by Anna Bradley
No. He didn’t want that for her—couldn’t bear it. He raised her hand to his face, pressed her palm against his cheek. “Open your eyes, Ellie. Please, love. Look at me.” He took her face between his hands and let his fingers tangle in the thick locks of hair at her temples. “You have to say it.”
She opened her eyes. “I could never hurt her.” Her voice was low, pleading. “I couldn’t hurt Amelia any more than I could hurt Charlotte, or Alec or Robyn.”
He leaned toward her, pressed his mouth to her forehead. “I know it. I know you can’t.”
She pulled back to look into his face, her eyes stricken. “What if I had done it? Oh, God, that sweet child. What if I had gone through with it, and ruined her?”
“Hush.” He kissed her forehead again. “You didn’t hurt Amelia, Ellie. I don’t believe you ever would have, but in the end it wouldn’t have made any difference if you had told her secret.”
She shook her head. “How could it not?”
He sighed. “My Uncle Reggie knows the truth. He’s threatened before to make the circumstances of Amelia’s birth public, and now he’s furious with me for buying Julian’s commission. It’s only a matter of time before he exposes her.”
Her brow furrowed. “But then why did you . . .”
All at once she stopped speaking and gazed up at him, her dark eyes softer than he’d ever seen them. She’d never looked at him that way before, and it made his breath catch.
Tell her now.
He might never see that look in her eyes again once she knew the truth, but he couldn’t begin anew with her with all the lies still between them. He opened his mouth to tell her everything, but before he could say a word her face went white, and she began to tremble.
“Eleanor?” His fingers touched her chin and titled her head back, so he could see her face. “What is it?”
She looked up at him with panicked dark eyes. “I can’t hurt Amelia, but I can’t let you hurt Charlotte. I don’t know what to do. You’ll take everything from me, Cam, but sometimes I don’t want to fight you anymore.”
Pain tore into him—pain, or pleasure so sharp it felt like pain. It thundered through his chest, sweeping before it that hard, dark coldness that had lived at the center of him for as long as he could remember, that kernel of fury and despair, hidden under layers of lacerated skin, so deeply embedded he thought it could never tear free.
And then his mouth was on her temples, her eyelids, her cheeks. He buried his face in her hair and between kisses he murmured to her—he didn’t know what he said, just disjointed words and promises—that he’d never hurt her, that he’d be good to her, so good. He wanted her, so much, more than he’d ever wanted anything.
He brushed his mouth over hers, and when her lips parted for him he took her harder, greedy for the taste of her, his fingers tightening in her hair. Her tongue crept out to touch his and Cam groaned, lost to the desire pounding through him. Again and again he kissed her, his mouth hot against hers, until her body softened and she pressed her warm palms against his chest with a sigh.
He burned where she touched him. His mouth, his body. He’d wanted her forever, it seemed, just as she was now, her scent teasing his nostrils and fistfuls of her silky hair spilling over his palms.
Lose yourself in her. There would be time for truth later, time for explanations and apologies.
For regrets?
Cam tore his mouth from hers to gaze down at her. Her dark eyes were squeezed closed, her lashes fanned out against the smooth, pale skin of her cheeks. “If you want me to go, Eleanor,” he murmured, his lips against her ear, “tell me so now.”
But she didn’t tell him to go. She flattened her hands against his chest and her fingers curled into his waistcoat. “Why, Cam? If you knew my threat against Amelia to be an empty one, why did you make me admit I’d never hurt her?”
He touched his mouth to hers again, but he let himself linger for a moment only, then he pulled away before he could kiss her again, before he couldn’t stop. “So you’d know you never could have. So you’d know it was the truth.”
“But . . . why should it matter to you if I know it?”
He cupped her face in his hands. “That threat would have haunted you, Eleanor. I couldn’t let that happen.”
She searched his face, her eyes alight with that same astonished wonder he’d seen earlier. “But why should you care if it haunts me? I threatened to ruin your sister. Perhaps I deserve to be haunted.”
