Temptation & Twilight

by Charlotte Featherstone

  “Take her back to the house, Alynwick,” Sussex demanded. “Lucy and Isabella are there. They’ll look after her. We’ll stay and clean up this matter. Too bad the bastard is dead, but then—” Sheldon turned to Lady Larabie

  “—we have this one to question, don’t we?” Iain shook his head, looked down at the dirty face he cradled in his hands. “No,” he said, leaning down and kissing her. “No, she is coming to my house, where we can say what we need to say without any interruptions.

  And I don’t give a damn what Your Grace has to say about that.”

  HOURS LATER, Iain sat with Elizabeth in bed. He’d taken care of her wounds, which to his surprise were not extensive, nor painful to her. He’d bathed her slowly and carefully, allowing the water to soothe her. He’d fed her, and now wanted her to rest. But she wanted nothing to do with that. She was headstrong and determined, and he leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes, capitulating to her desires.

  “Your wounds—”

  “Are barely present in my mind,” she replied.

  “We have much to talk about, Beth, and this—”

  “This cannot wait. But our discussion can.”

  “You should sleep, I’ll watch over you—protect you.”

  “Sleep is the last thing I wish for,” she murmured.

  “What is it you wish, then?” he asked, his voice thick.

  “To make a future, Iain. Our future. To forget the past.”

  She was kissing his chin, his neck, the scent of her hair shrouding him. She had never initiated the act, not then, and not since they had renewed their affair. To have Elizabeth sliding down his body, parting his waistcoat and tearing at his shirt, was a pleasurable torture he would never get enough of. His body was straining beneath the gentle exploration of her fingers, and he wanted more.

  He shouldn’t allow this, but she had her own mind. Besides, sometimes the act of love spoke louder than words.

  And dear God, how he wanted to love her.

  “You smell so good,” she whispered, “like man, and the woods, and sin.”

  He moaned as she felt her tongue come out and lick the hollow in his throat. He wanted to guide her, to show her what he desired—but she had never done this before, never just wanted him on her own terms. And he needed this, needed to discover what she wanted from him.

  “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her tongue snaking out to circle his nipple. “Hard, like marble, sculpted just as I remember statues look.” He couldn’t speak, could only let out a ragged breath and capture her about her neck, pulling her up and covering her mouth with his open one. The kiss was soft, yet held an undercurrent of barely restrained passion.

  His hands and body wanted to take over, but he would not take this from her.

  Her fingers played with the placket of his trousers, and he held his breath, waiting to feel it open, to feel the heat of Elizabeth’s body pressing into his as his cock was freed. She touched him, and he shuddered as the caress of the shirt he had given her to wear raked over the swollen, sensitive tip. She slid lower, kissing a trail along his chest, his abdomen, his navel, and lower, to where his cock stood out rigidly, waiting.

  She clutched him, wrapped her fingers around him, and he watched, groaning at the sight of it, the way she pumped her little fist, the way his tip glistened.

  Lick it….

  When she did, he tossed his head back, but refused to close his eyes. Watched, instead, Elizabeth’s tongue play with him. His cock jerked, once, twice, seeking entrance into her mouth. Which she obliged, taking him in deep, pleasuring him with her hands and the swirl of her tongue until he was forced to at least lower his eyelids in pleasure. But he could not stop watching her, the play of her lips on his sex, the way her hair brushed his thighs, the expression of pleasure—and love—on her face.

  “I’m so damn selfish,” he growled as he pulled the sleeves of her linen shirt down her arms, revealing the swollen mounds of her breasts. “I couldn’t bear it to not see you like this, sliding down my body, lips moving over my skin. If I couldn’t see you,” he whispered, “bare breasted, kneeling between my thighs, I would go mad.” He would never tire of her, her breasts, the way they looked, felt, tasted. Brushing his fingers through her long black hair, he slid the heavy mass over her pale shoulder, allowing nothing to mar the view, nothing to cover her.

