Wicked Angel (29 page)

"I did not know a kiss could be like
that
," she whispered.

Neither did I
, he thought helplessly. "Lauren—" he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "I should not have… you deserve so much more," he ground out. She did not reply, and completely at a loss, he leaned down to retrieve his hat.

She did not reply because she was wondering what on earth he thought could be more than that kiss. She was quite simply stunned, at first by the sweet sensation of it, then by the bright flame it ignited within her.

The shivers of the strange lightning she had felt when his lips touched hers had quickly turned molten.

Warmth seeped through her, draining all reason. Even though he had ended that extraordinary kiss, she was still caught in a web of physical desire, entrapped by an unimaginable passion stirring within her.

Lauren brushed the loose strand of hair from her eye. She looked down, ruefully noting the gardenia was crushed, and absently tried to fix it. She kept her gaze averted from his, trying desperately to overcome the overwhelming sensations warring in her body, her heart and soul. God, her longing for him had grown greater than she could have possibly imagined, and the fear that she could never have him became even more excruciatingly real.

So real, that at that moment, she thought she would do anything to know what it was to be loved by Alexander Christian. Dear God, she would be twenty-five years old in two months, and had never experienced that which her body ached to know. When the coach turned toward Russell Square, she began to panic. She might never have this chance again, never in her life!
Never
would she love like this, and her one opportunity was slipping away with every
clip-clop
of the horses' hooves on the cobblestone. She would go to her grave desperate for the touch of the man she loved if she did not do something.
Now
.

"Alex?" His head came up abruptly, his deep green eyes searching her eyes. One hand clenched his knee, as if he was afraid he might touch her. "
Alex
," she repeated, squirming inwardly at the twinge of desperation in her voice.

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asked softly. Her heart skipped erratically at his endearment. She stared at the loosened tails of his neckcloth, afraid to say aloud what she was thinking. But oh, God, he had awakened something inside that could not be satisfied without him, something that she simply had to know. She lifted her eyes, her gaze locking with his, afraid unto death to ask it of him. What she was thinking was decadent. Her thoughts could not be so
very
sinful, could they? She was a widow! Who would ever know? He was
engaged!
But he wasn't yet married. Was it really so terrible? Could the one experience, just one night, sentence her to eternal damnation? Did she bloody well
care
at the moment?

She would never have a chance like this again—and she was willing to suffer the consequences.

She blushed deeply at her own thoughts and the corner of her mouth lifted in a lopsided, uncertain smile.

Alex lifted a brow.

"Will you… ah, sh-show me?" she choked.

Alex raised his other brow to meet the first. "Show you…
what
, love?" he asked cautiously.

She nervously cleared her throat and tried again. "Show me…
how
… you know, to ah…
love
." There. Mortified, she blushed furiously at having actually voiced her desire aloud, in plain English, so there was no mistaking it. Incredibly, Alex did not seem offended by her wantonness.

Quite the contrary; his eyes darkened immediately with what she instinctively knew was the same desire she felt.

"
Lauren
—"

"Show me," she whispered again, more insistently, suddenly determined not to let propriety stand in the way of her decision. He looked uncertain; she impulsively leaned across the coach and covered his hand with hers. "Just one night, remember?"

Alex was momentarily taken aback, afraid he had misunderstood her, and just as afraid he had not. He was mad, raving mad, to even
consider
it, but her eyes sparkled with a light that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her, beckoning him. He clenched his jaw against his raging hunger. Lust was surely causing him to imagine things.

"Please?" she whispered, as if assuring him he had not imagined it, and succeeded in seducing the pants off him without even a blink of her eye. He abruptly yanked open the vent in the ceiling.

"Brianson! Fourteen Berkley Street!" he barked. She smiled, almost gratefully, he thought, and it very nearly drove him to his knees. He pulled her across the coach and onto his lap, his thoughts tumbling out of control as he kissed the curve of her arm and began to slowly peel her glove away. This was insane!

