Who was this detached, unfeeling man? Not the same person who’d made sweet tender love to her, who placed kisses on her eyelids, evoked feelings she didn’t believe possible. She told herself to be harsh, as cold and heartless as he. She should announce that she hadn’t come to see him, to hear his voice or feel his touch. But she knew it to be a bitter lie. Truth, as always, audacious and imprudent, won out. Crispin’s unsettled disappearance provided a reason, but her heart knew a truer provocation for her visit.
‘You’ve changed me.’ She ventured a step closer though he remained silent. ‘You caused me to feel alive when all I had inside was obscurity and sorrow ever since my mother’s death.’ Why had she bothered to reveal the honest confession? He looked entirely unchanged by the words, while inside she mourned a little, and knew now more than ever she loved him. Certainty grew stronger with each breath even though he appeared to barely tolerate her presence. What had happened in his prior life that led him to embrace grief instead of gladness and force her away? Whatever it was, it didn’t matter.
Max laughed at the irony in Vivienne’s statement. Made her feel alive? His only purpose in life was to hunt a man and cause his death. He should never have tasted her lips, surrendered to temptation. He despised himself for hurting her but it couldn’t be avoided. Pimms was finally within reach, every day more information gained, and he wouldn’t lose the opportunity to complete his vengeance and put his past to rest. His mother had been violated, her memory defiled with each passing day Pimms breathed.
Vivienne would only muddy the process. Dammit to hell, she already had.
‘Aren’t I enough?’
Her words whispered across the room, filled with trepidation and tremulous angst. It slayed his anger, cleaved his temper in half and begged him to treat her more kindly for no other reason than this being the last time they would speak. In that, she might think of him kindly at some point in the future. Not that it mattered.
‘You are more than I deserve.’ He stated the words with sincere intention and she turned, a spark of hope in her eyes, though he sought to extinguish it.
She approached, her mouth held in a tight line, and reached towards his shoulder. ‘Stop pushing me away.’
‘Don’t,’ he warned, his jaw tight, muscles tensed.
Much as he expected she didn’t heed his warning. She hadn’t from that first day in the cemetery. Instead she stepped closer and dropped her hand to her side. The woman knew her own mind, possessed a passionate recklessness, and though it stoked his temper he admired the trait. Pity he needed to set her free. Like most things in life, she wasn’t meant for him.
‘Why are you here?’ He could smell her perfume, lest he stop breathing. He inhaled with the acknowledgement, his fingers restless to smooth across her cheek.
She reassembled and the soft emotion waiting in her eyes dissipated.
‘I need to know what happened with Crispin…Mr. Daventry.’
So she hadn’t come to seek him out and revive his heart. This contradiction of emotion would drive him mad. He was a fool. Why did he harbour hope when his mind demanded he embrace the opposite? There could be nothing between them. How dare she curry his favour. He channelled his disappointment into fast-lit anger. ‘You came here because of him?’ His words rang with disbelief. ‘There’s nothing to discuss.’
Her demeanour shifted to bold defiance. She must care for him. Always someone better.
‘But surely you know something about Crispin. He’s left London. Sophie is beside herself. Tell me, please. Crispin is a good honest man. He wouldn’t leave without just cause.’
Jealousy, white-hot and unpredictable, spiked the blood in his veins.
‘You’ve wasted your time coming here. I owe you no explanation. I owe you nothing.’ He gritted the words.
‘What?’
She closed the few steps left between them, the action so sudden her gown swirled around her ankles in protest. Distracted by her rushed advance he didn’t see her raised hand and caught her wrist a mere two inches from his face.
‘You would strike me? You feel that strongly for this man?’
‘Yes.’ She exhaled deeply. ‘No. Listen to me.’ She released a shuddering breath as if torn between emotion and temper.
But no, he would not listen. He didn’t want to hear the proud list of accolades proclaiming Adonis’s kind virtuous courtship, his even temperament and pristine pedigree.
