He stared at her in awe. His admiration warmed her from the inside out.
“May I?” he asked in his deep murmur. He reached above her head. She drew back, startled.
“Your hair,” he said, looking apologetic. “It was down that night we met. I have never forgotten how glorious it looked around your shoulders.”
A small laugh escaped her at the thought he had remembered such a detail. “By all means.” She reached up to remove the cap and her pins.
He got there first. “Let me.” He freed the little scrap of lace first, tossing it aside, then worked his fingers through her hair, pulling out pins, massaging her scalp as he went. She wanted to purr like a cat as, tress by tress, it tumbled down her back.
He stepped back to admire his handiwork with heavy-lidded eyes. “Just as I remembered,” he said with a satisfied nod. He arranged it over her shoulders, patting it in place, stroking it over her breasts. “Perfect.”
Laughing, she raised a brow. “You are falling behind,” she said, plucking at his waistcoat. With the ease of long practice, she unbuttoned the offending garment and he slipped it off. She then undid the buttons of his shirt and freed it from the waistband of his pantaloons. He pulled it off over his head, exposing all that lovely male flesh to her gaze. Sculpted muscles. A mat of dark hair on his chest, a swirl of it around his beaded nipples and a trail down the ridged hardness of his belly.
Awed, she could only gaze at what she saw. He was a vision of perfection. So very male. So very large. And if the rigid length bulging at the front of his skintight nether garment was anything to go by, so very ready for her.
Moisture dampened the apex of her thighs. She licked her suddenly dry lips. Her insides fluttered, while deep inside her, nerves began to tremble and quake. He was just too beautiful. And she could not keep him.
Perhaps this was going to be the biggest mistake of her life. It wasn’t too late to say no. To leave. In disarray to be sure, but not broken. Not quite.
He was a true gentleman, and if she said no, he would let her go.
But she would regret it for the rest of her life.
She forced a bright smile, but could not quite look him in the eye, could not let him see her fear. “Do you think you can manage the rest yourself?”
“Annabelle,” he murmured.
The sound of her name on his lips had the ring of an angels’ choir.
“Annabelle,” he said again, more softly, barely a breath of air passing her cheek. “Sweetheart. Darling. Don’t cut me off.”
Numbly, she gazed up at him. And every last wall she’d built these past many years crumbled around her. “Gordon. Oh, Gordon.”
His name was a cry from her heart.
“Annabelle. Little one.” He bent and lifted her onto the bed, laying her gently down on the pristine white sheets as if she were a delicate piece of spun glass. He stripped down to his skin in a few efficient movements and lay beside her on the bed, one hand supporting his head while the other stroked her shoulders, the rise of her breasts beneath the curtain of her hair, and dipped into the valley between. She closed her eyes and drifted on the whisper-soft sensations of his touch.
His lips on her throat, his tongue tracing the veins in her neck, swirling in the dips formed by her clavicle. Tasting. Learning. His scent invaded her nostrils. Gordon. Wine. The dark notes of a male aroused. Her insides tightened.
Gently, his fingers drew down the fabric of her shift, easing her breast free of her stays, exposing the furled peak to his gaze. His tongue licked, his teeth grazed and tormented the sensitive bud, until she rose up on her elbows, encouraging him to take her into his mouth, to give her the pleasure she longed for.
He came up on his knees, supporting her weight. “Let us have you out of this, shall we?” he murmured softly as his clever fingers worked at the strings of her stays. Finally released, they fell away, and she helped him pull her shift over her head. When she reached to untie her stockings, his hand covered hers. “Leave them. I find them...stirring.”
Her insides clenched as his thick, heavy shaft pulsed agreement with his words. A bead of moisture formed at its tip. She smoothed the milky moisture over the surrounding hot, tight dark flesh with her thumb, and then bent to kiss the velvety softness, her palm circling the shaft, feeling the heat and the pound of his blood in time to her own beating heart.
Licking and kissing the salty-tasting silken head, outlining its contours with the tip of her tongue, was more heady than wine. She then took him deep into her mouth.
He groaned, his hand clenching at the sheets beside her head. “You’ll be the death of me,” he muttered hoarsely. He gently but insistently forced her away. “I’m no ready to meet my end,” he whispered against her lips. “Not yet. Not without you.”
He kissed her deeply, gently pressing her back onto the pillows, nudging her legs apart with his knee and kneeling between her thighs.
There was a look of deep concentration on his face, a frown between his brows, a grimace on his face. He looked like a man in pain. She smoothed the hair back from his face, rubbed at the crease with her thumb. He caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing one knuckle at a time, from smallest to largest, until he reached her thumb. He drew it into his mouth and sucked.
Her insides pulsed. Her hips shot up off the bed at the tearing pleasure that rushed to her core. She shivered and shook in the aftermath.
The man was skilled. A maestro. And she his willing instrument.
He encircled each of her wrists with a finger and thumb and brought them down either side of her head. Pinning her to the bed. She undulated her hips, letting him know what she wanted and where.
