Samantha Kane

by Tempting a Devil

  “My worst?” Roger said incredulously. “I’ll have you know that these particular assets are considered my best, by many.”

  “I am duly warned,” she said. “I will endeavor not to be overwhelmed by your greatness.”

  He kicked off his shoes, which were really quite ruined. Harry supposed she’d have to buy him a new pair, considering he’d ruined them in her service. Although he probably wouldn’t accept them. Perhaps she wouldn’t tell him about Faircloth until she’d bought him new shoes. She inwardly chided herself. She was searching for excuses not to tell him.

  As soon as he began to unbutton his falls, she stopped thinking of excuses or anything other than Roger and how much she desired him. When more skin was revealed, Harry’s stomach lurched with excitement and anticipation. She could see where the dark strip of hair running down his torso led. It was like a path to his manhood, one she very much wanted to travel with her fingers and lips.

  When he pushed his pantaloons down over his hips and buttocks, he didn’t turn away as she’d half expected. He kept no secrets, as he’d promised. She sucked in a deep breath as his erection was revealed. He was long, longer than either Mercer or Faircloth, but not as thick as Faircloth, who had hurt her. Mercer had been much, much smaller in every respect. She’d expected some of her desire to abate when she finally saw all of Roger, based on her past experiences. But just the opposite happened. Suddenly she wanted more than anything to touch him and feel him and bring him pleasure. She wanted the memory of Roger’s pleasure.

  “Come to me,” she said, her voice low, raspy with desire and confusion and such a terrible need that it made her tremble.

  * * *

  Roger went to her. It was far too late to say no, and no was the last thing he wanted to say. He was a selfish bastard to do it, he knew he was. He’d lied to himself and everyone else that this affair was for Harry, to show her how pleasure could be between a man and a woman, and to protect her. But the truth was it was for Roger. Because he wanted her and could think of nothing else but her anymore. Would this night cure his obsession with her? He hoped so, but feared not. Harry was more potent than spirits to him. Since agreeing to this affair he’d not had a drop to drink, and yet he felt drunk on just the sight of her awaiting his pleasure in the bed. Bastard, bastard, bastard.

  He eagerly went to her.

  At least he’d had the presence of mind to make her keep on her chemise. The material separating them would be a constant reminder not to take her. They would both find pleasure tonight, but not from his cock inside her. It would be the hardest damn thing he’d ever done, but he’d do it. He had to, or he’d lose what little self-respect he had. And since self-respect was about the only thing he did have, he couldn’t afford its loss.

  He climbed up on the end of the bed and crawled toward her on all fours until he straddled her. He growled at her and she giggled. For some insane reason he adored it. He’d never actually been one for bed games. In the past he’d just shagged and then moved on to lick his wounds from his usual rough sport. But he didn’t want that with Harry tonight. Oh, a few bites and some scratches might be nice at a later date—he felt a tremor cross his shoulders at the thought—but right now he wanted to play nice.

  “What will you give me for a kiss?” he asked her, nuzzling her cheek. She reached for him, but he caught her hands and held them down on the bed. She struggled lightly against him, sliding a little farther down on her pillows.

  “A kiss back?” she offered.

  He shook his head. “I shall take the kiss. You must give me something else.”

  She looked consternated for a moment but then her eyes widened and she licked her lips nervously. He wondered what she was thinking. She nibbled her lip indecisively and then said, “I shall give you a better kiss than the one you take. A kiss … not on your mouth.”

  Roger’s heart stopped and he forgot to breathe for a moment. Surely she didn’t mean …? Anticipation warred with disbelief that she knew of such things, considering Mercer’s prudish bedroom antics.

  He shook his head again. “No, not if you don’t want to. I’m sorry I forced the issue.” He began to pull back, but she leaned up and bit his chin and stopped his retreat.

  “I want to,” she told him. “Because I really, really want that kiss from you.” She smiled at him, and it reached her eyes and he believed her.

