He wouldn’t be denied, not this time, he swore... not this time...
Christian turned her so that she faced him in the darkness. His hand went to her face and he caressed her lips, her soft cheek, moving down to her chin, slowly, taking his leisure. She let him. Holding her delicate chin between his thumb and forefinger, he stroked it with his thumb as he lifted her shadowed face for his kiss.
She didn’t resist him, and victory, sweet and potent, swept through his veins in that instant—along with it, a hunger more compelling than the physical, a yearning so deep and fierce that his mind went blank of all thought save for that of the woman in his arms. When his lips met hers at last, he found them trembling sweetly for him, and he couldn’t help himself, his fevered tongue thrust within, tasting and taking with a delirium he’d never experienced before.
In that moment, as their tongues met and sparred, he found the sweetest taste of paradise, discovered a glimpse of heaven and beyond... and knew instinctively it was a place he would never see... save through her.
God, he wanted her so much... so bloody much...
And this time, he was not going to stop.
God Himself couldn’t keep him this time.
He’d waited far too long already—honor be damned! Conscience be damned! If he should burn in hell the rest of eternity for this night, then it was a penance he would eagerly pay.
And curse her, for she responded much too wantonly to his every thrust, his every touch, moaning and undulating for him so wildly, in such sweet abandon. Aye... she was fiery heat in his arms, and he reveled in the reality that she desired him, as well.
Christian felt her body shudder at his touch, heard the passionate little whimpers she made, and saw himself suddenly tearing the bodice of her gown in his fierce need to taste her, to suckle the sweet buds, not recognizing himself or his actions anymore.
At the instant, he felt as savage and ruthless as he was reputed to be.
Jessie whimpered, though not from pain or fear, but from a longing so great, she could scarcely comprehend it, much less deny it. Her sanity was swept away, and she could only feel—couldn’t think, only feel...
“Christian… please...” She wanted to plead with him never to stop, but her voice failed her, and she closed her eyes to savor his touch instead. “Please...”
“Nay,” he growled, “I cannot—God curse me, but I cannot! I want to see you, Jessamine... all of you... kiss you everywhere... ah, Christ,” he hissed, leaving her lips and touching his burning mouth to her throat. “I’ve waited so long, Jess...”
Arching for his lips, Jessie moaned. It felt so blessed good to be kissed and loved by him... but then, he didn’t love her, she had to remind herself. And still... if she would be condemned for this weakness all the rest of her lifetime, then let it be so, for she could not deny him—nay, she could not deny herself! When his warm lips closed over and suckled at her breast, she thought she would die from the intense pleasure it gave her. “Please...”
“Please what?” His breath was hot against her flesh as he moved lower still, tasting her as he ripped the gown further from her body, reducing it to little more than tattered rags... like her will.
“This, Jessie?” he asked softly, touching his lips to her body in that most private place.
“Yes,” she hissed, undulating and twisting with the sheer pleasure of it. “Yes...” She moaned, her eyes closing tightly as she cherished his loving. She wanted to remember forever every detail of this night, every sensation he roused within her. The passion in his hands; the way he touched her as though he adored her. “Yes,” she murmured, her body responding with tiny little shudders.
“Jessamine,” he whispered hoarsely, sliding up, bending low over her and burying his face within her hair. “I’m not going to stop this time...”
His whispery breath was velvety soft and blazing hot against her ear.
Christian lifted himself above her, waiting for her to reopen her eyes before continuing, wanting to know that she’d understood him clearly, wanting her to understand that it was to him she gave herself... not Ben.
She lifted her dark lashes at last, relief and anguish both evident there in the brilliant green of her eyes. They seemed to glow in the darkness, beckon him on...
She watched without moving as he tugged down his breeches, shrugging them off.
Her gaze met his and his lips turned ever so softly as her eyes lowered to that very erect male part of him. Her gaze flew once again to his.
