The Rake’s Intimate Encounter

by Lethbridge, Ann

  He suckled.

  Her insides clenched so hard, she almost tipped into bliss. Not quite. So close. “Sweet heaven,” she gasped, pressing up with her hips, reminding him of her other need.

  First one nipple then the other, he kissed and suckled and tormented, until she thought she might go mad.

  She bit his shoulder and he groaned and chuckled softly. “Are you ready for me?”

  She managed a nod.

  “Let me see.” He reached between them, caressed her woman’s flesh, eased a finger inside then another, gentle probing. So good. Not nearly enough. She arched her back.

  “Ah, sweetheart,” he said. “You feel wonderful. Hot and wet and ready.” He nudged her legs apart with his knee, and guided himself to her entrance. She felt the head of him, bathing in her moisture, tracing her cleft, touching that special place that seemed to make her crazy with lust. Her mind darkened, focused only on that one small place, every fiber of her being centered on the tension.

  He thrust forward. Hard. Huge. To the hilt.

  He withdrew. Pleasurable friction.

  She lifted her legs, clenched around his waist and hung on for dear life.

  He thrust into her deep and hard, again and again the tempo increasing with each thrust. The sound of damp flesh coming together. Murmurs of pleasure and cries increasing desire.

  Nothing else in the world. Desire spiraling higher. Hot flesh. Soft moist sounds. Kisses.

  Tony thought he would unravel at any moment.Her inner muscles clenched around him, drawing him deeper with each penetration, until he hung on to control by a thread. Dark-honey eyes drew him into their depths as her body held him fast. She clung to his shoulders, his hips, meeting each thrust with a gasp in the back of her throat that made his balls clench. Passion filled her face. Her body accommodated his like a sweet sensual glove. He was in heaven.

  She lifted her head and nibbled his ear. The tickle went straight to his groin. He thought he might go right over the top. Not without her. She deserved everything he had to give and so much more.

  Three hours, he’d been hard. Since the moment they’d met. If she didn’t find her release soon, the back of his head might explode.

  He brought his hand between them. Felt for that hard little nub of clitoris, watched her face until her eyes widened, then rubbed hard fast little circles, found the rhythm and watched her melt into abandonment with such a feeling of tenderness it almost stopped him cold.

  Closing his eyes against the emotion, he drove into her body, hard and fast, seeking release and the best of deaths. She stroked him, nuzzled his neck, welcomed him into her heat, and then she shattered, her internal pulses of pleasure kissing his shaft. He broke through into white light and mind-numbing bliss, falling into wonderful warmth.

  Somehow he managed not to collapse. He remembered to breathe. His heart pounding, he hung over her, saw her arms fall away from his shoulders, her eyes glaze, her lips curve in satisfaction.

  He felt like a hero.

  God help him.

  He eased out of her and rolled on his side, pulling her close, holding her as if he could keep her there for all time. He stroked her shoulder, kissed her ear, felt her tiny shiver. His groin gave a happy little pulse. Once wasn’t enough. He had the feeling that no matter how many times he made love to this woman it would never be enough. Something inside him ached at the thought of never seeing her again. And the thought of another man touching her wasn’t to be born. Had she truly driven him mad?

  It hit him like a horseshoe to the temple. This was what he’d been seeking all along. Bricks and mortar were only a fraction of the permanence he sought. Without a heart at its center, a house would mean nothing. He’d never believed in hearts as anything but a pump for blood, but the ache in his chest was all about her. He knew instinctively, illogically, that without her, the land would mean as little as the rest of his life.

  Dear God. If he wasn’t badly mistaken, he loved her.

  “May I call on you?” he murmured into her wonderful mass of lavender-scented hair.

  She turned her head, her brow furrowed, her eyes regretful. “I don’t think so.”

  The pain of her rejection hurt worse than a fall from a horse at full gallop, worse than the bite of a well-honed rapier. Rather, it seemed to explode in his chest like a barrel of gunpowder.

  He drew in a long breath. He’d asked. She’d said no. She offered nothing beyond this one encounter, and he’d gladly accepted.

  But it hadn’t been an outright no, had it? He lifted his head and smiled into her lovely face. “I’m not easily put off.”

  Her eyes swam with tears, even though she smiled back. “Please. Don’t say something we will both regret later.”

  Those tears gave him hope.

  He nestled her into the crook of his shoulder. “Then we will talk about it later.”

  She sighed as if she hoped he would not, then closed her eyes.

  He gazed down at the dark sweep of lashes, at the pale skin taut over exotic bones. He wanted to wake up to this vision every day. Nothing else would ever meet this need.

  Somehow he’d persuade her to change her mind. He’d find her. They’d talk. Get to know each other. He’d make her see he wasn’t a frippery fellow who didn’t know his own mind or his own heart. He would not let her go without a fight.

