Secrets of Seduction

by Nicole Jordan

  A ripple of sexual awareness ran through her as Hawk closed the final distance. She wanted to sink into his embrace and hold him against her. She wanted his mouth on hers.…

  As Hawk’s face lowered toward hers, Skye sighed in anticipation, yet he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he pressed his lower body against hers, wedging her firmly between the door and his rock-hard thighs.

  She couldn’t be disappointed, though. Not when she could feel the hard jut of his arousal through her skirts.

  “You do want me,” she breathed.

  “Of course I do, witch. How could I not?”

  “Then show me.”

  His hand slid between her thighs, his fingers curving over her sensitive woman’s mound beneath the layers of fabric and pressing firmly. Instantly aroused, she let out a soft moan.

  “Hush, don’t make a sound,” Hawk cautioned. “You don’t want a servant coming to investigate, only to find me tupping you against the wall.”

  “Is that what you mean to do?” she asked, intrigued.

  “Eventually.”

  A dart of pleasure shot through her at his words. “Then what are you waiting for?”

  He made at tsk-tsking sound. “So impatient.”

  “I can’t help it. You make me feel frenzied.”

  “Let’s see if we can increase your frenzy.”

  Easing back a step, he unbuttoned the front placket of his breeches to free his swollen erection. A shiver swept through her at seeing that masculine flesh that could give her such wild pleasure.

  Wanting to touch him, Skye reached down to curl her fingers around his shaft, but Hawk wouldn’t allow it. Taking control, he lifted the hem of her apron, then caught a handful of her gown.

  “Hold up your skirts,” he ordered.

  Heat pooled in her lower belly. He didn’t mean to undress her, she realized. He planned to take her there against the door, fully dressed.

  Her heart racing, she obeyed, baring her sex to the coolness of the tower air.

  “What now?”

  In answer, his fingers caressed her curls, probing until he found the bud hidden by her feminine folds. “I need to make you ready for me.”

  Skye felt a tightening of her body, a rush of heat. He kept his caresses delicate and unhurried as he circled and stroked until her flesh was wet with her own juices.

  “I am ready for you now,” Skye insisted breathlessly. The tingling heat of his touch only magnifying the surge of want, the delicious sensation of weakness flooding her.

  “Not yet,” he pronounced.

  Staring into her eyes, he slid a finger inside her and stroked her inner walls. Skye inhaled sharply. She was melting. Her breasts felt hot and tight while her sex swelled and throbbed.

  “Hawk, please.…”

  His eyes gleamed with little sparks of amusement. He was set on teasing her, making her wait, and judging from the sensual glimmer there, he was reveling in her helpless response.

  She reached down for him again, wanting desperately to feel him inside her.

  “No, not yet.”

  “You are a devil.”

  Hawk flashed her a slow smile full of wicked promise. He used his fingers to play her, to please her, until she was panting softly. She could tell, however, that he was not as unaffected as he pretended. The humor in his eyes had changed to a different light. Desire smoldered and flared in the gray depths.

  Skye felt a certain sense of triumph. Her heartbeat hammered in her throat as she stared back at this utterly beguiling man with the hot-silver eyes. She wanted Hawk to want her till he ached, just as he was making her ache.

  Releasing her skirts, she threaded her fingers in his tousled ebony hair, trying to bring his mouth to hers, her lips burning, ready to be soothed. But still he wouldn’t kiss her. He merely lowered his mouth to her neck and pressed his lips to her pulse there, his tongue tasting her skin, sipping lightly.

  At the same time, he slid another finger inside her while rubbing the nub with his thumb, stoking the restless hunger simmering in her veins.

  Skye nearly groaned. Her senses were knife-sharp and almost as painful. When her knees buckled, she altered her grasp once more and gripped his shoulders to maintain her balance.

  “Hawk—now,” she demanded in a rasping whisper.