He made some sound, part chuckle, part groan, at her reaction, for through the years Christian had lain with many women, all with diverse personalities, each with varying degrees of experience, but never had he been privy to such an expression as that Jessie gave him now. It was obvious to him that she’d never seen a man unclad before, and that knowledge gave him pleasure like no mating ever could have.
“Wh-What are you d-doing?”
“Making love to you,” he answered huskily, leaving no doubt as to his intent, and then his hands were moving across her once more with an urgency he could no longer restrain. Not gently at all, he jerked the last threads of her gown from her body, revealing her completely to his scrutiny.
“My God...” He swallowed with difficulty. “You are... more than I’d imagined...”
Jessie’s heart squeezed at his words.
Suddenly she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only feel... His hands moved over her, searing her flesh, and then he cupped her breasts with his warm palms, kneading them gently beneath his expert fingers, as he bent to kiss her once more, his tongue delving deeply, possessively.
In the next instant his mouth left her lips to replace his hands at her breast, suckling her like a babe at his mother’s bosom, and Jessie discovered some heretofore unknown connection between that part of her and the other.
And then he knelt above her once more.
Heat flared in the innermost reaches of her body as she felt his hand slide like molten fire between her legs. She moaned as one large finger thrust within her body, exploring the depths of her, and in response her legs lifted of their own accord. His body shuddered violently in answer to her instinctive invitation. Seeming to have found what he sought, he tensed over her, staring at her through the darkness as though he were overwhelmed by his discovery. Jessie could not tell his expression for the shadows, but his hand arrested there in the very depths of her. Then, all at once, she felt his finger stroking deep within her as his body quivered once more.
In an instant, he withdrew, covering her, his weight pressing her into the bed, and all the while he continued to adore her flesh, with his hands and his lips and his tongue. He was a man driven, it seemed. His arms slid behind her knees, and then it seemed he was parting her, separating her legs, lifting her. She obliged, wrapping her legs about his hips.
And then suddenly she felt it, the delicious pressure as he eased that part of himself within her, impaling her. Moaning, Jessie instinctively lifted against him, accepting him even as her body refused him entrance.
Cursing, Christian withdrew just a little, but the incredible tightness was his undoing. It seemed he’d waited for this moment a bloody lifetime.
A lifetime too long.
Crying out hoarsely, he lost control, surging down against her, tearing her maiden’s flesh in one fell swoop.
The fierceness of their joining drowned Jessie’s pleasure with such unbelievable pain that she instinctively recoiled with the shock of it. “Christian!’’ she cried as he began to thrust wildly. “Christian! Oh God!” But he would not stop. His movements were swift and hard and his handsome face contorted as though in pain.
Suddenly Jessie felt the heat again, and understood completely this deep joining of the flesh, for he’d somehow touched her all the way to her womb... and it seemed to ease the bittersweet ache so deep within her.
He filled her completely, her body, her heart, her soul.
His hands moved to her buttocks, lifting her sligh
tly, as though to raise her more evenly for his thrusts, holding her immobile as he pumped savagely, furiously, within. Jessie tried to give back full measure, but he was too strong and too quick, and his thrusts too unbearably sweet, and then he stopped, crying out savagely, casting his head back to reveal the taut cords of his neck. He held her so tightly that she thought he would crush her as his body shook, violent spasms wracking his entire form. After an eternity, he fell listlessly atop her, though he supported the majority of his weight upon his arms. His cheek was to her bosom, his breath ragged and spent.
She wanted to demand that he continue, for she’d been on the brink of something wonderful, something exquisite, but the muscles of his jaw tautened against her breast, and he whispered fiercely, gravely, “Pardonnez-moi... pardonnez-moi... forgive me, Jessie.”
And then the warmth and the need were suddenly gone, replaced by an anguish and disappointment so great that Jessie could scarcely bear it. Her heart hammering without mercy, and anger surging through her veins, she shoved him from atop her. He went willingly enough, giving a low, tormented growl as he turned from her to face the door.
