by Nan Ryan
“May I have another?” she asked, so jittery she felt like snatching the bottle and turning it up to her lips.
“Of course, you can,” Burt replied, both his tone and his smile tolerant, understanding. “You may drink all the champagne on Lindo Vista if you so desire.”
He pulled the heavy bottle from its icy depths. Sabella locked her knees so they wouldn’t tremble so violently and eagerly held out her glass. But Burt didn’t pour. He realized she was so nervous she could hardly stand. Withholding the bottle, he grinned devilishly at her, and teased, “If we’re to do some serious drinking, sweetheart, why don’t we get comfortable? I never did like standing to drink. Did you?”
Before Sabella could answer, Burt scooped her up into his powerful arms, the champagne bottle still clutched tightly in his fist. Sabella quickly closed her eyes in horror as he turned and started to move. Held firmly against his broad, solid chest, the empty glass gripped in her cold fingers, she buried her face in his shoulder and tried to slow the hammering of her racing heart.
She couldn’t.
This big, dark man who held her in his arms was a thief without conscience whom she would despise to the end of her days on earth. But he was now also her legally wedded husband. The one she had vowed this very noon to love, honor, and obey. Any second he would toss her onto the bed, rip off her robe and gown, and force himself on her without preliminaries. And she would have no choice but to meekly submit.
Sabella’s eyes opened and her head came up off Burt’s shoulder in surprise when she saw that he had not taken her to the bed after all. He had carried her across the dimly lit room to a big, well-worn brown leather chair and matching ottoman. While she gave him a puzzled look, he sank down into the soft depths of the armchair, settling her comfortably on his lap.
“Now, Mrs. Burnett,” he said, smiling so broadly his teeth gleamed white in his tanned face, “if you’ll hold your empty glass slightly down so that I can pour without shoving your knees up to your chest, I’ll fill it.”
Sabella released a caught breath and nodded, relieved that they were not in the bed. She flung her hand out and lowered her glass so he could reach it. His arms trapped beneath her legs, he leaned a little forward, peered down, and poured. Pouring from such an awkward position was no easy feat and neither he nor she were surprised when the fizzing champagne hit the shallow glass and splashed up and out onto the back of his hand. A few dewy drops spilled as well on the lacy hem of Sabella’s satin negligee.
“Sorry, honey,” Burt said, not really sounding as if he were. “Tell you what, next time you marry, the fancy gown for your wedding night will be on me. How’s that?”
“I think,” she said, adopting what she hoped was a teasing tone, “that you have no intention of buying me a new nightgown.” She relieved him of the champagne bottle, carefully placing it on the table beside the chair.
“Ah, you’re a smart as well as a beautiful woman,” Burt said. “No more wedding nights for you, Mrs. Burton J. Burnett.” He squeezed her narrow waist possessively. “You belong to me. I will never let you go.”
“I see,” Sabella replied playfully after another large, anxious swallow of champagne. “Does this mean I will have no more new nightgowns? That I must take very good care of this one?”
Burt shook his dark head. “No, sweetheart, it doesn’t mean that at all.” Smiling warmly, looking straight into her dark, flashing eyes, Burt lifted a lace-trimmed panel of her ivory satin negligee and carelessly dried off his champagne-wet hand on the expensive garment.
“Burt Burnett!” she scolded, “you’ve ruined my … ”
“Have I?” He grinned. “Well it doesn’t matter. After tonight, you won’t be needing it.”
“I won’t?” She tried to keep her tone modulated, to sound and appear completely calm.
“Nope. You may buy dozens, hundreds if you wish—” he brushed a long silky strand of golden hair back from her face “—so long as you leave them in the bureau drawer when you come to bed.”
“Now, Burt, I—”
“Kiss me,” he interrupted, knowing he shouldn’t have made such a bold statement on this first night, “kiss me and we’ll argue the point later.”
Sabella automatically tensed for the deep, probing kiss of passion she expected. She closed her eyes and waited. And waited. Finally her eyes opened, she tilted her head to the side, and said, “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
His dark head pressed against the old leather chair’s cushioned back, his long, lean body in a relaxed attitude, Burt said, “No, I’m not. I asked you to kiss me.” His hand touched her wrist, moved caressingly up her arm to her elbow, then fell away. “I’m waiting, sweetheart.”
