Twice Tempted by a Rogue (25 page)

Oh, Lord. It did. Of course it did.

His eyes drilled into hers, demanding and intense. Even with his arousal wedged against her womb, she felt more deeply penetrated by his gaze. There was desire there, and need … and just the faintest glimmer of fear. He gave another powerful buck of his hips. “Admit it. This is right, you and me. Meant to be.”

A voice within her shouted for caution, urged her to put up a wall of defense.
Don’t
, the voice said.
You’ll reveal too much, risk heartbreak and worse
.

Go to the devil
, she told it back.

Rhys was inside her, and next to her, and surrounding her with his embrace, and he needed so damn much. The man had suffered a lifetime deprived of affection, and he clung to all this destiny nonsense because—uncertain, wounded soul that he was—he couldn’t bring himself to ask for hers. This was why he’d never offered her a choice. He was too afraid she’d say no.

She would not force him to ask. Not when she longed to give him everything. Affection, pleasure, a gentle lover’s touch.

“Yes,” she breathed, curling her arm around his shoulders. Stretching her neck, she brushed a kiss against his lips. “Yes, Rhys. It feels right.” She kissed those strong, sensuous lips again, then again, running her fingers through his feathery hair as she did. “Utterly … perfectly … absolutely right. We belong like this.”

He kissed her thoroughly, taking her mouth with feverish, driven passion. With a low groan, he rolled her onto her back and sank in deep.

Very deep. So deep, she gripped his shoulders in shock. In their side-by-side position, he obviously hadn’t penetrated her fully. No, there was definitely more of Rhys to be had. And now he gave it all to her, thrusting hard, working deeper, until his hips met against hers and the breath left her lungs.

“Are you well?” he asked, bracing himself on his elbows.

She managed a nod.

“Good.”
Thrust
. “Because I can’t stop.”
Thrust
. “God help me, I can’t stop.”

He thrust again, and his pelvis ground against hers. And she came, just like that. The feel of his strong body, the ragged need in his voice, all the emotion in her heart—she was overwhelmed, in every sense. The pleasure swept her in a hot, unrelenting rush, and she clung to him, riding it for all it was worth.

“God.” The tight growl of his voice told her he was close, too.
“God.”
He fell on her, lowering his weight to hers. “Hold on,” he whispered in her ear. “Hold me tight.”

She did as he asked, as she wanted to do. Locked her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs over the tree trunks that were his thighs. She cinched her intimate muscles, holding him tight there, too.

And then, when she’d gripped him in every way imaginable—he let go. The force and tempo of his thrusts increased. His mouth fell on hers, and he probed wildly with his tongue as he took her faster, harder, deeper. As though there were something he desperately needed, something that resided at the very center of her being—and to get at it, he would break her apart.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he reared up a bit. Just enough that she could see his face. His eyes were unfocused, and his lips contorted with pleasure. And as the inevitable approached, an incoherent rush of words tore from his chest.

“That’s so … Damn, it’s … Merry …
Christ.”

Joy swelled in her breast, and she nearly laughed with it. Because she knew the next thirty seconds were going to be the best of Rhys St. Maur’s decade, and she was just so happy to be there, along for the ride.

He growled as he came, collapsing onto her and burying his face in her neck. She released her grip on his shoulders and soothed his back with caresses down his spine. Her fingers slipped over the sheen of perspiration as he shuddered in the aftermath of his release.

Eventually, she felt his breathing slow to a natural rhythm, washing gently over her ear. His arousal softened inside her. And yet the tremors in his muscles didn’t abate.

“Oh, Rhys.” As the realization dawned, she hugged him tight. “Oh, Rhys.”

He was trembling. This big, strong, indestructible warrior was trembling in her arms. If there’d been any hope of protecting her heart, it slipped away that instant.

She was lost to him. Always had been.

“Thank you,” he murmured, releasing a deep sigh of satisfaction.

She cradled his head, kissed his ear.

“Was it—?”

“Perfect,” she assured him. “In every way.” He rolled to the side, and she teased a fingertip along the whiskered edge of his jaw. Arching an eyebrow saucily, she asked, “So … every day? Truly?”

“Twice. For the first year, twice a day. At least.”

She bit her lip and gave him a pensive look.

“What is it?” he asked, reaching out to playfully muss her hair.

“I’m just wondering whether that includes today. And if so …” She rose up on her elbow and peered at the clock. “How much time is left before midnight?”

The bed shook with his laughter. His arm shot out, flattening her to the mattress. With a flex of his biceps, he rolled her in close, nestling her snug against him. “Time enough, Merry. Don’t you worry.” His big hand stroked through her hair. “We have all the time in the world.”

For the first time, she wished blind faith came so easily to her.

With a sudden burst of energy, she climbed atop him, stretching her body out over his. With her arms stacked on his chest, her toes hit him just about mid-shin. The hair on his legs tickled the arches of her feet. “I’ve just realized something.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve spent a shockingly inadequate amount of time tasting the area between here”—she stroked a finger over his Adam’s apple—“and here.” She traced a line to the soft spot just below his ear. “Unless you have a complaint, I plan to remedy that immediately.”