Frustrated, and too furious to care that he was angry once again, Jessie turned her back to him, facing the blasphemous window. As she stared out at the inky black sky and pale moon above the oak tree, ignoring the figures beneath, she felt more bereft than ever.
Chapter Twenty Two
The rap upon the door awoke her at once—or so Jessie thought, for when she opened her eyes she saw through the shadows that Christian had already readied it and was turning the knob. She wondered then if he’d slept at all.
Frantically she searched out the discarded sheet to cover her nakedness. Scarcely had she found it and shielded herself when the door opened. The light from a single lantern spilled into the cabin. It was McCarney. A frisson passed down Jessie’s spine as the man spoke.
“Hawk, ye asked me to tell ye when we’ve arrived at the mouth o’ the Ashley. We’ve come in as silently as the mist, as ye said we should—none ha’e seen us, I’m certain.”
Christian nodded. “Lower the boat... we’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Aye, sir, will do.”
When McCarney would have peered into the cabin, Christian slammed the door in his face. Turning to the bed, he saw that Jessie was sitting, facing him, the sheets pressed protectively to her bosom. His head pounded fiercely—his conscience worse. Unable to face her, he turned from her, seeking out his breeches in the darkness, not bothering to light a lantern.
The less light, the better, for they were not so far from land that they might not be discovered yet.
“Get up and get dressed.”
“I don’t understand... It is the middle of the night,” she protested.
“Just do it,” he directed. “Or I shall do it for you.”
She moved hesitantly from the bed, drawing the coverlet away, and came away with a torn fragment of her gown within her hand. Her face contorted, and his heart twisted. “Why must we go about in the dead of the night, when only thieves and rogues prowl about? I cannot bear to be part of such depravity!”
Christian had no need of light to know that she was weeping now. He could hear the sorrow plainly in her voice, and he had the sudden urge to go to her, but then she spoke again and her anger kept him at bay.
“How can you do treason against the Crown, Christian? And my cousin—my God! I cannot fathom what would make Ben follow—”
“The likes of me?” The implication was clear. “Can you not?” Hearing only her grief for Ben’s sake, he taunted, “Poor, poor Ben. And so you believe I’ve corrupted him?”
Jessie turned away, unable to face him, but it was an unnecessary gesture, for the room was too dark to see more than shadows. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“Well then, allow me to enlighten you, mon amour.”
Fastening his breeches, he came closer, until he could see her face more clearly—pallid in the light of the moon. “Like me, Ben is appalled by the lack of justice in The Colonies. But I cannot begin—nor have I the time or inclination—to give you all the arguments for what I do. I make no apologies for what I am, Jessamine.”
And yet, giving lie to his words, he sat beside her upon the bed. Prying the tattered gown she held from her hand, he stroked it meditatively between his own fingers, looking down upon it with genuine regret. “I’m sorry, Jessie... this should never have happened between us.”
He peered up at her then, dropping the tatter of her clothing in favor of a strand of her hair, rubbing it wistfully between his fingertips. Her eyes were such a brilliant green, luminous with unshed tears. For a long instant their gazes held, and he felt himself transported in time, to a sweeter moment he’d found beneath an old elm tree. He’d loved her even then, he realized, for she’d made him yearn to be that man she saw in him. Only that man didn’t exist. He almost looked away then, so much sorrow and regret did he feel... and still...
Ah, but Christ... even now, he felt the need to explain himself to her when never before had he even thought to doubt his motives, or himself. He tried to conceive of a way to explain... some way to make her comprehend.
Recalling a certain conversation they’d had once, so very long ago, he said, “Do you remember, Jessie... once, some time ago, we discussed at length Adelard of Bath’s questions on nature?”