Sabella was quickly becoming confused. She was thrown off balance, baffled by his behavior. She had dreaded this hour for so long, had supposed that she knew exactly what would happen. She had steeled herself to endure devastating embarrassment, humiliating shame, and agonizing pain. And she had assumed that by now—after they had been alone for several long moments—she would be experiencing all three horrid sensations.
She knew what a passionate man Burt Burnett was. She had spent the summer fending off his unflagging attempts to seduce her. So she had imagined that tonight he would be such an anxious, aggressive lover he would already have her stripped naked and lying helpless beneath him in that big bed.
Grateful she had misjudged him, but frankly puzzled, Sabella took another drink of champagne, then leaned to him, and brushed a soft, moist kiss to his smooth, warm lips. Burt’s head never left the chair back. He never reached for her. Both his hands remained resting on the chair arms.
“That was awfully sweet,” he praised, lips stretching into a wide, boyish grin. “I liked it. Will you do it again? Please.”
Sabella stared at him, wondering if maybe he was as nervous as she. Could that be possible? Were men afraid their first time, too? Not that this was his first time. Lord knew how many women he’d had. It would be his first time with her. Was he tense because of it? Fearful he wouldn’t please her? Foolish though it was, the thought that this big, handsome, cocky man might be apprehensive just as she was, touched a soft spot in her woman’s heart.
“Share my champagne,” she invited, raising her glass to his lips.
Burt took a drink, and almost before he could swallow, her lips were back on his. She kissed him tenderly, sweetly, molding her soft, wine-wet lips to the wide, smooth contours of his, instinctively attempting to elicit a response. It took a while, but in time she got it. After pressing dozens of varying kinds of kisses to his warm, sculpted lips, Sabella realized that his head was no longer resting against the chair back and his hands were no longer on the leather arms.
He was kissing her as she was kissing him and his arms were around her, pressing her close. At last, Burt’s lips momentarily left hers. He lifted his head, looked at her somewhat dreamily, and said a very odd thing.
“Baby, do you like this chair?”
The pulse leaping in her throat, her dark liquid eyes glowing from the drugging, champagne-laced kisses, Sabella touched the knot of his loosened silk tie with her forefinger and said, “I haven’t given it a great deal of thought. Why? Does it make any difference? It’s just a chair and—”
“No, darlin’, you’re wrong there,” Burt gently corrected her. “It isn’t just a chair. It’s a very special chair. I call this old chair my ‘Happy’ chair.”
She lifted a well-arched eyebrow. “Your Happy chair?”
“That’s right. You see, when I’m really happy, I sit here in this chair.”
“That’s absurd.” Sabella was skeptical, sure he was teasing her.
“No, it’s not. Not at all.” He smiled and she had to admit he looked very happy at this particular moment. “I like to sit here when I’m completely happy. Anytime I’m sitting in this old beat-up chair, I’m one happy man.” He sighed contentedly, reached out, plucked a strand of her long golden hair off her shoulder and idly twist
ed it around his finger. “I have a Worry chair too. It’s in the library downstairs. It’s a burgundy-colored wing chair with a tall, straight back and wood-trimmed arms. Most uncomfortable. I sit there to do my worrying.”
“You worry?” she said, charmed in spite of herself by his lovable foolishness. “I can’t imagine you worrying about anything.”
Burt grinned and admitted, “The burgundy chair is in mint condition. Looks brand new, whereas you can see for yourself that this one has had a lot of wear.” Impulsively, he bent his dark head and kissed the swell of her breast through the sleek covering of her lace-trimmed negligee, surprising her. Ignoring her little wince and her sharp intake of air, he kissed her a second time, opening his mouth a little, then lifted his head, and told her, “From now on, you may sit here in my Happy chair when you’re happy.”
“Thank you,” she said for want of something more appropriate. She knew she would never be happy enough to sit in his Happy chair, but she didn’t want him to know it.
Burt lifted a lean, dark hand, slid long fingers into her flowing golden hair at the side of her head.
