Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3)

by Busbee, Shirlee

  He knew that his hold on his own passion was tenuous, her reactions to his kisses making it more difficult to control his own responses. He fought against the base commands of his body. Everything within him demanded that he seek satisfaction, but with a groan, half-pained, half-delighted, he ignored his coarser feelings. But her gown, that damned concealing garment, was going to have to go.

  The thought had barely flitted through his mind before his hands were already on the offending gown, his fingers tugging impatiently at the ribbons at the neck. The garment had been conceived with easy removal in mind, and before Micaela understood what he was doing, she was half-lifted against him and her gown jerked unceremoniously over her head. Hugh might be attempting to proceed slowly, but there were limits to what a man could endure.

  "Monsieur!" Micaela exclaimed, assailed by amazement at finding herself naked and held firmly against an equally naked male body. A riot of new sensations exploded through her and she trembled, half-frightened, half-exhilarated.

  Wherever they touched, his flesh was hot against hers, the thick mat of black hair on his broad chest cushioning her bosom, making her nipples swell to hard, little aching buds; the disturbing heat lower in her body bursting into a pulsating wildfire, only increased the dazed pleasure flooding her.

  Hugh thought he would go mad at the feel of her nipples burning into his chest, the silky warmth of her skin beneath his hands every erotic delight he had ever imagined and more. But feeling her tremble, he brushed his lips across hers and said shakily, "Do not be frightened, my love. I will not hurt you." He bit his lips, knowing that was not precisely true. "Not more than necessary," he added gruffly. "I will try to be gentle."

  Her voice full of awe, she said, "I am not frightened, Monsieur—it is, oh, so very exciting, oui?"

  Hugh groaned, wondering if she realized what her words were doing to him. Unable to help himself, he pushed her down into the mattress. Half-lying on her, his chest crushed against hers, one leg nudging between her thighs, he kissed her passionately.

  Micaela was aware of him in every fiber of her being, his scent was in her nostrils, his taste upon her tongue, and the feel of his naked flesh pressing intimately against her own was astoundingly sweet. Filled with giddy emotion, unabashedly eager to learn more of the "things" he would do to her, her arms closed around him. Later she would be shocked at her actions. Later she would be ashamed at her forwardness and recall Tante Marie's advice. Much, much later she would be embarrassed at what was happening, but not now, oh, definitely not now.

  Yet when Hugh's hand touched her breast, cupped it, his thumb rubbing across her nipple, she couldn't help crying out. "Monsieur! What are you doing?"

  A thread of laughter lacing through the passion, Hugh murmured, "I am making love to my wife... and do you not think that it is time you called me by my given name?" He kissed her soundly and said, "Can you not bring yourself to call me Hugh? It would please me to hear my name upon your lips."

  The sensations that were streaking through her as he continued to pull and tug at her nipple made it hard to think, but she got out breathlessly, "Very well, M-m—H-h-hugh."

  Hugh's head dipped and Micaela arched up uncontrollably as his mouth closed around her nipple. The gentle scrape of his teeth made her gasp and clutch at him. Whether she meant to push him away or pull him to her, she never knew. The sensations were so intense, so sweet, that she floated dazedly, aching and yearning for something she could not name.

  To her dizzying delight, he toyed with her breasts for some time, stroking them, shaping them to his liking. The only sound in the room was their heavy breathing and the little moans she unknowingly made as Hugh lured her deeper into the sensual maze he was weaving about her, about them both. Her reactions to his caresses and kisses, the sounds which came from deep in her throat, were every bit as exciting to Hugh as her actions were to him.

  The gnawing hunger to take her, to finally ease his aching flesh into hers, was unbearable. In the weeks preceding their marriage, he had found himself going about half-erect, the knowledge that one night soon he would be lying abed with her never far from his mind. To be touching her as he was now, to feel the firm, silken weight of her breasts in his hands, to nuzzle and suckle at those same sweet breasts was an intoxicating, lingering torture, but a torture he did not want to end, even as his body demanded he find satisfaction.

