He frowned. "Do you feel okay?"
She gave an exasperated sigh. She should have known better than to be subtle with Stone Man. Closing her eyes, she said, "Kiss me."
Then she puckered up and waited.
Her answer was a low, throaty chuckle. She was just about to open her eyes when she felt the hard, callused tip of his finger brush her jawline. The butterfly-soft touch brought a delightful tingle to her skin.
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She decided to keep her eyes shut a moment longer. ' He bent forward. She could feel his breath, hot and rapid, flutter against her lips. "Open your eyes, Dev."
She did, blinking slowly. His face was a hair's breadth from hers. She felt the soft strains of his breath against her cheeks.
"Relax your lips," he ordered.
Her pucker faded. Her lips parted, and she wet them expectantly.
"Ah, that's better;" His lips brushed hers and then retreated.
Immediately she tilted her head up. "More please."
He smiled. "You can't control everything, Dev-especially not this. So just relax and enjoy."
He had to be jesting. How could one enjoy anything mindlessly? "But-"
His mouth covered hers in a long, lingering mating of lips that stole her breath. A delicious shiver sped up her spine. Dizziness danced at the edge of her mind.
This kiss was nothing like the others. It was hot and yearning and wrenching, and it made every nerve in Devon's body tingle. A strange sense of restlessness seized her.
He pulled away slowly, and as he did Devon frowned. Darn it, why did he always have to stop just when it was feeling so nice? She lifted up to her toes and tried to kiss him. His fingers closed around her shoulders, gently but firmly keeping her at bay.
"Relax, Dev." The words were drawled against her moist, aching-for-more lips.
Relax? When her blood was boiling and her skin was afire? Nothing short of a double dose of laudanum could calm her now. "I don't know if I can. ... I don't know how."
"Let me show you." He made an infinitesimal move and claimed her mouth with his. His tongue slipped past her parted lips and probed her mouth. The dull throbbing in her loins turned into a slow, burning need. A hunger. It spread through her body like a flash fire. Suddenly she felt as if she'd drunk three pints of champagne.
Her response frightened her; it was so overpowering, so
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desperate. The throbbing between her legs was making it difficult to breathe. She was losing control. Oh, God ...
She stiffened. Her hands, still clasped around his body, curled into tight fists.
"Touch me," he whispered throatily.
"I'm afraid."
He pulled her closer, letting her absorb the safety of his embrace. "Don't be."
She wanted to touch him. God, did she. Timidly she let her fingers unfurl slowly, one by one, until they were splayed across his broad back. His body heat seeped through the damp flannel of his shirt, warming her fingers.
Moving cautiously, she explored his body with her hands, feeling the bumps and ridges and valleys of his broad back. The more comfortable she became with the feel of him the more she wanted, and soon her hands were roving freely down his back, across his broad shoulder, around his waist. Her boldness grew, and suddenly she found herself wishing she were rubbing naked skin instead of worn flannel.
His hands fell away from her shoulders and traveled slowly-oh so slowly-to her back. His touch was feather light, almost a tickle. Her body trembled in response.
Without warning his hot fingers cupped the firm wool-clad roundness of her bottom and dragged her closer. She couldn't have protested if she'd wanted to; her body was like wax in his hands. They came together, hard and completely. Their bodies merged, melted together.
Need propelled her and made her suddenly bold. She stroked his hair, reveling in the feel of the coarse strands twined through her fingers. She rubbed up against him. The metal buttons on his shirt abraded her breasts.
She gasped at the feel of the buttons against her nipples. The taut crests hardened instantly, straining against the wool of her bodice. Drawn by some dark, instinctive need, she rubbed up against the buttons again.
Stone Man groaned, clutching her tighter. "Kiss me," he said in a raspy voice.
Good God, she thought she was. It took her a moment to realize what he was asking of her, but when she did she complied gladly. Her tongue sneaked forward, brushing the
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in places she'd never expected-her throat, her bottom, her breasts.
The buttons on her chemise gave way easily, and his hand slipped inside. His fingers felt hot and forbidden against her skin. One thumb brushed her nipple, coaxing the peak to hardness. Devon heard a low moan and then another. Goodness, the sound was coming from her!
She blushed, thinking it couldn't be ladylike to make such noises. She was just about to ask him when his hand slid down her belly and pushed between her legs.
Her query died in a gasp. He urged her thighs apart, and like a wanton she responded, opening for his touch. His fingers slid through the curly triangle of hair, seeking out that most sensitive part of her body. When he found it he stroked in a slow, circular rhythm.
Need sent her into a frenzy. Without thinking, she started fumbling with the buttons at his throat.
The moment her fingers touched the first button, Stone Man released his breath in a long, unsteady sigh. Then in one quick movement he ripped his shirt from neck to waist and flung it across the room.
Their hot, damp bodies merged. At the contact Devon's tenuous control snapped. She didn't think; she couldn't. Her whole body was alive, her every hair standing on end.
The hand between her legs disappeared, leaving in its place a cold frustration. His fingers, still warm and wet from touching her, slid beneath her chemise. The moisture left a trail along her breasts, a trail that the cold air traced. She shivered.
