“And you wanted to now? To see me.”
He paused only a foot away. So close, his warm breath stirred the lace of her mask. Of course she wanted to see him. She loved him. “Of course I want to see you,” she whispered. “I…you’re my fiancé.” His wonderful scent swirled around her, muddling her thoughts. A spicy cologne, leather, rain, and male.
“We haven’t announced our engagement yet. There’s still time to back out.”
She released a harsh, unnatural laugh. “Why would I do that?” Dear Lord, had her aunt been right? Was he losing interest? Instead of panicking, she felt oddly relieved.
He reached forward, taking a lock of her hair. His fingers brushed the side of her neck and sent heat like an arrow straight through her body. “Because, my dear Helen, there are times I wonder if you truly want to be engaged to me.”
Startled, she looked up at him. “What do you mean?” She turned away, staring out an arched window and onto the lawn where a mermaid fountain spewed water. Breath held, she waited for his answer.
“Your letters have always been so warm, but the few times I’ve met with you…well, you’ve been less than receptive.”
“I’m…shy.”
He laughed, the sound echoing in the small abode. He stepped closer to her, his chest pressing intimately to her shoulder. She couldn’t back away. Not only did she have nowhere to go, but if she did, her action would only confirm his suspicion.
“All right, I’m not shy,” she admitted. “But…but you make me feel that way.” She turned to face him, looking directly into his eyes for the first time. “When you’re near…I can’t…think…I can’t breathe.” It was the truth. Not the truth from Helen, but from her.
His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring slightly. “Tell me you want me.”
A long paused separated them. Her heart hammered recklessly. She could play demure, or she could speak her mind for once in her life. “I do. I want you Gabriel, more than you could ever know.”
Something lit his eyes. Something lovely. Something dangerous. His hands cupped her shoulders and he jerked her forward, crushing his mouth to hers. She didn’t resist. Cynthia could do nothing more than sink into his hard body. Shock quickly gave way to pure happiness. He was finally kissing her!
When his tongue boldly slid across her lips, she eagerly opened for him, couldn’t get enough of him. Vaguely, she was aware that this was wrong…so incredibly wrong. But she didn’t care. Didn’t give a damn. For one brief moment he was hers, and she’d dreamt of this moment since she received that first letter.
His strong hands moved to her backside, cupping her bottom and pulling her intimately against him. Flames licked at her lower belly. Something hard pressed against her thighs, throbbing with an intensity that should have frightened her. Eagerly her body responded, insisting she move closer, rub against him in a rocking motion that made him groan.
It was wrong, so wrong, yet she couldn’t stop her body from reacting. Cynthia slid her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe. His mouth, lord, his mouth tore from hers, moving to her jaw line, lower, to her sensitive neck. Her breasts grew heavy, her nipples hardened and begged for his touch. How she wanted him! Desire flooded her body. That pulse between her legs flared to life… aching, beating with need.
“Dear God, Helen, you’re so sweet.”
The name sent a cold chill through her. Horrified, she shoved against his hard chest. “No!”
He released his hold and she stumbled back. For one long moment he merely stared at her, a stunned look upon his face. The surprise quickly gave way something else, an anger that moved across his features in a frightening wave. His jaw clenched, his body actually quivering with outrage.
“Damn you,” he snapped, startling Cynthia.
She resisted the urge to move back. There was a dangerous air about him that she’d never seen before, an air that worried her more than she wanted to admit. “I’m sorry—”
“No, you’re not.” He stepped closer, towering over her.
Before she could move, he gripped her upper arms, his hold tight. “No more. No more will you play this game. If what you say is true, then show me you want me. Show me now.”
********
She merely looked at him; a beautiful, seductive tease. Did she have any idea how her breath sent her breasts higher, threatening to spill from her low neckline? He swallowed hard and refused to drop his gaze, but continued to look directly at her, daring her with his silence.