  Gripped by his own passion, his hand slid from her breast, down the narrow rib cage, across the silken expanse of her belly, to the patch of tight curly hair at the junction of her thighs. Unerringly his seeking fingers parted the soft folds, petting and stroking, exploring and learning her.

  Micaela gasped and jerked at his touch, embarrassment and a burst of indecent pleasure inundating her. Instinctively, she clamped her thighs together and grabbed his hand. "Please. Oh, please, stop."

  Hugh stilled, his mouth pressed against the wildly fluttering pulse in her throat. He muttered, "What is it? Did I hurt you?"

  In a voice which shook, she said, "Non. It is not that! I am afraid. It is as if my body is not mine any longer. You are making me feel things—wicked things I am sure no decent woman should feel. It is too shocking and shameful what you are doing to me."

  Micaela felt his lips twitch in a smile against her throat. "Sweetheart," he said gently, "what I am doing to you is the most natural thing in the world. There is nothing shocking or the least shameful about it. It is a glorious thing, what our bodies can share." His voice deepened. "What we are doing is what men have been doing to women since time began." His lips slid down to her breast and he nipped lightly. "And what women have been doing to men...."

  To her horror and utterly wanton pleasure, he reached for her hand and put it on him. Carefully he wrapped her trembling fingers around the solid length of himself, and a shudder went through him at her warm clasp. Slowly he taught her the motion which pleased him, another shudder racking him at her quick skill. In a breathless tone he said, "You see? When you touch me, I feel those same wicked things... only they are not really wicked, are they?" Deliberately, his fingers sought the warmth between her legs and stroked her. "No, not wicked," he said thickly, "but glorious and oh so sweet...."

  Micaela's reply was lost as his mouth crushed hers, his fingers parting her and sinking deeply within her. She twisted up against him, her own fingers clenching around him, tearing a groan, half pain, half pleasure from Hugh. "Gently," he murmured. "Gently."

  Certain he had never experienced such agonizingly sweet desire, Hugh's lips found Micaela's once more and he showed her the pleasure which could be found in another's caress. But the leash upon his hunger was badly frayed, and with a muffled imprecation, he suddenly stopped her inflaming ministrations. Capturing her wrist, he dragged it above her head. "No," he gasped. "No more."

  Bewildered, Micaela stared up at him in the darkness, wishing erratically that she had not had him blow out the candles. She wanted to see him. See the long, naked length of him. See what that hot length of silken steel she had been caressing really looked like. More stunningly, she wanted him to see her....

  The warnings from Tante Marie stabbed through her, and, wondering if the Devil had possessed her, Micaela felt her face flame with mortification. She was confused. Frightened and yet not frightened. To her embarrassment, she was oddly unembarrassed by what they were doing. She liked what they were doing. Giddy excitement welled up inside her as Hugh kissed her and explored her body. She had felt bold and yet wildly thrilled when he had let her touch him. She wanted to touch him again, to feel him shudder and know that he was feeling all the same wild sensations which sang through her.

  But Hugh had been pushed to his limit, and he suddenly grasped her thighs and parted them, his big body fitting snugly between them. For a moment he simply lay there, savoring the heat of her body, the scent of their passion and the press of her warm thighs against his hips. Then his mouth found hers, his hands slid beneath her, lifting her as he began to carefully push his aching
staff inside of her.

  Micaela's breath was lodged somewhere in her chest, her blood thundering in her veins as he slowly, sweetly made them one. There was pain, but she was so assaulted by all the new sensations and emotions exploding through her body that she paid it little heed. She was a wife! she thought with a burst of simple pride. A true wife. And then Hugh began to move on her, thrusting deeper and deeper within her, widening her, making her completely his, and she forgot everything but the rapture of this moment.

  Burning within her, Hugh shuddered, the tight, clinging heat of her silken sheath giving him the most erotic bliss he had ever experienced in his life. And when he stroked deeper the leash on his control snapped and he drove into her again and again as he strained to find sweet relief from the carnal urges which assailed him. He had thought that nothing could compare to the pleasure he had first experienced as their bodies had become one, but he discovered that he had deluded himself, that the bliss only intensified, intensified so powerfully that he could not bear it a second longer. Clutching her even tighter to him, he jerked and trembled as ecstasy swept him away.