He grinned. “No complaint.”

“Very good.” She bent her head to his throat and touched her tongue to the underside of his jaw. The beginning of what would be, if she had her way, a sleepless night spent exploring every inch of his body.

They might not have all the time in the world, but they definitely had tonight. And she was going to make the most of every second.

Chapter Seventeen

Awareness filtered in some time well after dawn. When she woke to bright sunlight leaking through her eyelashes, Meredith kissed the forearm wrapped protectively about her chest. It was worth the lost time, just to wake up in his arms. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d slept through a sunrise. This was a luxury indeed. One to which she could too easily become accustomed.

Rhys stirred, nuzzling her hair. They lay on their sides, nestled like spoons in a drawer. At least one part of him was awake and ready to greet the day. The hard ridge of his arousal prodded her hip.

She wriggled her bottom just a little, teasing him. From the way his breath caught in his throat, she suspected he was awake. For all she knew, he might have been lying awake that way for hours, hard and patiently aching for her.

And in that case, he could wait a few minutes more. Keeping her eyes shut tight to feign sleep, she casually stretched and nestled deeper into the hard contours of his body. He dropped a kiss against the back of her neck, as if to test her wakefulness. Remaining immobile was a struggle, but she managed it. His hand came to life where it lay draped casually over her breast. He drew a lazy circle around her nipple, then tweaked it with a pinch. She couldn’t help but moan.

He knew she was awake. She knew he was, too. But they kept up the little game they were playing. Somehow they’d tacitly agreed on the rules. Eyes closed. No words. Just touch and a steady, inexorable progress toward joining. It was a game they would both win.

She parted her legs a few degrees, and his erection slid between her thighs. The two of them lay that way for a moment, savoring that last bit of anticipation. She was wet for him, and he was impressively hard. A little tilt of her pelvis was all it took. He glided into her slippery cleft in one smooth thrust.

Though her breathing came fast, Meredith forced herself to be boneless. As passive as possible. She hoped the mounting tension of their game would drive him past the point of tenderness. All night long, they’d guided one another through an exploration of different positions, taken thorough tours of each other’s anatomy. He’d loved her with a sweet, earnest purpose that touched her heart. But this morning, she wanted him to be the aggressor. She needed to feel all the strength and power in that big, hard body. She wanted to be overwhelmed.

When the wait became unbearable, she broke the rules and whispered, “Take me.”

His teeth scraped her shoulder. With a low growl, he flipped her onto her stomach, wedging her legs apart with his thighs. He gave her just what she wanted, driving into her hard. So hard, she grabbed the pillow to muffle her cry. The bed creaked and rattled with each stroke.

Yes.
Yes
. This was exactly what she craved. To feel powerless beneath him, utterly at his mercy. She’d spent so much of her life being strong. Marshalling all her available fortitude to run the inn, take care of her father, look after the village. And she’d built up formidable shields to protect herself and those around her. It was a relief and a joy to be dominated, to relinquish all power and feel those barriers stripped away by someone she knew and trusted.

Someone she loved.

He rose up between her legs, grasping her hips in his massive hands and lifting her to her knees. His fingers curled around the cheeks of her backside, guiding her motions, spreading her open for his deepening thrusts. By the light smack of his thighs kissing hers and the roughened quality of his breath, she suspected he was watching their joined bodies. She wished she could watch, too.

He clutched her hips tighter still, kicked into a faster rhythm. “Come for me. Do it now.”

Releasing the pillow, she slid one hand down her belly, between her legs. She pressed the heel of her hand against her mound and curled her fingers back, so they teased his shaft with every stroke. The pressure of her palm just where she needed it, the very proof of his own need, hard and hot against her fingertips—she hurtled headlong into a soul-shaking climax, crying out against the pillow.

He followed her seconds later, and together they collapsed to the mattress. He lay half atop her, half to the side. His breath was a rasp against her ear. She loved the heat and the weight of him, pinning her limp, wrung-out body to the bed. She could get used to this. She really could.

For the first time since Rhys had mentioned marriage over boiled eggs and coffee, Meredith let herself believe, just for a moment, that it might truly be safe to get used to this.

“You know,” he said after a minute or two, rolling onto his back, “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“You have?” She propped her chin on one arm, tried to sound nonchalant. All the while, her heart was hammering the mattress.

“We’ll have to find a bishop,” he said. “Get a special license. There’s no bloody way we’re waiting another fortnight for that curate to come back.”

She collapsed to the bed with relief.

“I’m serious,” he said. “We’ll take the coach and set off for London today.”

“Rhys, we can’t do that. Father’s expecting me back on schedule. And we’ve all those things to buy for the inn.”

“For our house.”

“Well, yes. That, too.”

His brow creased. “I don’t understand. Why can’t we—”

She kissed him, for no other reason than to cut short that question.

So strange. Ten minutes ago all she’d craved was for Rhys to take control, to leave her no choice, to overwhelm her senses completely. And never during their lovemaking had she felt anything other than cherished and safe. But an elopement …?

“I was promised a tour of Bath,” she said lightly. “There was talk of ribbons and romance.”

“So there was.” He gave her a smile, and she felt its warmth deep inside.