“I have never allowed anyone else to sit in my Happy chair,” he stated as if it were gospel truth. “Never.” His mouth lowered toward hers and then hesitated, hovering inches away, so close she felt his warm breath when he told her, “Nor, sweetheart, has anyone else slept in that great bed behind us. Just me. Only me.” His lips brushed a kiss to hers and he murmured against her mouth, “Now you will sleep in that bed with me tonight and every night. I love you, Sabella Rios Burnett. I love you more than you’ll ever know.”
Then his mouth took hers again and he kissed her, urgently but gently, tenderly exploring, caressing and nibbling until he could feel her starting to relax, starting to respond. His lips moving across her cheek, he said, “More champagne, sweetheart?”
Sabella breathlessly nodded. Burt promptly poured more chilled wine into her glass and urged her to drink, assuring her that he’d have another bottle sent up when they finished this one. A dozen bottles if need be. Sensing that she was slowly, steadily becoming more at ease and comfortable with him, he kept her right there where they sat, in his old leather Happy chair. He knew she wouldn’t feel threatened so long as they weren’t on the bed.
That suited him fine.
He could think of no better place to begin their first night of lovemaking than here in his Happy chair.
So there they stayed, drinking champagne, sharing one glass in their building intimacy. Between sips, they kissed hotly, they touched each other through the barrier of their clothing, they heard faintly mellow romantic music, muffled voices, and occasional laughter drifting up from below through the open balcony doors.
Sabella soon became wonderfully relaxed. In time, surprisingly, she became aroused as well. She didn’t know if it was the effects of the champagne flowing through her bloodstream or Burt’s heated, probing kisses or the sensuous slither of lush satin against her sensitive flesh, but she was growing warmer with every beat of her heart.
She didn’t fight what was happening to her or make any attempt to hold back her newly awakened passions. Heartened to find that she could respond—after a fashion—to this man with whom she must make love, Sabella willed herself to let go, to surrender fully, to derive pleasure if possible.
Her thoughts fuzzy, her body tingling, she kissed Burt with total abandon, her lips almost as hot and as eager as his. As their mouths melded and clung, his hand slipped inside her negligee and cupped her left breast through the satin of her low-cut nightgown. His touch made her sigh in startled joy, and when his thumb brushed back and forth over her nipple through the thin, slick covering, coaxing it into a throbbing point of pure sensation, she shuddered.
Burt’s kisses grew steadily more intoxicating, his caressing hands more enthralling. He was probably, she pondered dreamily, a masterful lover who knew well how to please a woman. He was, in fact, thrilling her, pleasing her. What sweet sensual pleasure it was to sit here on this darkly handsome man’s lap and share wine-flavored kisses with him while he urged the slinky fabric of her long satin nightgown to glide slowly up, up, up her legs. When the hem of the shimmering white gown reached her dimpled knees, Burt released it, allowing it to pool there in her lap.
Dropping his dark head back against the chair, he took her champagne glass away, set it aside, then drew her hand to the open collar of his shirt where the loose knot of his tie rested. Her brain a trifle fuzzy, Sabella smiled, looked into his silver gray eyes, and read the clear message in them. Swept away by the romantic milieu, she was amenable to his implied suggestion.
Placing both hands on the tie, she deftly undid the loosened knot, then yanked on one end of the silk neckpiece until it was freed from his stiff, white shirt collar. She playfully trailed the pointed tip of the tie up over his handsome face, tickling his chin and nose and forehead, before laughing softly and tossing it to the floor.
“From the first time you ever touched me,” Burt said, his voice low, rough with emotion, “every nerve and muscle in my body has ached for you.” His smoldering gray eyes held an endearingly pleading look. “Touch me, sweetheart. Unbutton my shirt and touch me.”
Nodding, Sabella began unbuttoning his white shirt. Her dark gaze held his as she deftly slipped button after button through the buttonholes. When she reached his waist, she pulled at the shirt’s long tail until it came up out of his dark trousers. She made a face of frustration when the stubborn bottom button refused to slide through its buttonhole.
“Let it go. I’ve a better idea,” Burt said and lifted his right wrist to her so she could remove the gleaming gold cuff link.