Anger mixed with need. A need so intense, so inexplicable it left him weak. He’d never wanted her this much, but then never had she responded to him with such passion. Here, for one brief moment, he thought she’d wanted him. And now…damn her, now she was back to playing her silly games.
He’d heard the rumors, knew she was a flirt. He even questioned whether she was still a virgin. If not for that blasted promise he’d made to his father to marry her ten years ago, he would have broken the engagement himself.
Well no more. His father was dead and his promise buried with him. If she wanted to marry him, she’d show him how much she cared. He tightened his grip on her upper arms and jerked her forward, ignoring her gasp.
“Show me,” he demanded.
“H…how?”
“By not pulling away. By not flinching under my touch. By responding. By kissing me.”
He wanted to draw the lush curve of her lower lip into his mouth. To taste her. Have her completely. She hesitated, and he waited…waited to see what she would do. He would have waited forever.
Taking in a deep trembling breath, she stepped close to him and tilted her face upward. How badly he wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead he waited for her to act. She pressed her hands to his chest and stood on tiptoe. Slowly, she leaned forward. Time seemed to stand still. He felt her warm breath, then her soft lips and he almost melted.
Lord, she tasted sweet. Like strawberries ripe under a warm country sun. Unable to help himself, he flicked his tongue across her lips until she opened her mouth. With quick work, he delved into her, tasting her, touching, rubbing his tongue against hers.
She murmured a seductive cat-like purr that stirred his blood and hardened his already throbbing erection. She wanted him. She might not have wanted him before, she might not ever admit it, but her desire was obvious. He pressed her back against the wall. Boldly, he ran his hands down her chest brushing his thumbs over the hard buds of her nipples. Her body called to him. A siren. He cupped those full, warm breasts, feeling the weight through the silky material of her gown.
She wanted him. She’d practically told him that in her letters and she was telling him now with her body. But he needed to hear the words. He cupped the sides of her face and tore his mouth from hers. Both of them were breathing heavily.
“Tell me you want me.”
She closed her eyes as if he’d asked her to admit some horrible truth. “Yes. I do.”
Triumph raced through his veins. His hands moved to her hips where he bunched the material of her gown, drawing the hem up her legs. He rested his hands there, on her smooth thighs, giving her time to adjust to the intimate touch.
“Tell me,” he demanded against her lips.
“Yes, please, I want you,” she whispered.
His fingers ran over the smooth skin of her inner thighs. She trembled in his hold. His erection hardened painfully, pressing against his trousers, begging to be freed. He felt the edge of her stockings and then garters, tempting him to go higher. There was no more doubt between them. Her breath, a harsh pant, brushed against the hollow of his neck, urging him onward.
Wicked streams of heat swirled through his body, clenching low in his gut. “Kiss me,” he whispered into her ear. She didn’t hesitate but tilted her head, pressing those soft lips to the corner of his mouth, then lower to his chin. He closed his eyes as she lowered her mouth to his neck, trailing sweet, warm kisses down his throat.
He jerked down the bodice of her gown until her lush,
pale breasts were exposed to the chilly evening air. With a warm palm he cupped those mounds. She moaned, arching into his hold. Needing to taste her, Gabriel lowered his head, taking the hard bud of a rosy nipple into his mouth. Her fingers slid into his hair, clenched the strands and pulled him closer. With a growl low in his throat, he teased her nipple with his tongue, teased her until she writhed in his arms.
Breathless, he pulled away, wrapping one arm around her waist, holding her upright, while his free hand moved under her skirt, following her silky legs upward until he found the soft curls at the junction of her thighs. She sucked in a sharp breath, her arms tightening around his neck. With a whimper, she pressed her face into his shoulder, as if trying to hide.
“Look at me,” he demanded, his fingers resting against her silky, warm sex.
Slowly, she tilted her head back. Her eyes shimmered behind her laced mask, her full lips parted as short, gasping pants left her throat. He cursed the darkness, wishing for even moonlight to highlight her features.