His hold locked around her wrist, burned against her bare skin, the throb of her quickened pulse beneath his touch while his body, aware and yearning, disobeyed every command issued by his brain. He pulled her so close his breath heated her lips. ‘Why don’t you explain?’ He was a fool, a glutton wanting more when he should rid himself of every remembrance of her passionate kisses and erotic response. He gave a choking laugh with the realization.
‘You misunderstand.’ Her eyes flicked to his mouth.
What was she thinking? Did she expect him to rebuke her explanation?
‘He is like a brother. I have no siblings or relations any longer. My mother is gone and…’ She stumbled over the words, despair heavy in the confession. ‘Sophie and Crispin are my only family.’
He experienced a rush of anger and relief, the tautness of his shoulders relaxed, but still the truth remained. ‘Here at the hell, no one has a keeper; each gentleman is responsible for himself. When one gambles, unaware of the risk, one loses. All the more reason Daventry should never have entered the Underworld.’
‘Crispin came here because of me, concerned at my distress.’ Her words trailed off, as if by stating them she confessed something she did not wish to share.
‘Daventry is a man grown. He can care for himself and need not inform anyone of his intentions.’ Her expression fell with his response. He’d treated her poorly. He was the worst kind of man. Anger left him, replaced by a much more powerful emotion.
She stood before him, an avenging angel, raven black hair and flashing green gaze, more beautiful than he dreamed.
Bloody hell, he couldn’t think with her within reach. Her eyes bore the glisten of unshed tears, daring him to believe he could find happiness if he let go of the past. He waited and their breathing rhythm joined in unison.
‘You bewitch me.’ He tightened his hold on her wrist, pulled her a hairsbreadth closer. ‘I tell myself no while my body says yes. Soon I’m too dazed by raw lust to see reason.’ He lowered his mouth so the slightest movement would bring them together. Her crystalline stare, wide and wild, searched his face. How could he let her go? Desire roared in his veins but some shred of determination or misguided pride held him back.
As if reading his mind and granting a wish, she lifted on her toes and brought their mouths together.
Chapter Twenty-One
The kiss began as a plea, an expression of reverent tenderness and promised emotion, but it didn’t stay that way for long.
He seized her, crushing her breasts against the hard wall of his chest, his hand threading through her hair to push the ribbon loose and tangle in the lengths. She swore she could feel him tremble, though he exuded strength and control in every way imaginable, while emotion quivered in her chest like a caged bird desperate for freedom. His heat penetrated the thin muslin of her gown where her breasts felt heavy, nipples tight, and she pressed closer in an attempt to assuage her mounting desire, all the while unable to deny the potent sensuality of their kiss.
On a surrendering sigh, she opened her mouth, the rub and caress of his tongue against hers reminding of his masterful skill when his fingers had touched her sex, when his tongue had done the same. Empowered by the memory, she shifted with a restless ache, slanting her body to rest atop his. He growled, deepened their kiss and lifted her from the waist so her weight fell against him. She couldn’t get close enough, layers of clothing and unspoken words preventing the union she longed for and yearned to possess.
He withdrew, exhaled a hot breath against her ne
ck as he kissed a path across her collarbone, his fingers pulling at her bodice, tugging her sleeve, too confined by laces and ribbons, while his teeth nipped and his tongue soothed right after. He flicked his thumb over her nipple, hard and sensitive through the fabric, and she moaned unable to keep the shameful noise contained. She wanted him, more wet and ready for this wicked, dangerous, maddening man with each passing breath.
Drenched in the ecstasy of his touch she hardly remembered her ability to inflict similar pleasure. Her palms splayed across his back had offered support, but now she sought to explore his body. She brought one hand between them and settled on the front of his trousers to rub down his length. Beneath her palm, his cock twitched, rigid, thick and eager. His reaction thrilled. Seeking to offer him the same incredible sensations she experienced, she stroked again, slower this time and with more pressure.
‘Hell, I won’t be worth a damn if you do that again.’ His breathing sounded laboured, his voice gruff as if he struggled to gather control.
She moved her hand upward to his chest, the heavy thrum of his heart strong and steady, but she wanted to feel more, to touch his skin and most of all, confess her heart. She loved him. She needed him to know. She didn’t care about the consequences.