  Finally, at last, he obliged. Raising his head, he shifted his hands to her buttocks and lifted her up. Spreading her thighs to position his arousal at her opening, he began to enter her, the engorged crest pressing inside her slowly. He was full and hot and hard … iron hard.

  Watching her intently, he glided into her waiting warmth, stretching her, searing her. Skye gave a soft whimper at the blissful fullness.

  His fascinating eyes riveted her as he inched back out again. The friction against her slick flesh made her inner muscles clench around him. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around Hawk’s hips. She was enraptured, filled with a strangled pleasure.

  Hawk held her gaze as he moved slowly inside her, his languorous thrusts deep and sure. Skye moaned again at the primal delight he was giving her, heedless of his earlier warning.

  “Hush,” he reminded her. “Someone might hear and then the game would be up.”

  It was somehow titillating to think their illicit rendezvous might be discovered. The threat only increased the quaking excitement he was kindling in her. Hawk was driving her mad, pushing her to the brink but not carrying her over.

  His eyes were storm-dark now, his features tight. When he clamped his hands on her buttocks to hold her in place, Skye arched her back and tilted her hips to give him better access. The naked hunger on his face burned through her senses, setting her nerve endings on fire.

  Another moan vibrated in her throat. Her eyes drifted closed as his rhythm increased. She could feel herself trembling, shaking against him as he rocked her against the door. Each time he thrust, another bolt of dark fire shot through her and she gasped at the bright flare of sensation. And then she was caught up fully in the conflagration. Hawk ground himself against her as she convulsed, her body throbbing around his in shattering, fiery bursts. She shook and quaked, her response wild and abandoned.

  Only then did he capture her mouth with his. In one part of her dazed mind, Skye reveled in the ravenous way he kissed her, as if he could never have enough. He claimed and stole her will while he took her body, no longer calm and controlled, driving into her, his hard thrusts primitive and powerful and urgent, every muscle taut.

  Her climax still pulsed around him as he plunged in and out of her, surging with raw passion. His name was a cry on her lips when he plunged himself to the hilt one last time, impaling her. Buried deep, deep inside her, he found his own explosive release. Hawk shuddered, his own harsh groans loud in her ear as he collapsed against her. When it was over, he pressed his face into her neck, panting for breath.

  Still gasping herself, Skye clung to him. She wanted this moment to last forever and for this man to love her. Her heart had craved him her whole life, and she never wanted him to leave.

  To her immense gratification, he remained still for a long time afterward.… And yet reality intruded all too soon, along with common sense. Her cries of ecstasy could have gotten them in big trouble, Skye realized, not withstanding that her position was rather awkward and uncomfortable, being pinned against the door by his powerful body.

  Skye gave a muffled, breathless laugh into his shoulder. “You said we needed to be quiet. I would say we failed miserably.”

  When Hawk weakly pulled away from her, his heavy lashes lifted enough to look into her eyes. When she smiled teasingly at him, he smiled in return.

  His response lifted her heart, as did the unexpected softness in his eyes. Skye felt herself go still with the impact of his gaze. He had just ravished her thoroughly, but she still felt lightning sparks when he merely looked at her.

  He didn’t seem aware of how much he captivated her, though—which perhaps was a blessing. With care, he withdrew from her body, holding her
until her feet found the floor, then steadying her as she tried to stand on shaken, uncertain legs.

  “I suppose we ought to go below,” she said with reluctance. “By now the others will likely be gathered in the drawing room for tea and will be expecting us.”

  Hawk grimaced, clearly not eager to comply, although he nodded in agreement.

  Just then Skye felt the wet gush of his seed down the inside of her thighs. “On second thought, I cannot take tea like this,” she amended. “I had best return to my bedchamber and clean myself.”

  “I will wait a few moments before following you.”

  “That is wise. We shouldn’t go down together. One look at us and everyone will know what we have done.”

  She started to move but then decided against it. “I think I need a handkerchief.”

  She fumbled in her apron pocket for one, but Hawk took it from her. “Allow me.”

