The Unthinkable (33 page)

Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

He stood up from the side of the bed and perfunctorily began to remove his clothes. Her eyes widened. “What are you d-d-doing?”

He grinned. “I would think that was obvious.”

She blushed, no doubt to her roots.

“We no longer have to worry about being interrupted, Genie. There is a certain freedom in being man and wife.”

Despite her embarrassment, she could not look away. She’d never seen his bare chest before. She admitted being exceedingly curious as to how the broad shoulders and muscled chest that so gloriously filled a jacket would appear unadorned. Sensing her interest, his movements slowed, turning less mechanical. The makings of a sly smile curved his generous lips.

He started with his complicated cravat, untying and alternately unwrapping the long sections of linen that bound his neck. Next he moved to his waistcoat, carefully unbuttoning the cream-colored buttons that matched the fabric of the elaborately embroidered garment. Shrugging it off his shoulders, it fell in the growing pile of clothing pooling on the floor.

Genie still couldn’t see anything beyond the elaborate ruffles of his linen shirtsleeves. Frustrated, she must have made a sound because he looked at her and chuckled.

His long, tanned fingers moved to the ties at his neck and stopped. Genie’s breath caught. Her fear was temporarily forgotten. The anticipation of what was to come only increased the titillation of watching him undress. She felt warm and soft all over. From the smug smile on his face he knew what he was doing to her, seducing her by the slow tease of his performance.

Unable to turn away, she watched him, fascinated by the small vee of skin and smattering of brown hairs that the opening of his shirt had revealed at his neck. Finally, in one fell motion, he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it on the pile at his feet.

A small choking sound emanated from somewhere deep in her throat. He resembled the Greek god that she’d once compared him to. The perfection of his too-handsome face was set off magnificently by the power of his tall, well-muscled form. His naked chest was even more impressive than she’d imagined. His shoulders were broad and strong, his chest and arms layered with heavy muscles, his stomach flat and hard. His tanned skin gleamed in the candlelight, smooth except for the small triangle of hair below his collar bone and a light trail that started below his navel and disappeared beneath the waist of his breeches.

He didn’t get muscles like that from boxing and fencing. There was a raw virility to his form that suggested more strenuous pursuits. Perhaps he mined quarry in his spare time.

He kicked off his buckled shoes and yanked off the stockings he’d worn with the formal attire. His calves were as thickly muscled and well formed as the rest of him. But when he started to unbutton the fall front of his breeches, Genie stopped him. The embarrassment of her bold perusal had finally caught up with her.

“Please, the lights.”

He looked like he might tease her, but instead he moved around the room to do her bidding—providing her the opportunity to notice that his back was every bit as powerfully sculpted as his chest. When he was done, only the fire and the flame from a single candle illuminated the large chamber.

He moved back to the side of the bed. Tore the bed coverings from her white-knuckled hold, pulled them aside and lowered himself to the bed so that he was lying half on top of her. She closed her eyes, savoring the familiar but nearly forgotten sensation of his weight on top of her. The primal feeling of protection.

She couldn’t stop herself from touching him. She gasped at the sensation of his warm skin under her hands. He felt so smooth and yet so hard at the same time. Her fingers splayed over the powerful stacks of muscles, marveling at the way he flexed reflexively under her fingertips. There was a solidness to him that hadn’t been there before. The boy had developed into a man. Her body responded to his undeniable strength. She never fathomed how potent an aphrodisiac a naked chest could be.

Her hand skimmed his stomach and she watched in wonder as narrow bands of muscles formed in parallel lines where she touched. Amazed, she traced the rigid bands with her fingertips, dipping lower and lower until the heel of her hand grazed the edge of his breeches. The unmistakable bulge of his erection gave her a moment’s hesitation.

It was his turn to groan as she continued her bold exploration through the fine wool of his breeches, outlining the enormous dimensions with the palm of her hand. He was thick and long, straining against the fabric confines. His face darkened with exquisite torture as she molded him in her hand. The feeling of control excited her, never realizing that she could become so aroused just by sight and touch alone.