Sabella plucked the heavy gold link from the shirt’s cuff and immediately turned her attention to his left wrist. She held the matching links in the palm of her hand as Burt, in a purely masculine gesture, leaned forward and anxiously pulled the shirt up over his dark head and off. He dropped it to the floor. Sabella held out her hand. He took the gold cuff links and laid them aside.
He waited, tensed, while her inquiring gaze slid over his bared torso. Openly, thoughtfully she appraised him. He was indeed handsome, his suave, dark masculinity potently appealing. Sabella licked her kiss-swollen lips when she laid her hand on him and fanned her open palm slowly across his wide chest. Then she raked her long nails through the dense, dark, curling hair and giggled delightedly when he groaned.
Burt let her play for a time, the flat hard muscles of his chest quivering in response to her warm, soft touch.
His breath growing short, he finally captured her roving hand, drew it up over his shoulder and kissed her. Then it was Sabella who quivered as the crisp black hair of his broad, solid chest tickled her sensitive skin in a most delightful way. It felt so good she caught herself growing anxious for the moment when her breasts would be totally bared against him.
She wondered dreamily if he had read her mind when she felt his fingers on the tiny lace frogs at her throat, unfastening her negligee. His burning mouth never leaving hers, Burt pushed the opened negligee apart. He drew her hand down from his neck and gently pushed the flowing sleeve of the negligee down her arm. Her lips clinging anxiously to his, Sabella helped all she could, dropping her arms to her sides and shaking her slender shoulders to free herself of the robe.
The burning kiss never ending, the negligee fell away forgotten, trapped beneath Sabella, spilling over Burt’s knees in a shimmering white curtain. Sabella’s bare arms went around Burt’s neck and she pressed him back against the worn leather chair, kissing him wildly, eagerly, as she had never kissed him before. She made a little sound of protest deep in her throat when Burt tore her arms from around his neck, his lips from hers, and sat her back a little.
But she purred like a kitten when, looking directly into her shining eyes, Burt began to urge the narrow satin straps of her nightgown off her shoulders as he said in a low, gentle voice, “Let me love you, Sabella. Let me show you just how sweet love can be.”
Twenty-Two
BURT CAREFULLY LOWERED THE gown’s snug-fitting bodice. Sabella’s lips fell open and her breath became shallow as she felt her breasts surge against the slowly sliding satin. When at last the slippery confinement fell away and her swelling breasts sprang free, she and Burt simultaneously sighed.
Until that moment they had been looking into each other’s eyes. Now, as if on cue, both lowered their gaze to the creamy, pink-tipped peaks, standing out bare and beautiful, as if proud of their round fullness. The lowered gown straps trapping her arms at her sides, Sabella continued to watch, just as Burt did, as slowly he drew her flush against him.
The last thing she saw was her tight, aching nipples disappearing into the thick black hair covering his chest. Then her eyes closed as the feel of that crisp curling hair tickling her sensitive nipples brought instant electric joy. She arched her back and pressed herself as close to the pleasing texture and incredible heat of him.
His hand dexterous, Burt quickly freed her arms from their fallen straps, but Sabella was only vaguely aware of it. For the moment her arms were of no particular importance to her, so long as she could press her stinging nipples against his hard, hair-covered chest, nothing else mattered. The excitement she felt was almost unbearable. There could be no greater joy than this.
But in only a matter of seconds, she found out there could be. His hand wrapped around the back of her neck beneath her long flowing hair, Burt captured her mouth and kissed her, his tongue thrusting deeply, touching hers, stroking all the dark, wet recesses of her mouth. When his lips left hers abruptly, he said huskily, “Sweetheart, open your eyes. Look at me, Sabella?”
Her lips parted, her face flushed, she opened her passion-glazed eyes. Her lids lowered, long lashes fluttering nervously, she watched entranced as Burt put both hands to her waist, lifted her slightly, and bent his dark head to her bared torso. His mouth a hot searing brand on her naked flesh, he kissed a path from the delicate hollow of her throat down to her bursting breast. When he reached the tightened, desire-darkened nipple, he pressed the softest, gentlest of closed-mouthed kisses to the tight little point. The feather-light caress was enough to send a deep shudder of pleasure through Sabella’s slender body. She whispered his name in desperate entreaty for him to continue.
