The Seduction (40 page)

"Leave it on. I want to see you, look at you."

She shook her head and pulled against his hold, trying to reach the lamp. He sensed her acute embarrassment and fear; he knew she didn't want him to see her body, but nothing on earth was going to stop him from enjoying the sight of her.

"Maggie, I have to see you. Don't deny me."

"I don't want you to see," she whispered painfully.

"I know."

He nibbled on her earlobe while his thumb stroked her wrist, and slowly, very slowly, she relaxed. He released her to reach for the top button of her nightgown and began slipping the pearl buttons free. She did not move, but by the time he unfastened the last one, she was trembling, her head turned away, her eyes squeezed shut.

He pulled the gown off her shoulders and caught his breath at the sight of her bare breasts, round and lush. "Oh, God," he whispered hoarsely as the gown slid down her arms and fell away, catching at the flare of her hips.

He slid his hands up her ribs to cup her breasts, and his thumbs brushed back and forth across her erect nipples.

"Beautiful," he murmured and lowered his head to kiss her breast. "So beautiful. I knew you would be. From the first moment I saw you, I knew."

Lost in the sensuous haze, she listened to his whispered words, felt his hands stroking her so gently, and, with an intuition born of this moment, she realized he had made love to her countless times in his imagination. That astonishing discovery disarmed her, took away every defense she had. All her fears and apprehensions vanished, leaving only her overpowering love for him. She knew that nothing had ever been so right.

He opened his mouth over her breast, suckling her, teasing and toying with her nipple, sending jolts of sensation through her entire body. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on tightly and shuddering with mindless pleasure.

When he sank to his knees in front of her, she put her arms around his head, cradling him, exhilarated by the brush of his hair against her bare skin, the glide of his fingertips across her ribs, the warmth of his breath as he kissed her navel.

He slid his hands down over her hips and bunched silk in his fists. One tug, and her gown glided down her legs. Then he was touching her again, his hand sliding between her legs, caressing her in that secret place, just the way he had in the meadow. She grasped his shoulders to keep herself from falling and moved with his hand, unable to stop herself, unable to stop the moans that he was tearing from her throat with each stroke of his fingers. Exquisite pleasure washed over her in waves, higher and higher, until suddenly everything seemed to explode inside her and she cried out in ecstasy.

"Trevor! Oh, Trevor!" His breath was hot and quick against her tummy, and he held her hips in his hands, steadying her.

After a few moments, he rose to his feet and turned toward the bed. Grasping the top edge of the bed covers, he pulled back the counterpane and top sheet, then lifted her in his arms and placed her in the center of the bed. She fell back into the pillows and looked up at him. In his face, she saw the desire, the hunger for her, and she could not look away.

Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he began to undress. His white silk necktie and gray waistcoat landed on a chair. The pearl studs from his shirt landed in a crystal bowl on the bedside table with a clink.

He pulled the white braces from his shoulders and removed his shirt. The sight of his chest made her throat tighten. Without thinking, she said, "I think you're beautiful, too."

"That's a first," he said, chuckling. "I don't think any woman has ever said that to me before." He tossed the shirt aside and began to unbutton his black trousers, his gaze still locked with hers. But when he slid the trousers off his hips, she lost her nerve and looked away, staring at the ceiling. She wanted to look at him again, but her embarrassment was far stronger than her curiosity at this moment, and she kept her gaze fixed on the swirling pattern of the plastered ceiling.

The mattress dipped with his weight as he stretched out beside her on the bed. He touched her, a touch that seared her skin like fire, and she jumped, startled. His hand spread over her tummy, then moved lower, sliding again between her thighs. She stiffened as she felt his finger push against her, into her, a stretching sensation that was quite strange, but not unpleasant.

Against her hip, she felt something else, a vague outline of something hard that felt hot against her bare skin. She knew what that hardness was, what it meant, what would come next.
Mild discomfort,
Cornelia had told her.

His finger moved, stroking her inside as his thumb brushed her curls in a tiny circle that teased and toyed with her. "Trevor," she gasped, shivering as if she had a fever. "Oh, oh, heavens!"

He withdrew his hand and rolled on top of her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. He held himself above her, his weight on his arms, his hips moving slowly against hers. She could feel the hard and aroused part of him rubbing against her in that secret place where his fingers had touched her, and the pleasure washed over her again at the extraordinary caress. She gasped as the feeling rose within her, growing stronger, hotter, until she was arching against him, straining, feeling wild euphoria. She cried out at the peak, her hands convulsively kneading the powerful muscles of his back.

He slid his arms beneath her back, lowering himself onto her. He kissed her hair, her throat, her cheek, his breath quick and hot against her skin.