  Margaret knew she’d slept, but not how long. The aftermath of bliss, the languor, the melting limbs had taken her by surprise.

  She opened her eyes and stared at the canopy, felt his breath on her cheek, the weight of his thigh across hers. This was what she’d missed by being the dutiful daughter. How unfair.

  Her heart ached. Not for the past, but for something larger, something as solid as a mountain, something as deep as a chasm. It was loss.

  He’d asked her to see her again.

  He should not have done that. For a moment, she’d almost said yes. Fool. Had years of obedience, rigid duty, self-control been for naught if this man could crumble her will to dust? For years, she’d submitted to the strictures of her life because Konrad had said that on his death she would never be dependent on anyone again. He’d kept his word. How could she consider giving up her freedom?

  Except, somewhere deep inside, youthful hopes and dreams stirred into wakefulness, as if they had slept for a very long time. Painful with longing as they stretched and unfurled, they offered more than duty, they promised joy. If only she dared take the risk.

  Beside her, Anthony shifted. “Awake?” he murmured, and traced her jaw with his finger.

  She couldn’t help her sigh of pleasure at his touch. “Yes. It is time for me to leave.”

  “Will I find you here tomorrow?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She quelled its enthusiastic reply with a frown. “I will not return.”

  He gazed into her eyes, searched her face. “Did I offend i some way?”

  She’d wounded him. The pain was there in the shadows clouding his eyes. She wanted to beg his forgiveness, but did not trust herself to speak of it, in case she cried. “Of course not.”

  He stroked her back. Her skin danced under his fingertips, begged for more. She almost groaned out loud. “It is better this way,” she managed to say.

  He was silent. Angry? She turned to look at him. His eyes were smiling. “I will find you, countess.”

  Her heart soared in the most ridiculous manner.

  He slid out of bed and gathered up their clothing from the far corners of the room. Silently he helped her dress, lacing her stays, buttoning her gown, kneeling to help her into her stocking and shoes, even retrieving her pins from the floor in the other chamber. On the dressing table, she found a brush and while she fixed her hair, he dressed swiftly. As she finished, he came and stood at her shoulder.

  Faces side by side, they stared at their reflections, hers dark, his fair. He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him.

  His mouth brushed hers. Delicate, tender, no more than the brush of a b
utterfly wing.

  A promise? Or a gentle farewell. Tears were hot at the backs of her eyes. She would never see him again. Must not, if she truly wanted her freedom. And yet it no longer held the bright allure of a distant star that she could see every day in her marriage. Right at this moment, the future looked bleak.

  “Are you ready?” he murmured.

  Was she? He gave her no chance to answer, for he opened the door and escorted her along the corridor to the staircase leading down to the entrance hall.

  Two young men, one saturnine leaning against the wall, the other fair and looking at his watch, glanced up at their descent.

  “Darby,” the fair one said, his eyes opening wide as they reached the ground. “I thought you’d forgotten us.” He sent a telling look to the dark gentleman, who had straightened. The Evernden brothers, no doubt. Anthony’s friends.

  Anthony signaled to a lackey to open the door. “May I drive you home?” he asked her softly.

  “No need,” she said, smiling, wishing she could kiss him goodbye. “My carriage is waiting.”

  “It would be,” he said. A rueful twist to his lips, he bent closer, his breath tickling her ear. “You can’t hide from me. I’ll find you. You will be mine.”

  Her heart picked up speed, beating out longing and wild hope. Should she listen? She wanted to. Apparently madness had invaded her blood. She whisked out of the door, before her tongue could say anything incriminating.

  “Who is that?” one of the young men asked/p>

  “My future wife, though she doesn’t yet know it,” Anthony said, loudly enough for her to hear. “The love of my life.”

  Her breath caught in her throat, her stomach took a long slow roll of happiness. She stopped. A smile took control of her lips. Glancing back over her shoulder, she caught the full effect his cat-who-ate-the-cream grin and wanted to laugh. She raised a brow. “We haven’t had our courtship yet.”

  He bowed with a flourish, then gazed into her eyes. “We will, my love.”

  My love. Her heart swelled, filled with a bubble of the purest joy. It grew so large, she thought it might carry her away like a hot air balloon. With steps as light as girl in the first blush of youth, she ran for her carriage. The love of my life. She savored the words, and foolish tears ran down her face.

  Anthony would move mountains to find her. He’d said so with his eyes.

  “Home, John,” she called to the coachman, as the footman opened the carriage door.

  Home to prepare a welcome.

  Copyright

  ISBN: 978-1-4089-1238-6

  The Rake’s Intimate Encounter

  Copyright © 2009 by Michéle Ann Young

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