“You don’t deserve it.” His green eyes were fierce. “I should care. I do care.”
She released him, and Cam’s heart plummeted in his chest as he waited for her to push him away.
He’d go. He’d do whatever she asked of him.
She touched the top button of his waistcoat. Opened it.
“Eleanor?” He watched as her slim, white fingers moved to the second button of his waistcoat, then the third.
He gazed down at her in disbelief. Her mouth was soft, open. She rose to the tips of her toes, and titled her head back. An invitation.
“Ellie? Do you want this?”
She drew his waistcoat over his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
He pulled her closer, held her tighter, felt her tremble as her breasts were crushed against his chest. “Do you want . . . me?”
Her eyes never left his as she reached down and loosened the top button of his breeches.
Cam tried to catch his breath as she tugged his shirt free and slipped her hand underneath to touch his bare stomach. He threw his head back to give her access to him, groaning his pleasure as she kissed his throat, his neck, her lips drifting over his collarbones before they came to rest in the center of his chest, over his heart.
He panted as her kisses drifted over his skin, but he fought against the fog of desire, struggling to remember . . . something. Ah, God, he couldn’t think—not when her mouth was on him, and her hands, her soft hands stroking his stomach, his muscles jerking, leaping to meet her touch, his breath coming fast now, harsh in his chest, and her hand drifting lower . . .
Yes. God, yes.
He closed his eyes. It didn’t matter. Whatever he’d wanted to know, whatever he’d wanted to say, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was this, her hands and her mouth on him. All that mattered was she wanted him . . .
Wanted him. Cam opened his eyes. She hadn’t said she wanted him. She hadn’t said a word. Even as she ran her eager hands over his body, even as she made him ache for her, she remained silent.
He gasped when she slipped a finger inside the top of his breeches. His hands shot out to grasp her waist and pull her hard against him. He pressed his palm into the arch of her lower back, his hips tight against hers so she could feel how hard he was for her. He nudged against her once, then again, subtle but insistent. “Do you feel me, Eleanor? That’s how much I want you. Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Tell me what to do.”
He gathered handfuls of her long hair, twisting it around his hands and tangling his fingers in the dark silk of it, as he’d dreamed of doing. He held her to his chest, waited. Life had taught him to take, not give, but this. . . he couldn’t take this from her. She had to give herself to him—all of herself, willingly, with no reservations.
She looked into his eyes. “I want you. Stay with me.”
She took his face between her palms and opened her lips over his on a sigh that weakened his knees. He slipped inside to stroke deep into her mouth, to coax her tongue to meet his. Her caress was hesitant, then bolder, her tongue seeking his. He groaned into her dark, sweet mouth, his kiss harder now, more demanding. He wrapped an arm around her back and swept her up, cradling her high against his chest. “Hold onto me.”
She twined her arms around him, and he shivered with desire when she brushed her hand over the back of his neck and threaded her fingers in his hair. He carried her across the room, lay her on the bed and gazed down at her for a moment without a word.
She was his, and he wanted to
give her everything.
He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek, then gathered up a lock of her hair and let the long strands drift through his fingers. “Beautiful.”
Her face was cast in shadows, but he could feel her eyes on him, on his face and body, touching every part of him. He let his hand fall away, then held her gaze as he pulled his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor.
The bed sank under his weight as he stretched out next to her, took her hand and pressed it against the center of his chest. She twined her fingers with his, so their clasped hands lay over his heart.
Chapter Twenty-three
Eleanor watched the firelight caress the hard planes of his face, softening them and burnishing his skin to a dark gold.
Such a simple thing, to take his hand, to ease him down beside her and let the warmth of his body envelop her skin. She closed her eyes and let her breath rush through her lungs in a sigh, then opened them again as strong fingers cupped her jaw.
His whisper was soft and dark against her ear. “Kiss me.”
Eleanor hesitated, then brushed her mouth over his firm lower lip, her first stroke shy, tentative. He made a small, strangled sound in his throat and caught her hand to press it harder against his chest. Encouraged, she kissed him again, but she lingered this time to savor his taste. Port, was it? A fine one, rich and spicy against her tongue.