"It's time, Maggie," he said raggedly. "I've waited for you as long as I can. I can't wait any more."

She spread her legs, and the movement seemed to ignite something inside him. He made a rough sound deep in his throat as he turned his head to capture her mouth with his. He kissed her hard and, without warning, he thrust his hips powerfully against hers. The motion brought him fully inside her, inflicting pain like the slice of a knife.

She cried out against his mouth. This was far more than the mild discomfort Cornelia had warned her about. It was excruciating. All the pleasure evaporated, and she turned her face away. She could hear herself whimpering in pain and panic, but she could not stop. She pushed at his shoulders.

Trevor stilled on top of her. He nuzzled her neck, tasting her skin in delicate nibbles. He kissed her anywhere he could reach. "Maggie, Maggie," he murmured. "I've hurt you. I'm sorry."

The pain was already receding, and she heard the regret in his voice. She swallowed hard. Her arms slid back around him. "I'm all right," she whispered. "Is it, is it over?"

"No."

Margaret licked her dry lips. "That is . .. unfortunate."

Trevor groaned against her ear. "I'm sorry, darling."

She did not want him to be sorry. She did not want him to regret anything. She moved beneath him, trying to accustom herself to the feel of him inside her. The sharp pain was gone, and all she felt was a slight soreness deep inside. She moved again, tentatively.

"Don't," he ground out through clenched teeth. "For God's sake, Maggie, be still. I’m trying . . . to be easy."

He held himself so rigid above her that she could feel the tension within him. The realization that he was striving to hold back for her sake, to let her get used to this, made her love him all the more, but she did not want him to wait. They were married now. He didn't have to hold back. Guided by instinct and love, she moved beneath him again, rocking her hips in a way she hoped would push him over the edge.

"Oh, God," he moaned, pulling back slightly. "Oh, God. Maggie, wait."

She ignored him. She arched upward against Trevor, bringing him fully inside her again. He gave a harsh cry, and then suddenly he was thrusting into her with rough and frantic moves, his weight pressing her into the mattress.

She adapted to the rhythm of his body, moving with him. It hurt a bit still, but she knew he was holding back nothing with her now. He was losing himself in her with passionate abandon, and she was glad.

"I love you!" she cried, wrapping her legs around his hips and glorying in the feel of what was no longer pain, but pleasure, the pleasure of giving. "Oh, Trevor, I love you so!"

Suddenly, he clutched her tighter, she felt him shudder, and she knew she was giving him the same moment of intense, exquisite pleasure that he had given her moments before. He collapsed on top of her, breathing hard against her ear. "Maggie," he whispered, lifting one hand to touch her hair. "My wife."

At those words, a sweet and joyous tenderness unfolded inside her like a flower opening to the sun.

She turned her head to kiss his neck. "My husband," she answered, smiling against his throat. "My hero."

For a long time, she lay beneath him, content to simply savor the feel of his body, heavy and solid and reassuring. She caressed his back and felt his breath against her ear.

After a few moments, he stirred. "I must be getting heavy," he murmured. Before she could deny that, he pressed a kiss to her ear and rolled away from her. He reached for the counterpane, which had tangled around their feet, and pulled it over them both. After settling comfortably into the thick feather mattress, he slid one arm beneath her head to act as her pillow and wrapped the other around her waist. "No separate bedrooms," he mumbled.

Within moments, she knew from the even cadence of his breathing that he had fallen asleep.

But Margaret could not do the same. She felt so gloriously alive that sleep was an impossibility. Today, she had given him all that she had, and it had been no sacrifice because she loved him. Joy blossomed inside her, and she wanted to laugh aloud.

She lay awake for a long time within the circle of his arms, her cheek against his shoulder, happier and more content than she had ever been in her life. She knew that, in this man, she had found the true love she'd always dreamed about.

There was nothing better
for a man to wake up to than the scent of a woman. Without opening his eyes, Trevor inhaled deeply of lemon soap, powder, and soft, feminine warmth, a combination that was uniquely Maggie. He'd woken many mornings to that luscious, tormenting fragrance, but it was different this time. More potent, more quixotic to his senses. A jolt of pure lust rocked him as he realized what it was. The scent of lovemaking.

He opened his eyes. The lamp had gone out, but soft gray light filtered in around the shuttered windows, telling him that it was morning. Margaret stirred beside him, and he turned his head to find her awake and watching him.

She was lying on her side, propped up on one elbow with her cheek resting on her palm, the sheet pulled up modestly over her breasts. Her long hair fell all around her face, spilling over her bare shoulders.

He rolled to his side and lifted his hand, his palm sliding over her round cheek, his fingers weaving through the silken tangle of her hair to curve behind her head. "Good morning," he murmured and pulled her toward him.