Clearly delighted, he grinned down at her. “Not yet, my love.”
My love. If only she could be his love. She could. For one night only. That was all she could allow. One night. Anything more and she would lose her way. Since she saw him last she had come to a decision about how to move forward. At first she’d resisted, but there really was no other way.
She gazed at his dearly beloved face and felt her smile grow and grow. “Soon, though,” she said, laughing up at him.
“Aye, soon,” he agreed, and lowered his head to worship the nipple he had yet to taste. And the underside of her breasts. And each rib. He delved his tongue into her navel, slowly moving backward between her parted legs, stretching out his arms so that her hands were stilled pinned by his gentle grasp. Like a virgin sacrifice.
She felt a desperately arousing sense of helplessness, being staked out by this amazingly virile man. Because despite the gentleness of his hold, Annabelle had no doubt that she was completely and utterly at his mercy.
A sensual shudder rippled through her body.
He kissed the curls at the apex of her thighs. Inhaled deeply, as if he would carry her scent with him for always.
When they separated.
As they must. He had a future that did not include her. And nor should it.
She lifted her shoulders and glanced down the length of her body, thrilling to the sight of his dark head between her legs, aching in her core as his tongue parted the folds of her feminine secrets and licked delicately. His tongue flicked and delved deep, searching for the tiny budding center. He found it and suckled.
She shattered. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her veins.
He released her wrists and raised up over her, his eager shaft dark with blood.
“Yes,” she said, smiling through the hot red mist of pleasure. “Now, Gordon. Take me now.” She would remember this, for always.
Chapter Four
Gordon gazed down on her beautiful face. This was his Annabelle. Life had torn them apart as little more than children, and chance had brought them back together. Fate had taken a hand. And he was more than glad.
He rose above her, his loins on fire with the need to claim her as his own. And heaven help him, his need was hard to control. Base desires and urges had him by the throat, squeezing all thought, all vestiges of civility from his being. Leaving only one instinct. She was his mate. His woman.
He drove into her slowly, sensing in her little movements beneath him the angles and touches that gave her the most pleasure. Holding himself back, by little more than a soul-deep longing to bring her with him into the abyss.
Again and again he offered himself in the way of a male to a female, giving all of himself. Driving into her body, until he could hold back no longer. Until everything that was in him must break apart. In wonder and thankfulness, he felt her rise to meet him, felt the silken softness of her hot core tighten around him, pulling him deeper, cleaving flesh to flesh until he felt the intertwining of their souls.
She shattered again. Her inner muscles gripping and pulsing around his rock hard shaft, stroking him, as she cried out her pleasure.
Sensual torment threw him into a hot and blissfully overwhelming death. His climax rocked him to the core. Left him splintered in a thousand pieces. It lasted hours and was over far too soon.
Breathing hard, he dropped his forehead to hers, somehow managed to kiss her lips and lift himself clear, before collapsing into warm welcoming sleep, with her head pillowed on his shoulder and his arms holding her close.
* * *
Gordon awoke with a jerk at a sound at his side. A soft little sound of contentment. Her. Annabelle. A feral pride filled him.
She stretched. “That was delicious.” She turned her face and kissed the rise of his breast above his nipple, where the skin was naked of hair. Nothing overtly sexual, but it warmed him inside. Filled an empty place in his chest with tenderness.
“Aye,” he said, and kissed the top of her head while his fingers stroked the tresses that tumbled over her shoulder. “You are amazing.”
She lay lax against him. This was what he had been missing all these years. Peace. Companionship.
A sense of coming home. With Annabelle.
He drew her closer, tucking her against his side where she belonged.
She pulled away. “I have to go.”
Her quickness caught him off guard. Unwillingly, he let her slip free of his embrace and sit up.
He rose up beside her, once more mesmerized by the way her hair flowed over her breasts in a toffee-colored tumble of waves. He wound a strand around his fingers just to feel their silk against his skin. “When will I see you again?”
Her head whipped around. “Ouch.”
She clutched at her scalp and he released his grip with a wince of apology. “Sorry.”
“There can be no again,” she said, moving away from him. “Now where is my shift?”
The pain at her rejection was unexpectedly sharp. He caught her upper arm to get her attention as she rummaged through the tumbled sheets. “Cannot, or you do not want to?” Neither was acceptable. Not now.
Eyes wide, she stared at him. “Gordon,” she breathed. “It is not possible.” She swallowed. “Much as I would like it.”
A sop to his dignity? He clung to his calm. “Why is it not possible?” The hurt inside him made his voice harsher than he intended. “Got another noble husband lined up, have you?” The moment he spoke the jealous words, and she flinched, he wished them unspoken.
Her face paled. Her chest rose and fell in an uneven breath. “Another victim, you mean?” A bitter smile twisted her lips. “Of course. Let me go.”
He let his hand drop. “Annabelle, I’m sorry. I didna mean...”
Her eyes misted for a moment. Or did they? Now they were clear and bright and hard. “No need to apologize. You are right. My plans are set. My web woven. If you will excuse me.”