He grabbed her wrist. “Enough. You’re killing me,” he said through clenched teeth. “You’ll have to save your explorations for later, my sweet. As it is, this is going to be over much too soon.” He rolled over on one elbow to allow himself a better view. “Now it’s my turn.”

Boldly, his gaze traveled the length of her body, an unmistakable predatory gleam in his eye. He looked like he could ravish her with the heat of his stare. She hadn’t been the only one aroused by what had just occurred.

His expression had turned fierce, hard planes and angles replacing the confident swagger. His jaw was clenched and restraint had caused the veins in his neck to stand out. He wanted her and he was fighting to control himself.

Genie felt a little of her panic return.

But he soothed her with the gentleness of his touch. Reverently, like the sculptor molding his clay, his hand skimmed the curve of her breast, the contours of her waist and hip and the long sleek muscles of her thigh and calf. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said hoarsely, more to himself than to her.

The heat of desire pooled again, low in her belly. His slow seduction was working, her body craved his touch. But would it be enough? She willed herself to not think about what was to come, but to surrender to the passion of the moment.

The moment was all she had.

She clasped her hands around the back of his neck and pulled him closer, welcoming the heavy press of his body against hers, all too aware of the way their bodies fit together perfectly.

Her lips parted as his mouth found hers in a hot, searing kiss.

Huntingdon was having a difficult time controlling the wave of desire that had crashed down upon him when she’d touched him. The burst of male pride he’d felt at her blatant admiration of his naked chest had been nothing compared to the sensation of her soft hands stroking his skin.

She’d never touched him like that before and the force of desire that hit him was entirely unexpected. And then her hand had moved lower. He’d held his breath, stomach clenched, trying not to explode. Trying not to think of how it would feel to have her hand curled tightly around his length, pumping him hard until he erupted.

Every little movement drove him mad. When her lips had parted in wonder, he’d imagined her mouth wrapped around the heavy head of his cock, running her tongue down his length, and sucking him dry as he came deep in her throat. A proper wife would never be expected to do such things, of course, but it didn’t stop a red-blooded Englishman from dreaming.

It had been far too long since he had a woman, and Huntingdon was worried. Worried that it would be over too quickly. So he’d pulled her hand away from where he wanted it most, and tried to slow his raging lust.

But when she’d kissed him, he’d lost the ability to reason. He crushed her to him, deepening the kiss with his mouth and the press of his body into hers. He stroked her tongue with his, tasting the sweet honey of her lips. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted it harder, faster, to devour her with the urgency of his need. He wanted it the way it used to be.

She met him stroke for stroke. Her mouth moved under his with equal desperation, equal hunger. Her nails bit into his back, deeper and deeper as the kiss intensified. The press of her hips against his groin drove him mad. He gripped her bottom and moved her higher against him, settling his fullness between her legs.

His skin was on fire.

Her breasts pressed against his chest, her taut nipples raked his bare skin. Through the soft silk of her dressing gown, he cupped her, weighing the incredible fullness in his hands. He ran the pad of his thumb back and forth against the hard tip, priming it for his mouth. She squirmed against his hand in frustration and he chuckled—a knowing masculine laugh. Deftly, he worked the ties of the gown, sliding it down her shoulders and arms. The chemise soon followed, leaving her half naked in his arms.

His eyes feasted on her wanton beauty. Her shimmering hair spilling out on the pillow behind her, her lips red and swollen from his kiss, her eyes half shuttered, and her gorgeous body flushed with passion. Her breasts were ripe perfection. Large and round, with tiny pink nipples, tight and puckered against the smooth ivory of her creamy skin. They begged to be kissed. He dipped his head and took the succulent tip between his teeth, nibbling and sucking gently. But it wasn’t enough. He buried his nose between her breasts, inhaling the sweet floral scent of her skin, and took the tip in his mouth again, sucking and nibbling harder, until her back arched and soft moans of sensual delight filled the sultry chamber.