  Reaching beneath her skirts, he deliberately stroked her still sensitive flesh with the delicate cloth. His attentions were highly erotic and sensual, making heat race down her spine again and spread through her, before wedging the handkerchief between her thighs.

  “Are you punishing me for teasing you?”

  “However did you guess?”

  “Like I said, you are a devil,” she murmured with another laugh.

  Passion still throbbed between them, but she forced herself to retrieve the key from her pocket and unlock the door. Then giving Hawk one last lingering kiss, she slipped from the room.

  When she was gone, Hawk used his own handkerchief to dry his loins and then rearranged his clothing, but his mind was on Skye rather than his task. Her scent lingered, filling his senses, but it was her last image that filled his mind. She had been laughing at him with her eyes, a sparkling, tender kind of laughter that was innocent and full of deviltry at the same time.

  He found himself grateful for her light touch. She’d provided just the distraction he needed after finding that bronzed figure of a horse, a gift to Lucas on his first birthday. The memory was churning in his gut when Skye pulled him out of his study, his chest aching with grief and guilt and anger at fate.

  The ache had slowly settled as he climbed the tower stairs with her, but her seduction was not at all what he’d expected—dragging him up here to have her way with him, literally daring him to make love to her.

  Then again, she was constantly surprising him. At her offer, lust and need and want had hit him with brutal force. And faced with the chance to lose himself in the sweetness of her body, he’d had only one choice.

  In truth, she’d never given him much choice in their entire relationship, Hawk acknowledged. She kept reaching through his defenses, even when he’d fought her.

  Hawk glanced around the tower. In every room, there were haunting shadows that Skye was systematically vanquishing. The dark dreams that plagued his sleep were less frequent as well, and he no longer craved solitude. During her recent journey to London, he’d realized how cold and empty his house had felt without her lively presence … which raised a question. What would he do without her when she left for good? When he courted and wed Sir Gawain’s niece and brought her home to his bed?

  A frown claimed Hawk’s mouth. He didn’t like contemplating the answers. On the other hand, he could easily become accustomed to having Skye in his bed, in his life, always.…

  He froze as a jolting thought occurred to him: He wanted Skye as his bride.

  After a startled moment, Hawk tested the theory in his mind by picturing her recent look, remembering the warmth that filled him as he’d gazed into her laughing eyes. He felt a peculiar lightness in his chest when he could swear he wasn’t capable of any light feelings at all. He was able to recognize the sensation as affection—

  And perhaps something stronger?

  It was too soon to tell, Hawk decided. But his insistence that Skye meant nothing to him was laughable, really. And his plan to resist her had failed dramatically.

  He’d intended to show her that he no longer had a heart to give her, that tragedy had destroyed that particular organ. But like the seemingly dead rosebushes in his garden, he was beginning to think his heart might not be completely dead after all, just lying dormant.

  And if there was life there beneath all the dead undergrowth, he might conceivably be able to love again.

  Hawk shook his head in disbelief. Never in his wildest dreams had he believed he would come to that point. But for the first time in a decade he wondered if it might be possible.

  At the thought, he waited for the expected guilt to strike him. How can you open yourself to happiness with another woman when Elizabeth is gone?

  Yet ten years was a very long time to mourn his late wife. Skye was right when she’d said Elizabeth wouldn’t want him to die with her. And living half a life would not bring her back. Moreover, he was beginning to question whether he should let the fear of losing his loved ones keep him mired in emptiness forever.

  So what if you were to give yourself permission to love again?

  It was then that Hawk recalled his obligations once more. By now he should have been well along in courting Sir Gawain’s niece, a plan he’d delayed in order to aide Skye’s quixotic romantic cause with her uncle.

  Hawk’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t put off his courtship much longer. Not when wedding Miss Olwen was the only way he could lead the Guardians.

  No, your future is settled.

  Unless …

  Unless you elect against a marriage of convenience.

  The notion held more appeal than it should have.