  Her face was tilted up, her eyes closed, and he cupped her, watched as he moulded his hands to her breasts, kneaded, parted, pushed together, only to slide his palms down and capture her nipples between his fingers. Tugging, he watched her tongue come out and wet her lips, with a soft whimper, followed by another swipe of her tongue. He caught the moisture on his thumb, brought it to her nipple, wetting it.

  “If I couldn’t see this,” he growled, “I’d die.” “You wouldn’t,” she whispered, her voice so husky.

  “Aye, I would. I’d die a thousand deaths if I could never see you again. If I couldn’t hear the sweet sounds you make as I pleasure you. If I couldn’t taste that pleasure.”

  Pulling her up, he suddenly crushed her to him, bury-ing his face in the crook of her neck, feeling her hair, silky and fragrant, against his cheek. His eyes were stinging, his body trembling as the force of his words struck a deep chord inside him.

  “Iain?”

  He couldn’t answer, just burrowed deeper into her neck as the sting in his eyes grew more unbearable. Oh, God, there was wetness, and a huge, gripping pain in his chest, and an unbearable sound, a sob, coming from someplace deep and dark inside him.

  “Tell me what it is!”

  He couldn’t. Couldn’t form the words. Where they had left off all those nights ago, in her room, when they had spoken of truth, haunted him. He wanted to be more….

  So much more.

  Tilting her face back, he looked into her eyes. They were unfocused, unable to settle on his face. And the same terrifying feeling stole over him once again. An acute fear—a final, painful realization—that her world was one of utter blackness. At last he realized the mag-nitude of her blindness. He couldn’t imagine never seeing her again.

  It was like a death, the inevitable conclusion when someone was gone. Why it should hit him now, after all these years, he could not fathom, but it was there, and finally he understood her private hell. He’d told her he would die without sight. Selfish, arrogant bastard, concerned with his own needs, his own perversions to watch himself pleasure her, to study her as she accepted him, to watch their bodies joined. How carelessly he had said that, not thinking of Elizabeth and what she would die for. What she wanted in this life.

  Until his dying breath, he would see her like this, naked, on her knees, giving to him, pleasuring him with such perfection. The last image of her would be her smile as she slipped into climax. And in her mind hers would be…

  “Oh, God, I would give anything to change the past,” he gasped. “To make it so that the last thing you saw was not me walking away from you. In your memories I am forever one and twenty, and cocky, and sneering, and looking self-righteous. And I’ve changed, Beth,” he gasped, choking on a sob he could not hide. “I want so damn much for you to see how I’ve changed. To see me now. There are no lies in my eyes. No motives other than to show you that I am not the callous man I was. And that I love you…. I love you so damn much.” He was crying. The tears trickled unchecked down his cheeks, dripping onto his lips. She touched them, wiped them away, which only caused them to spill faster and harder.

  “I wish… I would give up everything if you could only see me now, looking at you with such adoration and such love. But you can’t. And it breaks me…haunts me to know that you only see what I was. How I looked at you when I turned away from you and what we had.” He sobbed again, and felt the gentle press of her lips against his mouth.

  “I don’t see that, Iain. I see the boy I loved. But I also see the man you’ve become. I don’t need sight to know you. Or see you.”

  “Let me show you, Beth. Let me m
ake you believe me.” He clutched her, slid down onto the bed with her.

  Kissed her.

  “You don’t have to give anything up,” she whispered, but he refused to listen. He stripped off his clothes, toss-ing them onto the floor. All except the cravat, which he tied over his eyes.

  “No, Iain, don’t do this.”

  “Shh,” he whispered as he tied it behind his head. Testing the knot, he was satisfied that it was dark enough.

  He wanted to do this for her. For them.

  “Really, it’s enough to know you would do this. I know how… Well, I know how much pleasure you get from watching.”

  Damn, he could feel the blush in her words. And her voice… He had never really before noticed how husky and sensual it was. He was always too busy watching her, gazing at her face, those delightful breasts, her luscious body, while he thought up ways to seduce her.

  “Take off the shirt, Beth.”