  “All right.” He released her hands and rolled over onto his back, tugging her over so she lay half sprawled against him. He tucked her close against him, cupped her cheek, and whispered against her lips, “We’ll get there. But let’s start here.”

  He kissed her then and all thought ceased except the wonder of her taste and how sweet she felt pressed against him. He turned on his side and hauled her in until there wasn’t a space between them from lips to toes. He worked his leg between hers and she moaned into his mouth and he felt the pressure building inside him and thought, I am undone.

  He forced himself to break the kiss and began nibbling on her jaw and neck. She had the most delightful skin, so soft and fragrant and healthy. He chuckled at the thought, but there was no other word for it. Her skin was plump and resilient and it was clear she didn’t starve herself or overeat, or use noxious perfumes or maquillage to cover her flaws. She had flaws. He kissed a little scar through her eyebrow. Then he nipped the end of her nose, which, if truth be told, was not perfect. It was a little long, almost witchy. He liked that about her.

  “Why are you biting my nose and laughing?” she asked, sounding a little disgruntled.

  “I like your nose.”

  “I like your nose, too. I like everything about you.” She shoved him back an inch or two and gave him a good looking over. “You are perfection.”

  “I certainly hope not,” he told her seriously. “How utterly boring that would be. Tell me my faults.”

  “You are temperamental,” she immediately replied, which was a little disconcerting. He thought she’d have to think about it for a bit. “And slightly vain.”

  “I meant physical faults,” he said wryly. “But thank you for the information.”

  She laughed and kissed him lightly on the lips before trailing kisses over his chin to his neck, lightly sucking. “Hmm,” she hummed against his throat, and he swallowed convulsively at how good that felt. “You don’t have any physical imperfections,” she told him, running her hands over his chest and shoulders. “At least, not to me. Every part of you is perfect because it pleases me. I shan’t compare you to anyone else, or say this could be bigger or this smaller or that smoother.”

  “What could be bigger, smaller, or smoother?” he asked in alarm.

  “Nothing,” she said in exasperation. “That’s what I’m telling you. I like you just the way you are. You are perfect to me.”

  “Well,” he said, mollified, “I like the sound of that.” He rolled her over onto her back and, leaning on one elbow, looked down at her with a mischievous grin. “My turn.” He kissed her nose. “I like that your nose is a little witchy.”

  “Witchy?” she said incredulously. “My nose is not witchy.”

  “Yes it is,” he told her. “And I like it much better than a boring sweet nose.”

  “In that case, go on,” she said.

  He skimmed his fingers down her neck and across her shoulder, bared by the wide neckline of her chemise, and she shivered, which he enjoyed immensely. “I love your skin,” he whispered. “I love the taste of it and the way it feels against my fingers and lips.” He kissed the curve of her shoulder and then lightly bit it, and her breath stuttered a bit.

  “Go on,” she sighed.

  He worked his way down her body then, telling her all the things he adored about her. But he was always mindful of that chemise and the fact that this was all he could give her, and no more.

  When he finally tasted the very essence of her, she was writhing beneath him, the now hated chemise twisted around her waist. He found that here she tasted sweetest, and yet it wa
s the wickedest part of her, the most irresistible. She cast a spell upon him with her desire and the moist temptation she presented. And so he kissed her and kissed her, tried to tell her through his rough caresses and murmured words that this was perfection. And when she finally broke beneath his lips and tongue, when her climax burst upon them both and she cried out his name, he may have whispered things that were best left unsaid.

  * * *

  She knew she ought to be embarrassed by what Roger had just done, but she wasn’t. It had been the most glorious, intimate thing she’d ever experienced. And it was all for her. It was clear he’d enjoyed doing it, but he hadn’t even tried to attend to his own needs. He had been completely focused on her in a way that went beyond flattering to pure amazement. She’d never, ever been the sole focus of someone’s attention like that in her whole life.

  How could she not reciprocate?