"Let's get under the covers," he said.
Crawling underneath the fur and wool blankets, they undressed each other eagerly. Devon snuggled up to him. Bringing her hands to his chest, she explored the soft black hair, marveling at its texture.
He took hold of her wrists. "Wait."
She frowned at him. "But I want-"
"I know what you want," he said throatily. "Trust me." He eased her onto her back. Looming beside her, his naked body half in shadow, half lit by the soft golden glow of the lantern's light, he studied her.
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She lay there, stiff and unmoving, her naked body stretched full-length on the white sheet, her eyes trained on his. She felt exposed and vulnerable . . . and more alive than she'd ever felt in her life. Her every nerve was tingling in anticipation of his touch.
He brushed the soft underside of her breast with his thumb. It was the only touching of their skin, and it felt like a brand on the coldness of her flesh. An uncontrollable shiver swept her body.
She felt the callused column of his finger inch upward toward her nipple. Her whole body tensed; her breathing stumbled.
The finger traced her aureole, teasing her, tormenting her. Her breath came in ragged gasps. "Please ..."
He answered her, moving the pad of his finger to the sensitive peak of her breast. She gasped, involuntarily arching into his hand.
One stroke, then another; and then two fingers settled on the drawn peaks of her breasts-tugging, twirling, teasing. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on breathing. Oh, but it was difficult. The air in her lungs seemed to have vanished.
The hand on her breast slid down to her waist. A frown darted across her face, and she was just about to open her eyes when she felt it. His tongue! He licked her nipple once, then drew back.
The cold night air rushed in, sweeping across the wet, hardened tip. A
s the cold faded he took the nipple in his mouth again, this time suckling it softly, laving the tip with his tongue. Devon gasped at the sensation. She arched toward him, her head thrown back into the pillows. Oh, God, it felt so good. . . .
He took her in his arms, maneuvering her body until she was straddling his right leg. With his thigh pressed hard against the throbbing spot between her legs, he forced her to move: a slow, rotating rhythm that ground their bodies together.
A fire burst to life in her loins, and she didn't need any coaching to stoke it. She reacted instinctively. Grinding her hips against his thigh, she moved in a dance all her own,
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rubbing, pushing, writhing-anything to assuage the excruciatingly sweet ache that pulsed from the epicenter of her body.
"God," she whimpered, "do something. It hurts. . . ."
He rolled her beneath him. Shamelessly she opened her legs, welcoming the hot hardness of his flesh as it pressed against hers. Her knees came up, hugging his hips.
"Christ," he groaned, feeling her legs slide along his body. A shudder racked him. His control was stretched to the breaking point. Slowly, with a gentleness he'd never before possessed, he slid into the warm, wet sheath of her body.
He felt the evidence of her virginity and stopped.
"Don't stop," she moaned, raking his back with her fingernails. "Please ..."
He gave one hard thrust and ripped the maidenhead apart. She cried out in pain.
He froze then started to pull out. "God, Dev, are you-"
Her hands clutched at his buttocks, holding him in place. "If you stop now, I'll never forgive you," she whispered.
He eased back inside, then stopped, waiting for her body to relax. After a few seconds his hips started moving, a slow, rotating grind against hers.
The fire returned, raged. They moved together. Faster and faster still. He thrust full inside her, then drew slowly back and thrust again.
She writhed against him, moaning his name over and over again, her face buried in the crook of his neck. She could smell their passion; it smelled of sweat and wood smoke and lichen.
The throbbing between her legs intensified, turning into an almost painful burning. She moved faster, wanting- needing-something more. He matched her movements, « driving deeper and deeper into her body with each thrust. I
Devon moaned. God, she thought, it can't go on like this. Something has to ...
"God, Dev." Stone Man's harsh, raspy voice penetrated the haze surrounding her mind. "Let it happen."
What? she thought desperately. What?
And then it happened. A harsh scream tore from her throat.
Her senses exploded, spiraling out of control in a thousand shards of white-hot light.
Stone Man plunged wildly into her. She closed her legs around him, clinging to his sweat-slicked body. His release, warm and wet, filled her. But it was the ragged whispering of her name that lodged in her heart.
For endless minutes they clung to each other. The sweet smells of lichen moss and spent passion surrounded them.
When Devon finally opened her eyes, she found Stone Man staring down at her. "Did I hurt you?"
The vulnerability in his face squeezed her heart. Too choked up to speak, she shook her head.
"Thank God." He started to pull away.
She clung to him. "Don't go."
He sagged against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, holding her tightly. She brushed a damp tendril of hair out of his eyes and stroked the side of his face, hoping the gentleness of her touch would speak the words her mouth could not.
You belong with me, she thought.
If only she had the courage to speak the words aloud. . . . But she didn't. If she said it, he'd run. Of that she had no doubt.
He'd never belonged anywhere, and years of isolation and alienation had taken their toll. Even now, in her arms, he couldn't believe he belonged.
Emotion swelled in her throat. God, she'd do anything to erase the pain in his soul.