Dear God. He’s delicious.
She stroked the tip of her tongue across the seam of his lips, then opened her mouth over his to taste him deeply. His chest vibrated with a groan, and he closed his hands around her upper arms to drag her closer. “Yes. Give me your mouth.”
Eleanor pressed her mouth to his with a gasp, thrilled at the rough command in his voice, his possessive touch. He’d been careful with her up until now, hesitant, as if he were afraid she’d flee at any moment, but with each brush of her mouth against his he grew wilder, his body tensing with unleashed desire.
She licked into his mouth again and again, desperate for more of his taste, but after a dozen dizzying kisses he drew away from her, laughing softly at her whimper of protest, and slid his hands over her back, searching for the row of tiny buttons on her gown. He tugged on them until he’d loosened her tight bodice, then slipped his fingers underneath the thin muslin of her shift. “So soft.” He stroked the bare skin of her neck. “I want to see all of you.” He traced a finger over the swells of her breasts, right above neckline of her gown. “Show me.”
Eleanor froze. He wanted her to . . . bare herself to him? She let her gaze wander over his naked chest. Her breath caught at his masculine beauty, the raw power of his body, the layered muscles, hard and sleek under his tawny skin. Would he get pleasure from her body, as she did from his? He was perfection, but she was pale, fine-boned. Perhaps he’d think her too small, or—
“Don’t hide from me, Ellie. Show me.”
Eleanor shivered. His voice was gentle still, but she knew at once he’d accept no excuses, no evasions. If she wanted him, she’d have to offer every part of herself to him. Willingly. Eagerly. He’d allow nothing less.
She gazed at him, the square jaw, the strong curve of his chin, the high, proud cheekbones—a stern face, yes, but soft now, with his chestnut hair falling over his brow and his eyes, so hot, green flames, yet still soft, for all that. Even when she’d threatened to expose Amelia’s secrets, his eyes had been soft when they touched her face.
You don’t want to do this, Eleanor.
Even as she’d railed at him, tried to hurt him, threatened the sister he loved so dearly, he’d been worried for her.
You could never hurt her. Say it.
Eleanor looked into the dark forest of eyes. He’d made her say it. To admit it, to him and to herself, because he wanted to tear her free from something so ugly. How had he known, even before she had, she could never hurt Amelia? He’d seen her, even before she’d seen herself, and he’d trusted her, even when she hadn’t trusted herself.
I should care. I do care.
What would it be like, to have such a man care for her? Love her? Even as she’d struggled with him, even as she’d fought him, hated him, she’d been stunned by the depth of his love for Amelia. How would it feel, to have that kind of love for herself?
Is there no hope for us?
Was there? She didn’t know. Perhaps she’d never be able to trust him after the way they’d begun, and yet . . .
Wasn’t that what hope was? A dream that defied logic. A waking dream . . .
He watched her with shadowed green eyes. Waited. If she wanted him, she’d have to give. Herself, with no reservations. Somewhere deep inside her she’d known this moment would come, except it wasn’t as she imagined it would be. She thought she’d feel as though she’d lost something to him, but instead it felt like she’d been given a gift the moment his hand closed around hers.
Eleanor slipped a finger under the narrow band of ribbon and tugged her sleeve down, baring her shoulder.
Cam watched her, his eyes burning. “The other one.” He drifted one finger down her neck and under the sagging neckline of her gown to stroke the warm valley between her breasts. “All of you.”
She grasped her other sleeve, her gaze holding his as she eased it down, the fabric dragging over her skin as she freed herself from the heavy silk, until nothing held the bodice up now except her hand fisted in the neckline.
Cam’s breath was short, harsh. “Show me.”
She let the material slip from her fingers, and the gown fell to her waist. Underneath she wore only a sheer white shift, and he could see . . . she closed her eyes as heat rushed into her cheeks. He could see the outline of her breasts, and, dear God, her nipples, hard against the fine fabric, seeking his touch—
Eleanor shivered as his warm palms cupped her breasts.