  They remained locked together for several moments, Hugh able now to kiss her with lazy relish, the frantic motions of his body lessening. Regretfully, he finally slid from her soft flesh. Lying beside her, remembering that at the last he had lost all restraint, he pulled her next to him, and asked quietly, "Did I hurt you very much?"

  Unbearably aware of him, of their nakedness and of what they had just done, Micaela said shyly, "Only a little."

  Unexpectedly moved by those words, Hugh kissed her gently and muttered, "I promise you it shall never hurt again and next time... next time I shall try to give you more pleasure."

  Feeling sophisticated and blasé now that the act was over, Micaela murmured, "It was very nice what we did together, oui?"

  "Nice!" he replied in stunned, outraged tones, remembering vividly the scalding ecstasy that had been his. He had never experienced that sort of utter fulfillment before in his life. It was mortifying to realize that for all his care and restraint, for her, their joining had not even begun to approach the level of ecstasy which he had reached. Reminding himself that she had been an innocent made him feel better and lessened some of his outrage. Nice! he thought wryly. His bride thought his lovemaking was nice! What a dismal reflection on his skills as a lover. He supposed, that he should be pleased with the outcome. She did not fear him and had not found the act distasteful or terrifying, at least he could take comfort in that! A feral smile crossed his face. He could not undo tonight, but in time, he vowed, in time she would share with him that same blinding ecstasy and would never, ever, again refer to their lovemaking as nice!

  Unaware of the chagrin she had aroused in her husband's breast, Micaela yawned, and asked drowsily, "Is there anything else that we have to do?"

  "No," he said, thinking of several other things he would show and teach her in the coming days, "there is nothing else, sweetheart. Go to sleep."

  His words fell on deaf ears. Micaela was already sound asleep, the strain of the day and evening having taken its toll. But for Hugh sleep did not come easily. To his astonishment, not many minutes had passed before the novelty of having Micaela lying naked beside him began to have a decided effect upon him. Feeling his body harden, he sighed. One might have supposed that having been dismissed as merely "nice" that a certain part of his anatomy would have had the decency to, er, hide its head in shame, but, no, it was upright and eager to join sweet battle again.

  Ignoring the base promptings of his body, Hugh shifted, trying to get comfortable. Under different circumstances, he would have slaked his hunger with a renewed bout of lovemaking, but his unbridled confidence in his expertness as a lover had suffered a dent. He shook his head ruefully. After taking such care with her, to have his efforts dismissed as nice! was a smack to his masculine pride, and he was in no mood to risk being so carelessly discarded again.

  In spite of his best intentions, however, just before dawn Hugh woke, and Micaela's warmly nestled body proved to be too great a temptation. He kissed and caressed her awake and took her urgently, his body thrusting desperately into hers. She gladly accepted him, eagerly received his caresses and his frantic invasion of her yielding flesh. But afterward he was aware that while he had known again that same sweet delirium, she had not. He had made certain that she had been aroused, moist and ready for him when he had taken her and yet... It was nothing she said—she fell back asleep almost immediately—but he was expert enough to realize that she had not attained that most-longed-for peak of glorious release.

  He scowled in the faint light. It was as well, he thought dryly, that she did not yet know what she was missing. She would certainly have found her new husband a disappointment. It was utterly incredible to him, that now when it mattered most, he could not satisfy his wife. Oh, he doubted that she was totally unsatisfied. His mouth quirked. No doubt she had thought their latest joining had been nice, too.

  Realizing that only time, and hopefully, his skill could change the situation, Hugh fell back asleep. When he woke again, sunlight was streaming into the pleasant room. He became instantly aware that the area beside him was empty, and he jerked upright, only to relax against the pillows when he spied Micaela seated at a small table beneath one of the windows, sipping a cup of hot chocolate. She had been looking at him and seeing that he was awake, she smiled uncertainly.

  "Good morning, M-m-mon, er, Hugh," she said politely. "Did you sleep well?"

