by Danice Allen
Sam blinked her eyes open and focused on Julian’s face. A smile curved his lips, and his eyes were warm as they gazed into hers. “I believe it’s time for those strawberries now,” he said softly, touching the tip of her nose with his finger.
“Oh, but what about my other glove?” she whispered, desperate for him to repeat such a wonderful performance on her other arm.
His eyes glimmered with tender amusement. “You only need one hand to eat strawberries, my dear. But if you decide later that you want the other glove off, I’ll be happy to oblige you.”
Sam wasn’t sure what to make of this comment. In fact, she wasn’t sure what to make of anything that was happening. She had tried to seduce Julian before, but he’d always drawn back at the crucial moment. And now, when there was no honorable way they could be together, he seemed to be seducing her!
But Sam told herself that perhaps Julian was just a little carried away by the circumstances and was only flirting with her. And when that crucial moment came, if he didn’t draw back, she would. For now, she was simply eager to see what he’d do next.
He stood up and pulled the bowl of strawberries and the bowl of cream to an easy reaching distance, then sat down again. Giving her a sly look out of the corner of his eye, he picked up a strawberry and dunked it in the cream, swirling it around till it was coated in white.
Thinking it appropriate to follow suit, Sam reached for a strawberry, too.
“No, not yet, my dear,” Julian admonished her, catching her hand and holding it tight.
“Why not?” Sam said, her playful nature beginning to counteract her shyness. “Am I just to sit here and watch you eat that lovely strawberry, my mouth watering and my taste buds screaming for satisfaction?”
“Actually, brat,” he said dryly, “this luscious berry is for you.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling stupid. But how could she have known that? she thought to herself. Mrs. Descartes had told her that eating strawberries and whipped cream was excellent foreplay, but she had not told her that your partner prepared your berries. Nor had she told her that your partner fed them to you. But that’s apparently what Julian intended, because he was holding the strawberry by its stem, right in front of her nose.
“Open your mouth, brat,” he ordered, and she happily obeyed.
It was awkward for Sam at first, not knowing exactly how far to open her mouth or how big a bite she was supposed to take, but Julian proved to be as excellent a teacher in the art of eating strawberries as in every other area of a girl’s education.
“Don’t be prissy,” he urged. “Open wider and take the whole thing in your mouth at once.”
Sam did as she was bid and bit the strawberry off just below the stem. The taste of tart juice and sweet cream exploded on her tongue. She closed her eyes and chewed, but was horrified when she felt a dribble of juice run down her chin.
She opened her eyes and reached up to catch it with a finger before it dropped on her white dress, prepared to mumble an apology for being such a sloven, but Julian was quicker than she. He cupped her chin, caught the dribble of juice with a deft stroke of his thumb, then inserted his thumb in his mouth and slowly sucked it clean.
Sam watched Julian’s method of tidying things up with a strange quivering in her stomach. Fascinated and aroused, she couldn’t wait till he fed her another strawberry.
“Well?” she prompted impatiently when he did not immediately oblige her.
He chuckled throatily. “You were always too greedy,” he teased, repeating an opinion he’d first uttered in the room at the King’s Arms. “It’s your turn to feed me.”
Sam liked that idea even better. She eagerly chose a plump, red berry from the bowl and dipped it in the cream. But when it was time to actually feed it to Julian, she found herself feeling unaccountably shy.
“Do you need some help, brat?”
She nodded mutely.
“All right. Here, let me guide you.” Julian lightly took hold of Sam’s wrist and drew her hand to his mouth. He took the strawberry and slowly chewed it, all the while looking into her eyes and keeping hold of her hand. Then, he drew her hand to his mouth again and sucked the juice off the tips of her fingers.
Sam felt a jolt of electricity pulse from her fingers to her toes. Julian’s warm, wet mouth around her fingertips was the most titillating thing she’d ever felt. But she had a feeling that with Julian the potential for titillation was limitless. However, it was not something she should be thinking at the moment!