She nodded and Christian lifted her chin gently with a finger, searching her eyes through the shadows. “What did he speak of? Being guided by reason? Of authority as a halter?” As he spoke, he never lifted his gaze from her shadowed face. “‘For what else should authority be called but a halter?’“ he recounted, his tone soft but impassioned as he spoke. She closed her eyes, refusing to see him, but he continued nonetheless, “‘Indeed, just as brute beasts are led by any kind of halter, and know neither where nor how they are led, and only follow the rope by which they are held, so the authority of your writers leads into danger not a few who have been seized and bound by animal credulity. For they do not know that reason has been given to each person, so that with it as the first judge he may distinguish between the true and the false. And whosoever does not know or neglects reason,’” he finished, “‘should deservedly be considered blind.’ Is that not what he wrote, Jess?”
A tear slipped through her lashes, silent and wretched, and it tugged at his heart.
She opened her eyes to him then.
“Well, I am not blind!” he told her with feeling, gripping her jaw a little harder to gain her full attention, though not hard enough to hurt her. “Nor am I an animal to be led blindly by a halter to my grave! I am a man, Jessie, and only a man, but with a heart and mind that tell me things are not as they should be. I merely do my part to change what I cannot abide—and I am not alone! Our number is great. Your cousin is only one of many, so do not fault him—nor myself—if you would, until you know and understand our grievances.”
She gripped his wrist firmly. “Then tell me,” she pleaded. “Explain them to me... Make me understand, because I do not!”
He let his hand drop from her face, but still she did not release his wrist. “I’ve not the time just now, but aye, I shall... and soon... just not now.”
Freeing himself from her grasp, Christian rose to stand before her. Jessie averted her gaze, staring at her hands. She clasped and unclasped them, holding them fast in her lap.
Christian shook his head, his jaw working. He couldn’t be weak, knew he couldn’t be weak, but he was. “Dress yourself. We are awaited and the hour grows late. Morning comes swiftly, and I would see you safe at Shadow Moss before the first light.”
She turned her face upward in question, her brows furrowing softly. “Shadow Moss?” She shook her head, uncomprehending.
“My home, Jessamine; ’tis where you’ll stay until such time as Ben heals... and then you’ll return to your uncle.”
“Oh.” Her gaze skidded away.
He studied the shadowed contours of he
r face a long moment, but there was no emotion discernible there, and he turned from her finally, going to the door, opening it. His hand on the knob, his back to her, he told her, “I shall await you above deck.”
Only silence answered him, but he knew she would come, and he left, closing the door softly behind him.
The double-storied plantation house was clearly visible from the Ashley. Its whitewashed brick facade reflected the moonlight, making it glow—a silent beacon to those who would navigate the foggy river. Enormous white columns buttressed the stately portico. It was a magnificent house, Jessie admitted to herself as she stood before the massive oak front door, stunningly so, but it seemed oddly unbalanced. In the darkness she couldn’t quite discern why.
No sooner had Christian opened the front door when he again seized hold of her arm, guiding her within. She would have protested save that she was rendered speechless upon entering the house. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight within. Certainly not the perfectly constructed classical architecture of its exterior.
The entrance hall was in a lamentable state at best. At least five hastily constructed scaffolds occupied the room. The ceilings and floors completely lacked decorative molding, and the walls were unsightly, bare of everything save for the gas lit lanterns that now gave the room light. There was not a single stick of furniture within the room.
Jessie could scarcely hide her stupefaction. She peered up at Christian with furrowed brows and saw that he was watching her intently, as though he anticipated her reaction and was bracing himself for the worst.
“It is under construction,” Ben told her when he saw the look that passed between them.
She lifted a brow. “So I’ve gathered.” She cast Ben an amused glance. Did he think she could not tell? Splotches of white paint garnished the wall that faced them, and wood pieces of all sizes and shapes littered the bare wood floor. This, she thought, was likely where Christian had procured the oak for Ben to fashion his walking cane from, and it struck her then that he should have been so attentive to such a small detail, and then again, one so grand. She swallowed, secretly moved that he should be so thoughtful of Ben. And she couldn’t help but recall the cheval glass he’d brought to her aboard the Mistral; she never had thanked him, nor had he ever mentioned it.
Kissed; Christian Page 19