He was a duke! A
gentleman
, for Chrissakes! Yet there was nothing, no argument his mind could produce that could stop him now. Every tendril of conscience that tried to take root was quickly severed.

He was only aware of Lauren; every sense, every pore was filled with her, the sweet taste of her, and the fragrant smell of her hair.

He thought they would bloody well never reach Berkeley Street in his lifetime.

It all felt like a dream to Lauren. He slowly removed her gloves, kissing her bare arms, her wrist, then her neck and her lips to the point she was breathless and unable to think clearly. When the coach came to halt, she had no time to think; he quickly lifted her out and instructed Brianson to pull the coach around back. Wrapping her protectively in the folds of his greatcoat, he hurried to the front door. The house he had brought her to was dark; he let her go only to retrieve a key from under the flagstones, then rushed her inside, closing the door quickly behind them.

In the dark foyer, he felt around for a light while her breathing grew more and more constricted. A tremor of panic racked her as the light from a single candle flared. His eyes sought her in the darkness, and when he found her, he smiled reassuringly. Wordlessly, he extended a hand to her. Suddenly frightened, she stared at him, and for a moment, feared she would change her mind. No, she wanted this. Very hesitantly, she slipped her hand into his.

"Lauren… if you have changed your mind, it is all right," he said soothingly.

To her utter amazement, she smiled and shook her head. "I
cannot
change it. Believe me, I have tried,"

she whispered truthfully.

He stood looking at her for a moment, his eyes sweeping her body. And then he began to walk, very slowly, toward a staircase spiraling up to darkness above, her hand firmly in his. Her mind raced far ahead of her feet, struggling with the protests of her conscience that battled with the very strong need to be with him.

He tried to set her at ease by talking about the house, how it was rarely opened, and the family debate over what to do with it for the long term. They moved down the dark corridor on the first floor, passing two or three doors, she thought, until he came to one and paused. He opened the door and stepped inside, pulling her with him.

She could ask him to take her home.
Now
, before it was too late. He placed the candlestick on a table

and turned to face her. Another tremor raced through her; fear was overtaking her desire; fear of the unknown, of her prurient longing and it's consequences.

"You are trembling. Are you certain about this?" he asked softly.

Her heart leapt to her throat. A thousand no's died on her tongue, slain by the longing she had felt since they had first met at Rosewood. "Oh, Alex," she sighed, "I just want to know… I mean, I
must
know… I realize this must sound very odd to you, very wanton, but it is not something I can explain, really, it's just that it is here," she said, motioning with a shaking hand toward her abdomen and chest, "lodged in here, and I cannot rid myself of it, no matter how hard I try. Every time I look at you, I feel it." He unexpectedly reached inside her cloak, his hand gently caressing the level plane of her abdomen.

Her skin burned where he touched her, igniting the flames in her belly all over again. "I, ah, suppose I could be ill, but I really do not recall ever feeling something quite like this, you know—" She stopped abruptly as his hand slid up her ribcage to the side of her breast. His other hand slipped beneath her cloak, encircling her waist, drawing her into his chest. "I don't think it really an illness, but I suppose it could be indigestion, although that seems unlikely since I hardly ate a bite today," she babbled.

"I do not think," he murmured through a faint smile, "that this is indigestion." His lips grazed her neck, sending another round of shivers through her. "I know what ails you, angel—it is this incredible desire we attempt to deny. If you will allow me, I will fix it." He nibbled her earlobe, taking her earring into his mouth. She inhaled sharply, and he lifted his head. "We will not do anything you do not want, Lauren. We can stop at any time."

That was a monstrous lie, and she knew it. "Alex," she whispered, plunging headlong into the situation she had created, "please, just show me."

He groaned softly, swept her into his arms, and marched to the bed. He paused to sweep the dust cloth from it, then fell with her in his arms onto the elaborate green and gold spread. One arm swept under her and hauled her into his chest as his mouth descended hungrily to hers. Deftly, he discarded her cloak, his hands caressing her back and loosening her hair from its pins. Driven by the urgency to touch him, she swept her hands over his chest and shoulders, feeling the corded muscles beneath his silken shirt.