Boldly, he drew his fingers through the soft curls, sliding into her sleek folds. She groaned, her lids growing heavy, but she kept his gaze. When his finger finally entered her, she sucked in a sharp, strangled breath. With a whimper, her arms tightened around him. Slowly, in and out, he moved, making sure she was ready. And she was ready. So incredibly ready. So incredibly tight. So incredibly wet.
This was the passionate woman he’d expected. Deep down, under the flaming desire, he knew he should be shocked. No virgin would kiss like she did, move against his fingers with wanton need like she did. Yet, he couldn’t seem to care that his fiancé wasn’t an innocent. He only knew he wanted more of her, all of her.
He brushed his thumb against the sensitive bud between her folds.
“Ohhh!” She bucked forward, arching against him.
Yes. She was ready. He pulled his finger from her sheath and drew back. She was panting, watching him through eyes hazy with passion. He lifted his finger and slipped it into his mouth, tasting her musky sweetness.
Her eyes grew wide. He’d shocked her. Or was she merely acting? He didn’t care.
“You taste wonderful. Like honey and sex,” he murmured.
Before she could draw back in embarrassment, he cupped her bottom and lifted her, settling her on the ledge of an open window. He needed to taste her, more of her, all of her.
“Gabriel?”
He ignored the question in her voice. “Grasp my shoulders.”
She did as she was told, holding tight. He’d shocked her, but before the night was over, he’d shock her even more.
********
Cynthia gripped his shoulders, grateful for his strength and support. Weak with need, she was sure she couldn’t sit up on her own. The way he touched her…kissed her…was wrong, yet felt so incredibly good.
His hands rested on her knees. Cynthia stiffened, shocked at his intimate touch. Watching her through his mask, Gabriel pushed the silky material of her skirts up to her waist, exposing her thighs. Exposing parts of her no one had seen. Cynthia drew in a sharp gasp. Chill air whispered over her skin, a kiss from heaven. Slowly, he pushed her skirts higher…higher…
She knew she should stop him, push her skirts back into place, yet she couldn’t seem to deny him what she, herself, wanted. He dropped his gaze and lowered himself to his knees. Startled, she started to draw back, but realized that while she sat on the window ledge, she had nowhere to go. Her grip on his shoulders tightened.
“Gabriel what—”
He pushed her thighs apart. She felt the cool night air on her sex right before his warm breath whispered seductively against her folds.
“No,” she whispered, pushing at his shoulder. He couldn’t! Gentle people just didn’t do such things. “Gabriel, please…”
His rough tongue darted out, slipping between her folds. That pulse between her legs flared with a need so desperate, she could barely stand the ache. Any embarrassment fled, only desire remained.
He kissed her; sucked on her while his tongue darted in and out, tasting. Cynthia dug her fingers into his shoulders, her head lulling backward. She was gone, completely lost in passionate delight.
The warm flush that spread through her body only added to the need twisting low in her belly. She had the oddest feeling she was tiptoeing toward some ultimate, wonderful goal, when suddenly he pulled away.
She bit back her groan of disappointment. Gabriel stood, breathing harshly, those shimmering eyes pinned to her. Bold. Silver eyes, that held hers, delved deeply into her soul. His fingers found the opening of his trousers. She had only a peek of his bulging erection, before he stepped close. She knew that in a moment it would be too late to turn back, yet still she did nothing to stop him. Was her brain merely foggy with sexual passion? Or was she really willing to risk all for this man?
“Tell me you want me.”
“Yes,” she admitted, burying her face into his neck.
Then she felt him, the thick tip of his velvet erection pressing between her folds.
“Gabriel?” she whispered, stiffening.
“It’s all right, my love.”
He cupped her bottom and pulled her forward. His arousal slid into her tight sheath. Hard and velvety smooth. How she ached, needed him, more of him, all of him. She’d be ruined, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care because she needed him, needed Gabriel to ease that aching torment throbbing in her sex.
“You are mine,” he stated right before he thrust into her.