  She’d barely gotten her breath back and was snuggled in Roger’s embrace, his hands soothing her with long, slow strokes against her back. “I want to do that to you,” she whispered self-consciously, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. But the truth was she did. She wanted to give that pleasure to him, to give it to someone she cared for and trusted, someone who had earned it, not just through what they’d done tonight, but by everything he’d done, and sacrificed, for her over the last few weeks.

  He shook his head. “No, you don’t have to. I loved giving you that. Your pleasure was my reward. I don’t need more.”

  She pinched his arm and he jerked with a “What the devil!”

  “I said I want to do that to you,” she told him smartly. “I didn’t ask if you wanted me to. If you truly don’t wish it, then I won’t. But don’t say no because you think I don’t want to. You couldn’t be more wrong.” She looked at him then, so he could see the truth of it on her face. He did that. She’d seen him watching her lately, judging the truth of her words by what he saw on her face. She knew she didn’t lie well. Which made his failure to demand the truth about this whole affair not just puzzling but inexplicable. And for that she wanted to do this, too. Because it meant that he hadn’t asked because he was waiting for her to tell him.

  “All right,” he said, his voice strained. “I won’t say no. But I also won’t demand it. Everything we do here is for you.”

  “I don’t want it all to be for me.” She sat up on her knees beside him, her hand resting on his flat stomach. “I want it to be for you, too. Or else why are you here? If I could be anyone, if you get nothing from this affair, then you shouldn’t be here. I want all of you in this bed, Roger. Not just your body, but your heart and your mind and your soul as well.” It was an impassioned speech and she surprised herself with it. It was too close to a declaration, one she wasn’t sure she wanted to give and she knew he didn’t want to receive.

  He looked shocked and then a little angry. “Is that what you think? That you could be anyone? That I don’t care who I bed? Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said the last two weeks?” He started to sit up, but she quickly threw her leg over his stomach and sat on him, holding him down. He looked surprised and then wary. “I’ve told you why I won’t bed you, Harry, and I’ve made it pretty clear that it’s killing me not to do so. But I’m not, because I care for you, because I want only the best for you and I want you to have what you want, your independence. Do you think I’ve cared that way about all the women I’ve bedded? I’m ashamed to say now that I didn’t, I should have, but I didn’t.” He sighed, a great heaving, tortured sigh. “I don’t know who I am anymore, Harry. You’ve done that to me.”

  He broke her heart a little when he said that. A man still searching for himself had little to give a woman. But she’d known that from the start, had declared that she didn’t want it, and knew that she wouldn’t get it once he knew the truth. “I know who you are,” she whispered, leaning down and kissing the corner of his mouth. “You are an angel disguised as a devil. You are Roger, and I want all of you.” She kissed him then with all the passion she’d felt for him over the twenty years they’d known each other. Kissed him for drying her tears when she was young, for rescuing her from adventures, for protecting her and Mercy, and for showing her pleasures that she never knew existed.

  He kissed her back. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed her desperately, and she knew it wasn’t the sort of kiss he’d shared with other women. This kiss was all for Harry.

  She could feel his hard length between her legs, and so she broke the kiss and slid down, wasting no time in preliminaries. She’d done this before and she’d hated it, hated every moment of it. But tonight she was eager for it, to taste Roger as he’d tasted her.

  When she took him in her mouth, he made a sound so desperate and needy that she knew she’d never have forgiven herself if she had denied him. He was heat and silk and iron in her mouth and she loved him as he’d loved her, without an ounce of shame or hesitation. She gave him all her attention and devotion, and when his hands slid into her hair and tried to push her away she resisted. She knew it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her to stay. She looked up at him then and met his heated gaze and he exploded on her tongue, his back arching and his eyes closing as he cried out, and he was the most perfect thing she’d ever seen.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Roger asked sometime later, when she lay in his arms, sleepy and sated and defenseless. His question was quiet, more than curious, even concerned. She broke his embrace and rolled away. He reached for her, but she avoided his hands and rose from the bed. It was time.