He smothered her moans with the force of his kiss, his hand stroking her breasts where his mouth had left off.

He’d exhausted his patience. The storm of desire swept over him, and all he could think about was finally making her his. Again. After all these years he’d have what he’d been searching for. His first love in his arms again. Laughing and teasing as they came together in nature’s most powerful storm.

He’d known this was the right thing. Known not to let her put him off with vague excuses. The closeness they’d once shared would soon be theirs again.

He slid her gown and chemise down past her hips, hastily discarding them on the floor. His breeches quickly followed. He’d been waiting too long for this. He wanted to feel the slickness of her folds between his fingers, to sink his stiff cock deep inside her, to feel her tightness hold him as he plunged harder and harder, until the final clutch and pulse of orgasm freed him from the fever of desire that had taken hold of him.

His hand moved to the sweet crevice between her legs, he knew that he was only moments away from oblivion. Suddenly the tiny moans stopped. He thought he noticed her tense, but dismissing it as nerves, he forged on. She’d been so nervous that first time. No doubt this was the same. Soon her cheeks would flush and her eyes would sparkle. She’d gaze at him as if he was the most wonderful man in the world and he would feel complete.

Soon.

Genie flinched as his hand slid past the curve of her hip and down her thigh. Desire slipped away. Grasping wildly at the dwindling sensations, she fought to hold on, not ready to relinquish passion to fear. She thought it would work. She told herself to concentrate on the pleasure of his kiss, on the way his tongue stroked her mouth, on the heady taste of wine on his lips, on the silkiness of his hair tickling her skin as he nipped and sucked her breast. To not think about the hand that had moved between her legs.

No! She wanted to scream. No!

But it was too late. As quickly as desire had flamed, the magic fled, leaving her cold. Her body had deluded her into thinking that this time might be different. She’d felt so deliciously warm, so aroused. So safe. She’d wanted him, wanted to remember the sensation of him inside her, wanted to remember the closeness they’d once shared. But, despite their vows this morning, that closeness was gone forever. She wanted to trust him, but wanting to trust was very different from actually trusting.

His finger slid inside her and she had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out. The dampness that had surged between her legs when he’d kissed her earlier eased the pain that she would have otherwise felt. She couldn’t look at him. She didn’t want to see the haze of lust transform his face into the monster of her dreams. Where all men were the same.
Not him, too.
Men only want one thing from a beautiful woman…

Panic squeezed her chest. Terror rose in her throat, but she forced it back. She was in control. He wouldn’t hurt her. He would stop if she asked. But she wouldn’t. She could do this.

He murmured something, but she didn’t hear.

She closed her eyes and willed herself away from the pain of her memories, remembering a time instead when she’d laughed and danced in the grass along a riverbank. She barely tensed at all when he slid his thick erection into her, inch by agonizing inch, barely noticed the rhythmic thrusting as he plunged inside her, barely hearing the growl of completion as he spilled his seed deep inside her.

Numb, she didn’t feel anything at all—except perhaps for mild relief when it ended. She’d made it through the act, but it had been nothing like they’d shared before. The magic had disappeared. She felt hollow.

In that moment of utter emptiness, Genie realized that she wanted more from Huntingdon. She wanted him to see something more in her than a beautiful woman—an object of lust.

Once, she thought he had. But not anymore.

He rolled off of her and gazed up at the ceiling, silent save for the heavy sound of his breathing as it fought to return to normal.

Had he noticed her withdrawal? Would it matter?

Disappointment filtered through the emptiness. The night had begun with such promise. She’d dared to hope that Huntingdon could help her feel passion again. But it was useless. That part of her life was gone forever.

She’d made the right decision in sending the letter.

If he couldn’t make her feel, no one could.

Unable to resist, she stole a quick glance at him lying beside her. His eyes were closed, though she could tell he did not sleep. His chest still rose and fell with the unevenness of his breath. A lock of hair had slipped across his face. Years ago she wouldn’t have thought twice, but reached across to sweep it aside. But not today. Today such intimacies would feel awkward.