The aching need gave way to a burning sting. Cynthia gasped, her fingers biting into his shoulders. She was tight. Too tight for him. He drew back, looking at her with such intensity that she feared he could read her very soul. He knew. He knew she was a virgin. But he thought she was Helen, and he wasn’t expecting her to be innocent. The realization that he understood the true Helen more than she’d realized gave her pause.
She shifted, intending to move away from him, but the movement only made that beautiful ache flare to life once more. She groaned, hooking her legs around his hips, her fingers biting into his shoulders and pulling him closer.
“You are mine,” he whispered again.
Gabriel lowered his hand and touched that sensitive bud between her folds. Desire shot through Cynthia. Clenching his jaw, he pulled back slightly, then thrust into her once more. Too much. The overwhelming sensations spiraling through her were too much. She cried out, her arms tightening around his neck, her face pressed to his chest.
Dear God…it was too much.
Gabriel rocked against her, thrusting his cock further…deeper. Any thoughts, any worries vanished. A wonderful, aching pulse vibrated through her very being. Something pure. Something amazing. Something wonderful. Cynthia couldn’t help herself and a desperate whimper escaped her lips.
“Shhh,” he pressed his lips to the top of her head.
But she couldn’t keep quiet. She wanted to scream, to shout with the wonder of it all. She arched against him, drawing him deeper. She wanted more…something…something she needed to reach. His muscles grew rigid under her touch, his hard member stroking her intimate folds. He moved against her… harder, faster, thrusting deeper. The ache within tightened, almost unbearable. The entire world faded away.
“Gabriel!” she called out his name over the patter of raindrops on the roof. Her entire body tightened, her sheath convulsing around him while white lightning branched through her soul. He poured his seed inside her, the warm wetness filling her and she could do nothing as she floated back to earth, nothing but hold onto him for dear life.
His breathing was harsh as he pressed his lips to her ear. “Dear God, Helen, you’ll be the death of me.”
Helen.
Cynthia’s eyes opened. Nauseating realization rushed through her. He thought she was Helen. Frantic, she pushed at his chest. “I can’t breathe.”
“All right,” he said, that wariness back in his eyes as he stepped away and fastened his trousers. She slipped off th
e window sill, her skirts falling into place. Avoiding his gaze, she sidestepped around him, leaning back against the cold marble wall. Her legs quivered, her thighs damp. She smelled it…sex. Their scents combined. Vaguely the sound of the ball… music and laughter…invaded their cocoon. They’d know. Every bloody person at that ball would know what she’d done.
She pressed one hand to her mouth, while pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, but she was trembling too badly to do anything useful with the linen square. Gabriel started toward her, obviously to help.
“No!” She shook her head, backing up. Her mask tilted with the movement. Frantic she shoved the lace back into place.
He stopped only a few feet from her, looking rumpled, confused, beautiful.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she whispered. Oh God, why had this happened? She felt sick, ill.
“I understand,” he started toward her again but she shrank back, her fist tightening around her handkerchief. He stopped again. “I understand that we should have waited, but it’s hardly disastrous. We’ll be married—”
“No! You don’t understand!”
The handkerchief fluttered from her fingers. Because she couldn’t help herself, she stepped forward and crushed her mouth to his. It was a quick kiss, a goodbye kiss. He reached for her, but Cynthia turned from his embrace.
Blindly she darted out the door and into the garden. She had to escape. Must escape before he realized her true identity. Rain mixed with tears, thunder muffling her cries. She’d slept with her cousin’s fiancé. She’d destroyed her innocence. She’d ruined any chance for a future of marriage and happiness. She was her mother.
Chapter 3
How badly she’d wanted to sleep through the early morning rays, to snuggle deep into her blanket and continue to dream about Gabriel. Guilt and desire had kept her tossing and turning most of the night, but Cynthia couldn’t sleep late. No. Helen wanted her roses every morning, freshly cut from the small garden behind the townhouse. Cynthia hated roses. She hated gathering the blooms, hated that they always pricked her skin. Even hated the sweet smell for her aunt used the scent profusely.
Love Letters Page 7