Nor should she be thinking how wonderful it would be to kiss him … Lost in a fantasy, she parted her lips and swiped them quickly with her tongue.
Julian’s gaze darted to Sam’s mouth and that provocative lick of her lips. To him it meant only one thing; that she wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss her. He reached out and put his hands on Sam’s waist, then lifted her onto his lap.
Surprised, she clung to his shoulders, but she didn’t resist. “Julian,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”
“It’s much easier to kiss you this way,” he answered, then he slipped his arms around her and pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers.
Julian was no longer fighting a useless battle against his desires, against his emotions. He knew that he wanted Sam, and he knew that he loved her more than his soul’s salvation. He would bet everything he owned that she loved him just as much, and tonight he was going to make her finally and irrevocably his.
No matter what Isabelle had taught Sam about lovemaking, her response to him was the pure, sweet desire of an innocent. And her arousal was expressed in eager, open ways. She kissed him with abandon, parting her lips to welcome his tongue, and slipping her tongue into his mouth, too … tentative at first, then with ardent and skillful enthusiasm. She always was a quick learner.
Julian couldn’t hold her close enough. His hands roamed her back and shoulders, then slowly came around to caress her breasts. She gasped as he cupped the small, firm shape of her, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her taut nipple. She grasped his shoulders and arched her neck, gazing at him through drooping eyelids.
“Julian, you … you make me feel so … so good. Like a woman.”
“Just as I told you this afternoon in the library, you are a woman, sweetheart,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck and the swell of her breasts above the décolletage of her gown. “A beautiful, desirable woman.” He flicked his tongue into her cleavage.
“Oh, Julian!” she moaned. “It’s so wonderful to hear you say that!” Then, much to Julian’s surprise, Sam shifted sideways, hiked her skirts to her knees, drew her right leg up and over his lap—grazing his abdomen in the most damnably stimulating way!—and straddled him.
His hands slipped to her waist. “Sam,” he said with a nervous chuckle, his voice hoarse with passion, his groin aching and so suffused with heat that he was tempted to make love to her on the spot. “What are you doing, sweetheart?”
Sam’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes were aglow, her lips were berry-red and swollen from his kisses, her hair was a tumble of curls, half-up, half-down. “It’s something I learned from Mrs. Descartes,” she said ingenuously. “She … she said it is called ‘postilion.’ ” She rocked forward, the swell of her womanhood rubbing against his hard erection.
“Don’t do that, Sam,” Julian hissed through gritted teeth.
Her eyes grew wide. “Didn’t you like it?” she asked him with a little pant. “I liked it.”
He smiled grimly. “I liked it prodigiously well, brat. But I don’t intend to take your virginity ‘postilion’! It is rather an advanced position, my dear. Besides, I have plenty of other delicious things in mind for you before we’re quite to that point!”
“Oh,” she said wonderingly. “I see!”
“However, if you don’t quit being so delightfully teasing, I’ll disgrace myself by ravaging you like a madman.”
Her eyes grew even wider. “Oh, but that sounds rather fun, too!”
He laughed, clasping her to his chest. “Oh, you wicked little charmer. You dreadful, delightful, beautiful, terrible brat!”
Sam laughed, too, her arms around his neck and her fingers buried in his hair. Then she caught his face between her hands and smiled impishly. “Mother said we could use any chamber in the house to talk. Perhaps we could talk better somewhere else? I’m absolutely dying for you to talk to me, Julian!”
Julian smiled back and stood up, swinging her into his arms. “Pick up the candelabra, Sam. We’ll come back later for the champagne and strawberries. After all, we’ve got all night.”
By the sudden guilty expression on her face, Julian could tell Sam was thinking about Jean-Luc and Charlotte again and wondering if they were waiting for them at the McAdamses’. He pressed a finger to her lips, saying, “Don’t mention them again, Sam. This night is for us and us alone. For the next several hours, I want to hear only my name on your sweet lips. Tomorrow the names of others might intrude into our conversation … but, please, not tonight.”