  He heard the slide of the linen along her body, was amazed that he could hear the slight hitching of her breath. His skin felt sensitized, he could sense her so close to him, and the anticipation was unbearable.

  “Climb onto me.”

  She did, and his hands found her body, her curves.

  Her core was hot and wet against his belly. Would he have even recognized that if he possessed sight? No, it would have barely registered, because she would have been before him, naked, and his gaze would have been hot, roving over her. But he could feel her. Beneath his hands, on his abdomen. He touched her, let his fingers slip between her slick folds, allowed his ring finger to trace the rim of her core. She felt like silk, and smelled so damn good.

  “Iain,” she panted, and he felt her body tighten, heard the excitement in her voice. “I can’t wait.” He fumbled blindly, trying to help her onto him. He laughed at his clumsiness, which made her laugh, and that seemed to make the moment even more intimate.

  Not just lovers, he thought. But friends.

  The slide was slow. She didn’t take him all the way in, only halfway, and he reached down between them, stroked the part of his shaft that was not inside her. Her breath caught when she realized what he was doing.

  “I wish I could see you do that,” she whispered as she tightened herself around him.

  Her body was making the most beautiful undulating movements, which he felt with his hands. In his mind’s eye, he saw her atop him, but he forced that away and concentrated on the senses that Elizabeth had— hearing, taste, smell.

  He let her ride him a bit longer, allowed himself to be patient, to feel her sheath tighten and pull, sucking him deep.

  “Take all of it, Beth,” he whispered, and he felt the incredibly arousing flush of goose bumps on her flesh.

  “All of me inside you.”

  This time she managed it, and he had a moment’s pang of regret that he could not see it. Another time… There would be plenty of other nights, other mornings when he would wake her and drag her atop him so he could see her loving him. How beautiful she would look in the daylight, with the sun streaking across her body and breasts. She would look like an angel then, with heaven’s sunbeam making her glow.

  “Iain,” she moaned, and she reached for him, tried to find him through the darkness.

  “Shh,” he murmured as his fingers brushed her lips.

  He could smell her musk on them, the way it drifted between them. She would taste of it now that he had touched his fingers to her lips, and he captured her and lowered her mouth to his. Licking, he let the dampness left by his fingers linger on her lips before drawing his tongue along them, then sweeping inside.

  He had loved the taste of her before. This time it was heightened. He could see her, easily conjure up the image of when he had pleasured her, her thigh over his shoulder, his hand wrapped around her ankle, sliding up her calf as he moved his mouth over her core. She had been so beautiful and wet, and he had been watching every movement of her body, every undulation of her hips, every thrust of her breasts. He had watched from his position between her thighs, and from above, in the mirror, how he had looked with her.

  But tonight he could not think of that. Would not allow himself to see her in his mind. He would concentrate only on what Elizabeth knew.

  “NO WORDS,” he murmured as his hands smoothed down her shoulders and arms, then came up and cupped her breasts. “I know you use them to see,” he confessed as he pulled at her nipples, and felt them lengthen and fill between his fingers, “but I use them to hide.” She nodded in understanding. How he knew that, he couldn’t tell. Maybe it was the sound of her hair swaying, or the slight movement of her shoulders that gave it away. Whatever it was, he “saw” her, and knew that she understood.

  “Don’t be afraid of the quiet, or what you’ll find in it,” he said, whispering it against her. “And I won’t be, either.”

  She saw him with her fingers as they travelled over his body, the sculpted muscles, the taut strength, the slippery sheen of sweat as he worked for her pleasure. The cords in his neck were tight and straining, his head tossed back.

  Her fingers rose higher and she touched his chin, covered with his night beard, and she shivered in his arms as she remembered how he had left no inch of her body unexplored, untouched by that stubble.

  She moved her hands to his lips, to the air that moved rhythmically between them, caressing her fingers. She smelled the spice of Scotch, and the essence of her core—and it was Iain. Only he could arouse her like this with such base, simple pleasures. And then she traced his lashes through the cloth shielding his eyes, those eyes that were always open, watching…. And something else.

  Something wet, trickling over her fingertips.