  Trying to change his fate, however, would present a profound dilemma. He would be pitting honor and obligation against desire, professional fulfillment against personal happiness, loyalty to Sir Gawain against his own private longings.

  But perhaps the choice was not so difficult after all, Hawk conceded. He might regret opening his heart further and letting Skye in, but he would likely regret more not pursuing the possibility of a future with her.

  Once the notion to wed Skye took root in Hawk’s mind, he couldn’t shake it. He had never desired Miss Olwen for his bride, and by postponing his courtship these past few weeks, he knew he’d been seeking an escape from an unsuitable match. Yet only now did he acknowledge that their union might be an actual mistake.

  Convincing a shy young lady more than a dozen years his junior to serve as a broodmare so he could sire an heir of Guardian lineage was the height of calculating cynicism, despite the virtue of his motives.

  The more Hawk considered his course, the stronger his temptation became to devise a way out of his obligations. He would have to withdraw his candidacy for the league’s leadership, but the thought of heading the Guardians was not as fulfilling as it once was. Regardless, before contemplating such a drastic step, he needed to speak with Sir Gawain directly.

  The baronet’s latest communiqué had declared Sir Gawain’s intentions of arriving in London the past week. Without a doubt, he would be keenly disappointed if Hawk suddenly made a drastic about-face in his nuptial plans—and disappointing his friend and mentor weighed heavily on Hawk’s conscience. But he needed to at least broach the possibility. Thus, Hawk wrote to the baronet and requested an interview in London for the following afternoon.

  Instead of sending a written reply, however, Sir Gawain appeared in person late the next morning—unsurprising, since resolving the issue of leadership after his impending retirement was understandably his chief priority just now.

  Upon gaining entrance to the castle, Sir Gawain was shown into Hawk’s study at once. By odd coincidence, the elderly baronet somewhat resembled Lord Cornelius. Both were tall, lean, elegant gentlemen with silver hair. But Sir Gawain’s features were lined with worry and fatigue—the consequence of three decades of commanding the Guardians—and his penetrating, pale blue eyes were always gravely serious. He was also fifteen years older than Cornelius and walked with a slight limp, the result of a still-painful injury inc
urred during a mission long ago.

  After issuing warm greetings and settling on a couch, Sir Gawain adopted a pensive frown. He listened intently as Hawk explained his reservations, but looked dismayed as he responded.

  “I feared you might be wavering when my great-niece heard no word from you since your arrival in England, Hawk. May I remind you of the stakes? The very future of our league is in jeopardy.”

  “I need no reminder, sir.”

  The chivalric order had been formed more than a thousand years before by a handful of Britain’s most legendary warriors—outcasts who had sought exile on the Mediterranean island of Cyrene—with the purpose of performing valiant deeds, righting wrongs, and protecting the weak and vulnerable. Only within the past half century had the long wars with France necessitated the expansion of their reach. Currently the Guardians operated chiefly in Europe as a secret arm of the Foreign Office. There were a dozen or so members living on Cyrene, fifty others scattered across Europe and England, and even several Americans.

  “I am fully aware the league cannot be left rudderless,” Hawk replied, “but there are others who could serve in my place.”

  “But none who are willing to wed in order to secure the succession and fulfill the terms of our charter, as you are, Hawk.”

  That was the rub, Hawk knew. The charter required leadership to be passed down through the descendent families of the original knights, to which Miss Olwen belonged. Nominally, she would be the acting head of the Guardians and Hawk would lead on her behalf. And if he sired sons or daughters, he would lead in his children’s name.

  The thought of siring another son was brutally painful, unless it was with Skye, Hawk had decided. But that was not a subject he wished to discuss with his mentor.

  “Moreover,” Sir Gawain continued in a pleading tone, “few leaders would be as effective as you, Hawk. You are able to inspire loyalty and devotion. You well know that quality is invaluable.”

  The league’s agents usually had specialties. Hawk’s prime skill was gathering intelligence, but his most valuable asset was his ability to lead men.