Her anxious expression faded away and she looked peaceful and happy again. “I’m quite willing to forget there’s another human being on the earth besides you and me,” she said softly. “I won’t let a single person’s name—except yours, Julian—pass my lips tonight.”
He cocked a brow. “Not even the name of Isabelle Descartes?” he queried archly.
She laughed. “Not even hers. Besides, I’m quite sure you’ll be able to teach me everything I need to know about lovemaking. I’m a very apt pupil and willing to try anything, you know.”
He swallowed hard and headed for the door. “I only wish there were more hours between now and tomorrow morning at seven o’clock.”
Sam nestled her head against Julian’s neck as he carried her up the stairs. She couldn’t believe that all her dreams had finally come true! Julian had held her, kissed her. And soon he’d be making love to her.
But Sam’s bliss was tempered by the fact that he had not yet said he loved her. And his words just now, implying that he wished seven o’clock wouldn’t come so soon, seemed to indicate that he intended to spend this night, and only this night, making love to her.
But was that possible? Sam wondered, frowning to herself. Julian was an honorable man, the most honorable man she’d ever met. Surely he did not intend to deflower his ward and then go his merry way.
Was it possible that Julian had not proposed to Charlotte at the Wilmots’ ball last night? she speculated. But when she’d asked him about it earlier, speaking of the engagement as if it were a fact, he had not denied it.
However … Sam suddenly remembered Julian’s enigmatic statement about “getting into scrapes because you jump to conclusions, then make foolish, life-altering decisions based on false assumptions.”
Sam felt as though a huge burden had been lifted from her heart. She wanted to laugh out loud! Obviously Julian had not proposed to Charlotte last night! But, for some reason, he had decided to allow her to keep believing he was spoken for … the wretch! No doubt he thought it made things more interesting.
Smiling against Julian’s neck, Sam felt immense relief. Then she remembered Jean-Luc and sobered. What was she going to do about Jean-Luc? But Julian had asked that no name other than his would pass her lips the rest of the night, and she determined that she wouldn’t think about anyone else, either. The night was hers and Julian’s … and it had just begun.
At the top of the stairs they were presented with four doors from which to choose. They opened the first door on the left, saw that it must be the master bedroom and therefore belonged to Sam’s mother, and quickly closed it.
The next room appeared to be a handsomely appointed guest chamber, boasting amongst its furnishings a burgundy red chaise longue. Julian and Sam exchanged looks and knew their minds to be of one accord. Sam set down the candelabra on a table just inside the door, then Julian carried her into the room and set her down on the chaise longue.
Sam nestled against the pile of exotically patterned pillows with Turkish tassels and smiled up at Julian. She extended her gloved hand and said playfully, “Oh, Julian, dahling. I’ve decided that I want to take off my other glove now. If you could but assist me?”
Julian’s eyes gleamed with appreciation. He shrugged out of his jacket and threw it on the bed. “You minx! How have I managed to resist you all this time?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” she retorted, loving the look of him in his shirtsleeves and vest. “I’ve always found you irresistible.”
“Have you?” he quizzed her, expertly undoing the intricate folds of his neckcloth as he stood over her. “I’m very flattered.” She loved watching his hands move. They were so strong, so skillful. She shivered as she thought that they’d soon be touching her body with the same strength and skill.
“You should be flattered,” she sniffed, assuming the air of a pampered, spoiled miss, trying to hide the fact that she was mesmerized by him. “There have been a great many gentleman trying to gain my fickle favor, you know.”
“I know,” he grumbled fiercely. “I have been watching with a great deal of interest and frustration.” He threw the neckcloth on the bed next to his coat, unbuttoned his waistcoat, slipped it off, and threw it on the pile with his other discarded clothes. Sam feared … hoped … that he’d strip off every stitch while she watched.