  She brought a finger to her mouth, licked it. Salt. A clean scent. Not male sweat rich with the scent of musk and masculine flesh, but something else. Something purer. Tears.

  “Iain?”

  He trembled and she could have sworn she heard his tears run down his cheeks and plop onto the pillow.

  “My God, Beth. I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you in my heart and in my soul.” And then he stiffened, pressed his fingers into her hips, squeezing. “Can I, Beth? Can I come inside you?”

  “Yes,” she murmured, holding him close, feeling his body shudder beneath hers. “And stay forever.” IAIN STIRRED ON THE BED, his arms wrapped tightly around Elizabeth’s waist. Her head was resting against his chest, and he took comfort in her slow, steady breaths against him. His fingers were making idle stroking motions over her back.

  “I became a disciple today,” he whispered in the quiet of the room. He had not bothered to light the lamps when he had carried her to his room after her bath. He’d been content to dress her in his shirt and tuck her into bed, against his body, and lay with her in the dark room. There was something very peaceful in the dark, with Elizabeth.

  He could think clearer, hear better…feel, without any barriers in the way.

  “Hmm?” she murmured sleepily.

  His fingers grazed the stones of the necklace he had bought her. She looked stunning in them. And, as he had guessed, Elizabeth had adored the fact that he had picked them out for her. She had liked his story about how he had imagined her in them, and what wicked things he wanted to do to her while she was wearing them, had even played them out for him—which of course, he had adored. He had thought he’d never have a chance to give them to her, never have her like this, and his feelings turned into a painful admission that he’d been terrified that he had lost her, and in turn had lost himself.

  “I begged God that if He would spare you, if He would help me find you, that I would do whatever it took to be a person He could look down upon and take pride in.

  Not a sinful creature, but a devout one.” Iain breathed deeply, taking in her fragrance, the feel of her silky hair pressed against his cheek. “I have never tasted fear like I did these past days. I was wrecked, lost in despair, and knew that if you were gone, I would not live. How could I go on after what we shared, knowing that
I’d never taste it again? Never have you?”

  He gathered her close, forgetting the bruises and abra-sions on her back. “I had a plan, you know. I knew exactly where I would go and what I would do. I’d head back to the estate, find that patch of long grass by the pond where I took you on my plaid, and I’d end it, hoping that I might find you in my next life, and make a better job of loving you than I had in this one.”

  “Iain, don’t talk like this.”

  “I could not live without you, Beth. Don’t you know that? Don’t you see?”

  He kissed her, capturing her lips, tasting them, feeling her soft hands come up to his cheeks. The kiss was slow and lazy, not meant to inflame, but enrapture. To convey every emotion, thought, feeling that he was so woefully unskilled at expressing.

  His hand pressed tighter against her back, drawing her nearer as they ended the kiss. His eyes were closed, and he pictured Elizabeth lying there, her face tilted up to his, her eyes shut as well, and a sweet smile of pleasure curving her mouth.

  “Well, I’m alive, Iain, and I’m here, never to go any-where but your arms.”

  “It’s where you’ve always belonged, Beth.” ELIZABETH FELT the gentle glide of his fingers traversing her back. She followed the sweeping motions, concentrated on the movement.

  The letter I, perhaps. It had been so long since she had seen the letters of the alphabet. But yes, it was an I; his fingertip made a little circle, dotting it. Her breath caught as his hand moved again, his fingers shaping more letters.

  I love you.

  She saw it in her mind, what he had written on her back, the sweetest of messages she could not only feel but see…could actually see in the recesses of her mind.

  “I love you, too,” she gasped through tears. “Oh, how I thought I’d never be able to say the words to you. I love you, Iain Sinclair. Only you. Always only you.” Pulling her atop him, Iain ran his hands through her hair, tugging it forward so that it cascaded around them like a curtain, so intimate and sweet smelling. She could feel the length of his body beneath hers, feel his strength against her softness, hear his soft breaths becoming deeper, harsher. When his palms cupped her cheeks, his thumbs ran over her lips.