For all her brave words, he knew in lashing out in his own pain he’d struck an underhanded blow. “Annabelle. Wait.”
Ignoring him, she scooted to the edge of the bed, leaning over to rescue her shift from the floor and presenting him with a lovely view of her delectable bottom.
He bit back a groan and focussed. She was slipping though his fingers like quicksilver. “If this is about Merton, you never told me what happened. Don’t I deserve to know?”
Her lips parted in shock. She pulled her shift over her head, veiling her expression, but not hiding her lovely form. “No.” She wrapped her stays about her and presented her back. “If you would be so good as to lace me?” She looked over her shoulder. “It is no one’s business but my own.”
Damn. Damn. He began threading the tapes. Something had happened to change her from the girl she’d been to the woman she had become. But if she didn’t trust him enough to confide in him... The idea of her not trusting him hurt, but he’d not exactly shown himself to be a knight in shining armor tonight.
The pain around his heart spread outward. The emptiness inside him returned, deeper, more impenetrable that before. She didn’t want him. And he would not attempt to force her to stay. He let go his breath, tied off the bow and leaned back against the headboard. “Then dinna let me keep you.” If his tone sounded a little grim, he couldn’t help it. It was how he felt.
She’d hurt him. Annabelle felt it in the air. A heaviness. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Saw the tightness around his mouth and the hard set of his jaw.
It wasn’t her secret to tell. It saddened her to think that if he thought of her at all after tonight, his recollection would not be kind. He’d more than likely assume the gossip he’d heard about her were true. Knowing she had caused him pain hurt her, too. “I’m sorry.”
“What have you to be sorry for?” he asked.
She jumped. Had she spoken aloud? “I should not have...” What? Encouraged his attentions? Given in to her wicked desires? She could see from his face that anything she said would only make matters worse. “Tonight was a mistake.” She shrugged. It was the best she could do.
She stepped into her gown. It seemed she needed his help once more. She turned her back, saw him in the mirror as he realized her need. Their gazes clashed, his stormy, hers apologetic.
He rose from the bed, gloriously naked and completely unconcerned. She could not help watching the way he moved, the powerful grace, the confidence, the lovely maleness of him, the firming of his shaft under her gaze.
She lowered her lashes. Pretended not to notice.
He set to work on the fastenings.
Her shoulders slumped beneath the weight of her past. She hadn’t realized how heavy a burden it would be. But then she’d never expected to see Gordon again. He’d been her dream, her Prince Pharming. The man in the flesh was so much more than her girlish recollections. Hurting him was the last thing she had wanted.
His fingers stilled. She looked up and saw him watching her in the glass. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “I don’t believe the rumors. Why won’t you trust me with the truth?” Anger carved stern lines in his face. The anger of a man betrayed.
Something inside her tore. A fountain of emotions bubble up through the gashes. Hope. Sadness. And the love she’d always carried for this man deep in her heart.
Knowing she’d put that look on his face made the ripping in two that much worse. “The truth is not mine to tell,” she said, her eyes begging for understanding.
“Then whose is it?”
She closed her eyes briefly. “Please, Gordon.”
A soft groan broke from him. He turned her around in his arms, looking down into her face. The effort of holding back her tears made her shake. “I really am sorry,” she choked out.
“Hush,” he murmured, stroking her back, rocking her gently. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Not want to? If only she could. To trust anyone with such a dark secret would be beyond foolis
h. What man would understand? Yet if she could not trust him, what was left to her? Perhaps she could tell him some of it, without breaking her promise. So he would not leave here thinking her completely despicable.
She took a deep breath. “My first marriage solved my father’s most pressing debts. I thought there was a settlement for me, too, but it was an either-or situation, I discovered later. I was destitute when Jenkins died.”
Gordon made a sound of sympathy. Swept her up off her feet and carried to the large chair by the fire, where he settled her on his lap. “That is better. Now, continue.”
She felt safe in his arms. Secure. Protected. She forced herself not to snuggle against him, fearing he might change his mind when he heard the rest of the story.
“Shortly after I came out of mourning, I met Merton. He was handsome. Charming. Witty. And above all, very rich. All one could wish for in a husband.”
“It was a love match?”
She tamped down her inclination to laugh. “No. Though at first I did think he was smitten. And I liked him. I thought we would deal well together. Start a family.”
“But something went wrong?”
He must have heard the longing, the hope she’d had for children. She brightened her voice. Tried to sound calm, not bitter, though there was some of that in her heart for the way Merton had used her without her consent. “He was not unkind. He just never came to me at night.” She shifted away from Gordon, trying to read his expression. It told her nothing. “After many nights of wondering, I could only presume he had a lover. Someone he cared for deeply.”
Gordon stroked her back. “Then why marry you?”
Her fingers played with a fold in her skirt as she tried to decide what to say. How to say it. “His lover was not free to wed him.”
One Night with the Highlander (The Gilvrys of Dunross) Page 4