But apparently that wasn’t the way Julian had things planned. And that he had a plan she was quite certain. But, in this case, Sam had a feeling that she’d greatly benefit from Julian’s characteristic careful planning.
He came down on one knee on the chaise longue, propped his hands on either side of her head, and hovered over her, smiling … and not touching her. Sam took it as long as she could, then reached up and grabbed him by the collar, pulled him down on top of her, and claimed his mouth in a passionate kiss.
Bracing on his forearms as they kissed and caressed, Julian allowed only a certain amount of his weight to press against her, and there was a particular part of him that Sam felt more than others. His manhood felt hard and hot and … er … rather large as he gradually parted her legs and nudged himself against her. There was a stirring in her stomach and a pulsing ache in her woman’s core. Suddenly she was dying to lie naked beneath him.
Sam lifted her left arm, which was still sheathed in a long glove and said, “Julian. Look! You still haven’t taken off my glove. Don’t you think it’s about time?”
He stared laughingly into her eyes. “Do you think so? But I could go on kissing you forever.”
She cocked a disbelieving brow. “Liar. You know you could not do it forever. Surely there’s something else you want to do to me…?”
“There are many things I want to do to you, brat,” he assured her with a devilish smile. “But the first thing I want to do to you is take off all your clothes.”
Sam shivered with anticipation. “I thought you would never get around to it.”
“Baggage!” he said gruffly, rising to his feet. “Stand up, if you please, and turn around so that I can get at those ribbons and hooks holding your gown together in the back. There’s a good girl.”
Sam obediently struggled to a sitting, then a standing, position, pushing a tumble of curls out of her eyes. “But what about my glove, Julian? Shouldn’t you take that off first?”
“Actually, my love,” he told her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, “I believe we’ll leave that on till the very last.”
“What was I thinking when I called you boring and predictable?” she murmured wryly.
He laughed, turned her about, then set to work on the various devices holding her dress together in the back. He was quick about it, and soon he was slipping her puffed sleeves down and bending to kiss and nuzzle her shoulders. Her gown fell to the floor in a rustle of crepe.
“Ummmm … You’re so beautiful, Sam. So smooth and pale and perfect.”
“I’m glad you find me beautiful, Julian,” she whispered, her eyes drifting sh
ut with pleasure. “I want you to desire me. I always have.”
“And I suspect I have always desired you,” he confessed, his breath warming her skin and making it tingle. But his words thrilled her even more than his kisses.
While she remained facing away from him, he removed the rest of her clothing in as swift and gentle a manner as he had her gown. Lastly—with a great deal of fun and fanfare—he removed her glove. When she was completely naked, he turned her around and looked at her.
Sam felt a little shy as his gaze lovingly roamed her body, but the pleasure she gave and received more than made up for a little momentary embarrassment.
“You’re just as beautiful as I remember,” he whispered reverently. “The image of you, that night when I brought you home from the King’s Arms and you shed your blanket for me, has haunted my dreams … sleeping and waking.”
“I’m glad,” she said unrepentantly. “And though I’ve had no image of your naked body to haunt and taunt me, Julian, my imagination has been torture enough.”
His hands cupped her shoulders and stroked her arms. “You imagined me in the buff, eh, brat?” he inquired with a pleased grin.
“Yes, and I was always quite impressed by what I imagined,” she returned with a corresponding saucy smile. “Why don’t we see if reality measures up to my imagination?”
Her suggestion sounded very much like a dare, and Julian reacted accordingly. With a glint in his eye and a smug smile that indicated he wasn’t too worried about “measuring up” to Sam’s imagination, Julian began to unbutton his shirt.
“May I?” said Sam, catching hold of his hands, kissing them, then firmly pushing them aside. “I want to undress you, Julian.”
Julian drew a steadying breath and nodded. “Go ahead, brat. Tonight I can refuse you nothing.”
Sam smiled and set herself to the task of undoing buttons. When she had finished, she drew the tail of his shirt out of his breeches, pushed the material aside, and slid her splayed hands over his chest.