Suddenly she knew why she'd wanted so desperately to be his lover. It had nothing to do with warmth or proximity or even with the fact that he was her last chance. She wanted it because she loved him.
Chapter Nineteen
I love you. The words burned in Devon's throat, aching to be spoken aloud.
She pressed her lips together. That sentence would send Stone Man screaming into the woods. He probably wouldn't stop running until he hit the coast. And then he'd jump in a boat.
It was too soon to speak. For now she'd have to content herself with feeling. "Stone Man-"
"Call me Cornelius," he interrupted softly. "I don't feel much like a stone man right now."
She stretched her naked body full against his. His arms slipped around her waist. Together they snuggled deeper inside their furry cocoon.
Devon looked into his eyes, as warm now as maple syrup, and completely forgot her train of thought. / love you. The words leapt into her mind again, and this time the need to speak was almost overpowering.
She averted her gaze quickly.
His finger brushed her chin, urging her to tilt her face up to his. A wave of longing swept through her as their gazes locked. Longing not of the body but of the soul. God, she wanted to touch every part of him, to know every part of him.
The thought reminded her of his confession about prison. She couldn't help wanting to ask him about it. But she wouldn't, she vowed; she wouldn't ask him. For once in her life she was going to keep quiet.
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"Dev? What's the matter?"
"It's nothing," she said quickly, "nothing at all. I was just wondering about something. Nothing important."
He smiled. "I was hoping a good romp would addle you for a bit longer."
She smiled. "Romp? Couldn't you come up with a more . . . glamorous term?"
"Believe me, I could have chosen worse."
Her smile faded suddenly. She looked up at him earnestly. "Did we make love?"
He flinched, then sighed. Why couldn't she just let well enough alone? He didn't want to answer that question right now. He didn't even want to think about it.
"Cornelius?"
He forced a laugh. In the tent's quiet the sound was harsh and hard. "Did we ever."
Disappointment brought a lump to Devon's throat. She swallowed thickly and looked away. It was what she'd expected, of course. But still it hurt. Why couldn't he admit that what they'd shared was special?
She shouldn't have asked him. She knew better. Why couldn't she ever keep her thoughts to herself?
"Dev?" His voice was quiet, and it wrapped around her like rich velvet in the semidarkness, reminding her that even now, even in her aching silence, she had more than she'd ever dreamed of. She had his arms around her, and she had his love. Oh, he might not know he loved her, but she certainly knew it. For now, she told herself, that would have to be enough.
Unfortunately silent acceptance was not one of her strong suits. But this time would be different, she vowed. This time she'd wait patiently-and quietly-until he realized he loved her.
She only prayed that someday he'd feel comfortable enough with her to actually say the words.
"Dev?"
"Yes?"
"What were you wondering about?" He squeezed her playfully. "Some aspect of my stunning technique, perhaps?"
"No i . . It was nothing. Really."
He stopped smiling. "Prison?"
"I-I know it's none of my business, but I can't help wondering about it."
"I was in for murdering a woman." At Devon's sharp intake of breath, he grimaced. "A whore, actually."
"Why did you take the blame for something you didn't do?"
"I never said I didn't do it."
Her gaze was steady on his face. "I know you, Cornelius, whether you like it or not. And I know you aren't a murderer."
Her simple faith in him was stupefying. No one had ever believed in him. All his li
fe he'd been a pariah, an outcast, shut away from society's light by something he hadn't done. And now after all these lonely years here was someone holding up a light, beckoning him in.
If he'd been standing his knees would have buckled. Sweet Christ, but the light looked good. ...
He was tired of living like an animal, all alone. Once, just once, he wanted to know what it felt like to be at peace. He wanted simply to be.
With her he could be whatever he wanted to be.
It was a heady thought; one he'd never had before, and it opened all sorts of doors. Suddenly he felt like a kid again. Young and trusting and free.
Craziest of all, when he looked into the huge, trusting pools of her eyes, he felt as if he'd finally found a home. One that wouldn't vanish in a puff of smoke the moment he admitted he wanted it.
He released his breath slowly. For her he would take the risk he'd never been willing to take for himself. For her he would venture from the darkness. "Cornelius? Are you all right?" "Are you sure you want to hear it all?" "Yes-if you want to tell me."
He tightened his hold on her body, taking strength from the soft, warm feel of her in his arms. A dozen long-suppressed images flashed through his mind. He winced at the memories.
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"You don't have to tell me. ..."
"Yes, I do." He took a deep breath. "Her name was Mi-belle-the woman I was supposed to have murdered. She worked for my mother." He remembered Mibelle's flashing black eyes and pouty, dark-red lips, and said, "I fell in love with her the first time I saw her. I was only seventeen, but that didn't matter; not to her anyway and certainly not to me.
"It . . . amused her to become my lover. I was so-" Humiliation wrenched in his gut. "So desperate for attention, I followed her around like an overeager puppy, doing whatever she asked of me.
"I even asked her to marry me and not just once. Every time I asked she laughed and said, 'Ask again next week.' And like a fool I did."
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