  She didn’t answer him right away, but went and found her peignoir and pulled it over her chemise. She suddenly felt dirty and exposed and so, so tired. She didn’t look at him, instead she walked over to the window and looked out to see the sky beginning to glow a pale pink. It was nearly morning.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and she could tell he meant it. “I know you were married. I forget sometimes what that means.”

  “I did not learn how to do that from my husband,” she said calmly. “Faircloth taught me to do it when he was attempting to impregnate me at my husband’s request. He couldn’t perform without it, you see. He was repelled by the entire situation. He called it playing the performing monkey.”

  There was complete silence from the bed for at least a minute. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning,” he finally said, his voice flat and emotionless. It shouldn’t have been sharp enough to wound her, but it was.

  “I told you I was married for five years before I became pregnant with Mercy. Mercer grew impatient. He was old; he wanted a child to carry on his name and to bequeath with his worldly possessions. I was not obliging him.”

  “And so he found Faircloth?” Roger prompted her when she didn’t go on immediately.

  She nodded, and then realized he probably couldn’t see her across the room. She still stared out at the ever-lightening street, now watching as the lamplighters went about their business extinguishing the lamps. “Yes,” she answered. “He paid him. And so Faircloth came to stay with us for four excruciating months, and I was forced to lay with him repeatedly until it was confirmed I carried a child. He was to have no further contact with me or the child.”

  “But when Mercer died, all deals were broken,” Roger said in disgust. “I can see Mercer’s motives, but what of yours? Why would you do it, Harry?” The last was asked in a burst of pain-filled confusion.

  She spun around to face him. “What else was I to do?” she cried out. “Mercer threatened me with divorce and exile if I didn’t do as he wanted. Where was I to go? My parents were dead, Eleanor was out of reach, I had no one. I’d been locked up at the estate for five years, in a neighborhood that treated Mercer as a god. So I did what I was told. I knew that if I was to have Mercer’s child, and that is very much how he thought of Mercy, then I would never have to worry again. I would be able to demand anything of him. And so I did. In order to ensure my silence, Mercer
changed his will. I was given complete custody of Mercy, control of the estate, and unlimited access to all assets and accounts. Everything is mine now, until Mercy comes of age.”

  Roger climbed from the bed, his movements jerky and uneven. “You did it for the money.”

  “Yes, and the independence that comes with it,” she told him defiantly. “I refuse to be anyone’s pawn again. I am my own woman now. I do as I please.”

  Roger laughed bitterly. “Yes, you certainly do, including doling out the truth when it pleases you and lying when it doesn’t.”

  “Yes, I lied,” she said, trying very hard to stay strong in the face of his anger and disillusionment. “I had to learn the rules of self-preservation the hard way, Roger. I protect myself and Mercy at all costs.”

  He reeled back as if she’d shot him. “Protect you from what? Me? What did you think I would do to you, that you had to lie to me?”

  She stumbled over to a gilt chair next to a window and fell into it. “You said it yourself, that first night we met again. I hardly knew you anymore, I didn’t know what you would do.”

  “Why? Why did you pursue me?” he demanded harshly, dragging on his pants. He shoved his arms into his shirt. “You must have had a motive.”

  “Faircloth is demanding marriage. He’s threatening to reveal the truth of Mercy’s birth if I do not agree. He needs me unsullied by gossip or any other taint. His father is threatening to cut him off, and his creditors are relentless. He needs a rich wife who will grant him respectability and a sizeable income.”

  “You have pursued me shamelessly,” he said, yanking his waistcoat off the dummy. “You have sought scandal at every opportunity despite my warnings and attempts to prevent it.” He threw his hands up in the air. “And now I understand why! It has all been an attempt to ruin yourself so that Faircloth will leave you alone. Perfect. Bloody perfect.” He faced her again, furious. “I was not chosen blindly, was I? What better way to sully your reputation than to associate with a Devil, a profligate, a degenerate known for his reckless behavior and his never-ending affairs. Correct?”