  A sensuous smile curved his lips. "Except for one or two incidents, yes."

  Micaela blushed. Just thinking of his hands on her body made her breasts tingle and her lower body clench with excitement. Ashamed of her reaction to his words, she said stiffly, "I am happy to hear it." Gesturing to the tray on the table, she asked, "Would you like some hot chocolate? There is also coffee, if you would like."

  What he would like, Hugh thought frankly, was to take her back to bed and begin exploring ways to have her screaming and writhing in abandon beneath him. Instead, he flung aside the bedclothes and reached for the black-silk robe which had been laid on the bed for him. "Coffee will be fine."

  Heedless of his nakedness, he stood up and shrugged into the robe. Crossing to the marble washstand in one corner, he made quick work of his morning ablutions. His hair damp and curling around his dark, handsome face, he turned and approached the table where Micaela sat.

  Her fingers trembled as she poured his coffee, for the sight of that lean, magnificent body had shaken her. He was so tall, so virile and beautiful in an utterly masculine way that she could hardly believe that he was her husband and that last night she had lain in his arms. Something hot and aching unfurled in her belly. Merci! But this was disgraceful! She should not be thinking these indecent thoughts! The marriage bed was a necessary part of their life together, she told herself prosaically, but surely it should not intrude into her mind this way. Tante Marie would think her a shameless creature, and she was ashamed of herself—and her thoughts.

  Putting on a cool smile to hide the tumult and confusion within her, she handed him the cup of coffee and murmured, "There are also some calas and fruit, if you would like them."

  Seating himself in a chair across from her, he sipped his coffee. "Rice cakes? Are they still hot?"

  Her eyes twinkled. "Mais oui! Maman would be insulted if we were to be served cold food!"

  Biting into one of the golden brown rice cakes, Hugh closed his eyes in open enjoyment. "We shall have to make certain that our own cook fixes these often."

  "Do we have a cook?" Micaela asked, startled. In the days before their marriage, her meetings with her husband had been few and then always in company of others. There had not been much discussion of household affairs. Everything had happened with such haste that such affairs as living quarters had been pushed aside. It suddenly occurred to Micaela that she didn't have any idea where they were going to live. Most of her married friends either continued to live un
der their parents' roof with their husbands or moved into their husband's family home. Somehow, from what little she did know of him, she did not think that Hugh was going to have them continue to live with her family. He would want, she realized slowly, his own home.

  "Yes, we do have a cook—a very fine one, I am told. And a butler, several housemaids and some kitchen assistants for the cook, as well as sundry others." He glanced across at her. "I hope you do not mind, but I have been assembling a staff for us. Jasper and your Tante Marie helped and your maman, also."

  Micaela smiled impishly. "And a house? Do we have one of those, too?"

  Pushing aside his empty plate, Hugh grinned back at her. "Indeed we do, Madame Wife. Thanks to Jasper's intervention and the fact that I was marrying into a respectable Creole family, I was able to purchase a fine piece of property, a few houses down from Jasper's own house. Ownership changed hands not three days ago."

  She considered this news for a moment. "Old Monsieur Follet's house?"

  "You know it?" Hugh asked, surprised.

  "Yes. Maman has taken me there to visit many times, and since Monsieur Follet is the last of his family, it is the only place I could imagine that you would have been able to buy." She grinned at him, looking mischievous, that kissable dimple coming into view. "You must know that Creole property is seldom for sale at any price—it usually passes from one generation to the next and few, if any, would sell to an Américain—but since Monsieur Follet is the last of his line and you have married me, voila! It arranges itself, oui?"

  "Yes, it does," Hugh replied, thinking that he liked the sparkle in her fine dark eyes and the mischievous grin on her pretty face. "You will, naturally, want to refurbish it. Since Monsieur Follet is planning to return to France, he left a great many pieces of furniture in the house, but it is by no means completely furnished." He smiled at her. "You may draw freely upon my purse for whatever you think we might need. And, of course, I shall be delighted to take you to our warehouses, for you to select anything there that catches your eye."