‘Max.’ Emotion tightened her throat, her breath caught.
‘Don’t tell me to stop.’ He slid his hands down her ribs to settle at her waist and hold anchor were she to pull away.
There was no chance of that.
‘Should we go upstairs?’ His low rumble of laughter vibrated against her neck.
‘No.’
‘No?’
He picked her up before she could think better of it and with a few strides deposited her atop the oversized chaise near the hearth. ‘No time for that.’
‘Oh.’ A surprised giggle escaped. She couldn’t help it.
‘Again with too many skirts.’ He towered above her, the picture of virile masculinity, and her heart fluttered. His hair was tousled from their kissing, jaw shadowed with new growth, and his eyes sparkled with a wicked gleam that promised inordinate pleasure despite the teasing complaint. ‘What is it you want, Vivi?’
He pulled his shirt tails from his trousers and opened his cuffs without breaking the intensity of his stare. Clearly he made known what he wanted.
Her mouth went dry. Did he expect her to form words when he undressed in broad daylight, the glow from the fire outlining his actions in a golden aura that demanded she notice every smooth flex of hard muscle?
She couldn’t possibly confess she wanted him to love her, be with her for ever, as a friend, companion, husband…for the two of them to create an amaranthine future. The idea caused a flurry of nervous excitement to whirl through her middle and settle lower where she was wet and anxious, an undulation of sensitivity building, seeking release, barely contained.
She loved him, but those words would drive him away. She knew he wanted no part of a traditional relationship, most certainly not the responsibility of a wife. Would he accept her confession? The doubt of that realization threatened to steal her happiness so she forced it away.
While she struggled through these thoughts, he’d removed his shirt, shucked to the floorboards without a care, his fingers busy with the placket of his trousers. She stalled—mesmerized with his action—until at last when she sought his attention he pinned her with a piercing stare.
Her heart stopped, jolted into rhythm a moment later; all the while he waited for her response. ‘You.’ The word was more an exhalation than a confession. ‘That’s what I want, Max. I want you.’
He leaned a little closer, a half-smile turning his mouth. ‘Is that all?’
Max looked at Vivienne tossed and tousled across the chaise and heat pumped through him like a fever, demanding and fierce. Her eyes, startlingly green, bright with interest, beseeched he hurry. She wanted him? He made no promises. When it came to women he held great skill in keeping his emotions disengaged, his body able to perform without the messy affair of emotion, but with Vivi all the lines became blurred. He should be mortified by his heart’s reaction, thinking of her when they were apart, dreaming of her when he slept and craving the sound of her voice, the precious gift of her smile.
He’d vowed to remain detached from any relationship until he completed his task of vengeance, falling in love not in his plan. Instead he’d protected himself from the ailment, thinking his defences provided immunity only to discover he’d contracted the worst of it. He didn’t deserve her. She was above him in every way. What would she think if she knew he was a murderer? A man hungry for revenge and relentless in his pursuit? How her smile would falter were she to know the truth. Her eyes devoid of sparkle. Her kisses, no more.
Still, he was a man, with needs and wants, and now all he wanted was to lose himself in the glory of Vivienne’s affection. Just once more. Then he’d let her go. Push her away. Break loose. Whatever it took to protect her from his darkness.
He abandoned the buttons at his waistband and caged her in on the velvet chaise, draping his body over hers, supporting his weight on either side. His heart pounded in his chest as he captured her mouth in a deep hungry kiss, the supple caress of her fingers at the back of his neck holding him to her, the soft stroke of her tongue along his lips enough to make him lose his struggle with control. With his free hand he dragged up her skirts and petticoats, cursing the layers of fabric that separated him from her delicious heat, his fingers clumsy over silk and lace.
Time stilled, the air around them charged with anticipation, every inhalation, exhalation, the only sound beyond the simmer of the log on the fire. Finally he pushed aside the last, his fingertips grazing the smooth flesh of her thighs. Her muscles quivered and eased. Each trace of his thumb along the creamy curve of her inner thigh brought with it heightened awareness, their mouths joined, their bodies to be soon after.