“Open your eyes.”
She stole a glance at him from under her lashes. He continued to caress her, but his eyes were riveted to hers. “Look at me when I touch you.” He brushed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, once, more a breath than a touch.
Eleanor gasped and threw her head back, but he shifted closer to her and tangled a hand in the hair at the back of her neck to bring her gaze back to his. “No. Watch me.”
A strangled moan tore from her throat as he stroked her nipples again. She quivered in his arms, overwhelmed by the feel of his rough fingertips against the straining peaks.
His laugh was soft, dark. “Do you want me to touch you, Ellie?”
“Yes. I want you to touch me. Please, Cam.”
He groaned and trailed his hands from her breasts up the front of her neck in one smooth stroke. “Do you want more?” He plucked at the fabric of her shift, toying with the bow there.
Eleanor released a shaky breath. “Yes.”
He slid his fingers under the loose fabric and slipped it off her shoulders. “I do, too. So much more. I want everything from you.”
Cool air rushed over her breasts as he drew the shift down, baring her. She lifted her chin a fraction, fighting the urge to close her eyes again as his gaze dropped to her breasts. His mouth went slack and a hot flush of color swept across his cheekbones, and a surge of triumph washed over her, dizzying her.
“Eleanor.” All hints of teasing fell away as he fought to catch his breath, his cool composure shattered. Dear God, the way he looked at her . . . his gaze was hot, hungry. Eleanor’s pulse throbbed, sending a wild surge of blood to the warm, secret places of her body.
“Come here.” He crooked one long finger, beckoning to her, but he made no move to touch her. He simply waited, his green eyes glittering with desire.
She didn’t think to question him, or to disobey his command, but crawled across the bed to him. With one quick move he wrapped his arm around her waist, tugged her onto his lap, and buried his face in the hollow between her neck and shoulder. “God, your scent.” His low grown vibrated against her skin. “I’ve dreamed of this, of tasting you.”
&nbs
p; In the next breath his mouth seemed to be everywhere at once, on her lips, the sensitive skin behind her ear, her neck, her throat. She wrapped her fingers in his chestnut hair and rose to her knees, urging him to take more, but he pulled away, took her chin between his fingers, and forced her gaze to his.
“I’m going to kiss you here.” He traced his finger around one swollen nipple. “Don’t close your eyes, and don’t look away. Watch, Eleanor—watch me when I put my mouth on you.”
Eleanor cried out as he caught a hard, pink nipple between his teeth and bit down gently. “Oh. Cam, I—I . . .”
“Shhh. Let me taste you.” His mouth closed over her nipple, his lips and tongue hot and rough, devouring her. He drew hard on the swollen bud, then—oh, God, he was licking her with the tip of his tongue, darting over her nipple again and again, like a cat licking cream from a dish.
He pulled away at last when she began to tremble in his arms. She moaned a protest and reached for him, but he grasped her wrists in his hands and held them over her head, then eased her back flat against the bed. “Are you going to be mine?” His breath was hot against her ear, his words urgent.
His? Yes. For now, for this moment, she was his. Once this moment had passed . . . oh, she didn’t know, but it didn’t matter whether or not she knew the answer, or if she spoke the truth or a lie. All that mattered was this moment, and she would have promised him anything. “Yes.”
“Say it.” He lowered his head and dragged his tongue across her nipple again. “Tell me you’re mine.”
Eleanor sank her fingers into his hair and pulled him tighter against her breasts. “I’m yours, Cam.”
He froze for a moment, then drew in a deep, shuddering breath and buried his face in her neck. “Again. Say it again. You’re mine.”
The fierce possessiveness in his voice made her tremble, but even as her heart gave an anxious throb in her chest, she could deny him nothing. “Yes. Yours, Cam.”
He opened his mouth against her neck and sucked her tender flesh between his lips until her back bowed from the delicious torment, then his fingers went slack around her wrists. “Take off your gown.”