Her hair tumbled down around them, forming a curtain of dark curl as he unfastened the buttons of her gown with the skill of a lady's maid. Somehow, the gown came off, as did his coat, waistcoat, and shirt.

When he pulled the ribbon of her chemise, one breast sprang free. He palmed it, slowly kneading the peak to stretch taut and firm, and dragged his mouth from her throat to lave it. A surge of raw, intoxicating sensation roared through her, and moaning softly, she reached for him.

Suddenly on her back, Lauren grasped his thick hair as he laved the other breast, amazed by the shocking reverberations that rumbled through her body and seemed to settle in her groin. A pressure, sweet and torturous, was building in her belly. She caught a nervous breath when Alex pulled the hem of her chemise upward, then gasped with terrified pleasure when his fingers brushed lightly against her flesh.

He thrust his tongue into her mouth as his fingers danced sensuously across her bare skin, skirting the apex of her thighs, then slipping into the wet folds. "My God, you are beautiful," he murmured against her skin.

Terrified by what he was doing to her, Lauren froze. His fingers stroked her skillfully, circling around and over a point of intense pleasure. His lips found hers again, tenderly kissing her while the pressure built to intolerable lightness. "Angel," he whispered, "dear God, I want you." His warm lips fell to her neck as he fumbled with his trousers. When his weight settled on her again, she could feel his velvet tip throbbing

against her bare flesh. Each sensation, more startling than the last, was as tormenting as it was exquisite.

She impulsively, anxiously, came up on her elbows.

Alex paused and looked into her eyes. Tiny tufts of chestnut curls swirled around her face. Long, silken tresses dropped to the bed behind her and over her shoulder. Propped on her elbows, her magnificent breasts exposed to him, she looked at him with a beguiling softness that made his heart pound. He had never desired a woman so intently. He had never yearned to show a woman what he was feeling, to give her all the pleasure he could, to fulfill her in ways she had never before experienced. Lauren's dark blue eyes fell to his mouth and she tenderly laid two fingers against his lips.

It was more than a man could possibly endure. Alex swiftly positioned himself between her thighs. She was still on her elbows, her breasts rising and falling with each frantic breath as he entered her. He moved carefully and steadily, relishing the feel of her body tightening provocatively around him, pulling him into her depths. Unconsciously, she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her gaze drifting to his lips.

"Look at me, sweetheart," he hoarsely urged her. A torrent of emotion flowing through him, Alex slipped a steadying hand behind her back. Gazing into her eyes, he plunged fiercely into her warmth.

With a strangled cry of pain, Lauren buried her face in his shoulder.

Stunned, Alex's body went rigid, his mind reeling with the realization that she was a virgin.
A virgin!
He lowered her to the bed, murmuring his desperate apology for having hurt her and an equally desperate promise he would never hurt her again. Terribly confused, he tried to make sense of it, tried to understand how a widow was a virgin. It was impossible! But it
was
possible; he had
felt
himself tear through her maidenhead. God, what had he done?
What in the hell had he done?

Lauren was oblivious to his astonishment; the sudden pain had shocked her. Slowly, it began to ebb, and she shifted against him, instinctively wanting to continue this extraordinary journey, to feel the keen pressure of his body inside her again. He moaned, kissed her softly, and began to lure her into the seductive rhythm of his passion. The pain forgotten, she quickly became entranced with what was happening to her. He buried his face against her neck, his breathing ragged—she intuitively knew he was restraining himself, moving gently for her benefit. His hand found her breast again, and he tenderly rolled the peak between his fingers, sending a jolt of sensation down her spine that landed squarely in the midst of the pressure building in her groin.

Her body screaming for release, she began to move with him. Alex answered her desire by slipping an arm under her hips so he could lengthen his stroke and reach the very core of her. As the pressure began to build toward a frightening climax, Lauren clung to him, afraid that she would virtually explode into pieces. "Let it come, angel," he murmured in her ear. "Let it happen."