With aching reluctance he withdrew far enough, his cock straining against his smalls, his muscles strung tight. She panted a husky complaint and the sound stoked his ardour. She wanted. He needed. Needed to bury himself deep.
She was goodness and honesty and hope.
If only he were someone else.
Still he could experience it through her. Just this once, he would allow himself to feel.
Her eyes were closed, his lids heavy from desire, and when at last he removed his trousers and reclaimed her mouth, he’d stolen borrowed time, his body screaming for release. He was wrong, selfish and indulgent, to take what she offered when he knew he’d give her nothing in return beyond physical pleasure, yet he sank atop her alluring body, his cock pressed against the soft sweet warmth of her thighs.
A delirious thought invaded his brain, knocking him back like a blow to the temple.
Mine.
Mine.
He fought the possessive demand. It was wrong. Devastating. Recrimination swamped his brain. He’d taught himself not to want and now his soul ached with it—unfathomable and unattainable, never able to be satisfied. Devious, greedy want. He suffocated the insane notion and skimmed his hands over her breasts, still trapped beneath cursed fabric and undergarments. His patience had worn thin.
‘Take this off.’ He sounded gruff, anger not his intention, yet he was near overcome with desire and the complexity of contradiction resurrected by Vivienne’s graceful beauty, her bold elegance and delicious kisses. He needed to feel her heart against his. He shook his head with the fanciful thought, then stopped thinking altogether and surrendered body and soul. He wouldn’t fight it.
Not now. He kissed her with all the pent emotion he’d buried for years. All the turmoil of what he could never offer.
She lowered her sleeves, shimmying upward on the chaise, and he hooked a finger in her bodice, taking with it the chemise, dipped enough to nuzzle her cleavage and breathe in her fragrance. He couldn’t bring her close enough.
‘Is this what you want, Vivi?’
‘Yes.’ Her br
eathless answer whispered across his jaw. ‘I want you.’
‘And I, you.’
He entered her as he spoke, completing the promise and sealing the vow, only to pause within her tight heat. Were he to move the slightest he would spill himself, finished before they’d begun. She did that to him, an accomplished rogue and jaded philanderer. Somehow she made him new again.
He needed to make it last for ever, but his leash on control slipped with each wicked stroke, slow delicious torture, in and out, deep, deeper. He knew the moment when he was done for, the maddening pace towards something fulfilling and at the same time composing the end.
If only he could make it last longer, no matter that freedom existed in succumbing to forbidden emotion held in check far too long.
An erotic sigh escaped, her desire and passion combined in a sensual moan, and he lowered his mouth to capture the sound. Her fingers dug into his biceps, eyes closed tight in anticipation of their climax, together without limit, as he kissed her, hungry for more and still left wanting. His breathing turned ragged and harsh, his muscles strained as pleasure caught, fierce and shattering, primitive and divine, a destructive completion that tore him apart as much as it satisfied, and she met him in that exhilaration, her raspy gasps fading as her body answered his demand.
They lay together skin to skin, matched in breathing, depleted and undone, and in that single moment he allowed her to touch his heart.
‘You ask a lot of questions.’
‘You keep a lot of secrets.’ Vivienne smiled against Max’s chest, aware he couldn’t see how secretly amused she was with the glib reply.
They lay together upstairs, lost in the manse of sheets and coverlets that comprised his bed. Having made love a second time, slow and indulgent, they enjoyed a drowsy affinity, content in each other’s arms. Whatever it was that held him apart weakened. She could sense it, not only by his words, but the unguarded look in his eyes, the almost carefree rumble of laughter that resonated in his chest.
She traced a line across his ribs, warm muscles, smooth skin, the scent of shaving soap and exertion thrillingly masculine. There was inordinate delight to be found in this circumstance, lulled by the warmth and security of Max beside her. Perhaps if she placed herself in his path and within his arms often enough, he could come to care for her. Hope, fickle and newborn, tempted her to believe it could be true.
The Den of Iniquity Page 20
