“Had?” He drew out a moment, teasing her with it. Teasing himself.

“Had. In the biblical. Tupped. Fucked.”

He fought down both his laughter and his urge to lecture. He had to remember she knew no better. He had to remember her education, such as it was, came from London’s grimier streets. “What we did was not
tupping.
What we did, what we
do,
is make love.”

She retreated a little in the face of his tone, but then repeated quietly, “How many?”

He thought of another evasion, but decided she deserved to know the unvarnished truth. “One.”

“One?” Her brow screwed down in confusion as she rolled up onto her elbow to examine his face for evidence. “Only one other?”

“No. No other.” Hugh felt neither embarrassment nor pride. He had his reasons for his choices, but they amounted to only one thing—she was his choice. “
Only
one.”

“But that would be ...”

“You.”

“No.” She rolled onto his chest, gripping his arms, peering at him, as though she could find the reason written across his skin. “But you’re ...”

“Eight and twenty. Is that so hard to fathom?” He reached for her. He had to touch, to strengthen his connection to her. To make her understand. “How many men have you been with?”

Her eyes sharpened to black bullets. “You know—”

“Just so,” he finished quietly. “And are you dissatisfied? Or craving the company of others?”

“No,” she answered slowly, as if she were reckoning as she spoke.

“So there you have it.” He brushed the sheet and blankets down, uncovering her like a gift to himself so he could stroke along her sleek flank. “It’s not that complicated.”

She closed her eyes a little at his touch, but then shook her head. She couldn’t let it be. She continued to search his face for something she could understand, something she could believe. “Every toff I’ve ever met, or ever known, or ever heard of, sticks his cock into
anything
willing. And even unwilling, if you listen to some of the housemaids. But handsome as you are, I can’t believe you’ve ever had a shortage of willing girls.”

He shrugged away the suggestion. “Like you, I’m simply not promiscuous. And I don’t believe in a double standard. But I thank you for the compliment. It does me no end of good to know you find me handsome.” His hand slid around to trace the sensitive underside of her breast. “This is all I want. This is all I need. You.”