She loved him. After last night, there was no more denying it, not even to herself. And nothing would make her happier than to marry him. There were obstacles, yes. The inn’s future, Gideon’s threats … but from such a great distance, those obstacles seemed smaller now. Surmountable. Between them, surely she and Rhys had the strength and wits to sort it all out.

There was only one matter left to settle. Would marriage to her make Rhys happy? Not just satisfied in bed or at peace with his obligations, but truly
happy?
He deserved real contentment. With all this blind allegiance to the concept of destiny, she wasn’t sure he even knew what he wanted anymore. Given the choice, would he truly prefer a cottage in rural Devonshire to the opulent life he could be leading elsewhere? Would he honestly prefer
her
to the elegant ladies he could have?

His words kept echoing in her mind:
It’s not like I have something better to do
.

But he did. With his rank and wealth, he had so many options, and this holiday was likely to remind him of them. Before she could marry him, she needed time to observe, to gauge his thoughts and feelings in a setting outside their village.

“I just want to spend time with you,” she said honestly. “What do the gentry do in Bath, anyhow?”

He pursed his lips. “Truthfully, I’m not so certain anymore. I only spent one summer here as a boy, when my mother came to take the waters. That’s why people ostensibly come to Bath, you know. To take the mineral waters. If I recall correctly, the usual practice is to begin the day with a nice purgative, then travel by sedan chair to the Pump Room to sign the guest register and drink a glass or two of the rusty, foul-smelling stuff.”

Good Lord.
That
was the reason wealthy people flocked to Bath? People of quality would spend their money on the queerest things. But she didn’t want to offend Rhys by gainsaying the idea.

“Do
you
want to drink the waters?” she asked.

He chuckled. “What do you think? No, we’ll confine ourselves to the shops by day. Perhaps a walk about the Circus and Royal Crescent. And then later tonight … should you like to go to the theater?”

“Yes, please.” Inwardly she cheered. She would have a use for that red gown, after all. “That sounds like a perfectly lovely day. No purgatives or sedan chairs required.”

Rhys had never been one for visiting the shops. But then, he’d never had a lady on his arm to spoil. This, he learned, made the whole experience more tolerable.

They didn’t make it out of the suite until well after noon, but they dealt with the practical things first. He’d inquired at the hotel as to the source of the painted washbasin in their suite that had Meredith so enraptured, and they made that importer’s warehouse their first stop of the afternoon. There they ordered complete sets of basins, pitchers, chamber pots, and mirrors.

“Four sets,” Meredith told the shopkeeper.

“Five,” Rhys corrected.

“But why?” She frowned up at him. “Oh, I see. So we have a spare, should anything break?”

“Make that six sets,” he called to the shopkeeper. “Four for the guest rooms,” he told her, “one for a spare, and one for our house.”

“Oh.” The little furrow in her brow only deepened. “But the set for the cottage doesn’t have to be so fine.”

“Yes, it does.” And forbidding any further discussion with a look, he gave the shopkeeper the address of their hotel. That was, after adding to the order a full set of china and silver for the Three Hounds’ new dining room.

“I’m going to repay you somehow,” she murmured.

“Absolutely not. This was part of the arrangement. I agreed to pay all construction expenses in return for the labor.”

“Yes, but most would not classify the washbasins and silver as construction expenses.”

“Of course they are. How can a guest room be considered complete without a washstand? What use is a dining room without silver?”

“Very well,” she consented as they left the importer’s. “But I insist on paying for the fabrics from my own purse.”

Rhys shook his head as he guided her out the door. Why did she argue over these small expenses? Once they married, all their money would be combined.

They strolled for a while, stopping in at Sally Lunn’s for a bit of refreshment and a taste of the famous buns. Rhys declared them tasty enough, but vastly inferior to Meredith’s own baking. That compliment earned him a toss of her dark head and a very pretty blush. All in all, he was modestly pleased with his progress in the romance arena.

Then it was on to the draper’s. There Meredith took command. A mountain of fabrics amassed on the countertop as she asked for yard after yard of plain, but high quality linen for bedsheets, then printed dimity for curtains. And she insisted on paying for them from her own purse, to Rhys’s frustration.

“What about for the cottage?” he asked.

“Oh, there’s linen enough here.”

“And the curtains?” He nodded toward a bolt of ivory lace. “Isn’t that similar to the lace you liked so much at the hotel?”

She tsked. “It would be terribly impractical for curtains in the country. They’d become so soiled and would easily tear.”

He tapped his finger on the counter. “How many yards would you need, to make a set? There are eight windows in all.”

She shrugged and gave him a number. He tripled it in his mind and asked the shopkeeper to cut that amount and start a new bill.

“Enough for three sets,” he told her. “When they become soiled, we’ll change them for new. And when we run out of new, it’s time for another trip to Bath.” To escape the disapproving set of her mouth, he traveled down the counter to a glass case filled with a blinding array of plumes, ribbons, fans, and brilliants. Almost at random, he selected an assortment of silky and sparkly things, in as many colors as they came. The shopkeeper dutifully wrapped and tallied them as Meredith settled her fabric bill.