by Cara Elliott
“Aye, all too real. We are flesh-and-blood people, not characters formed from a dribble of ink.” His lips, warm and pulsing, touched her brow. “We have feelings, passions.”
“Feeling and passions are dangerous.”
“Yes, but they can also be good and glorious. They are what make us alive, Ciara.”
She fisted her hands in his collar, unwilling to let go of the moment. He was right—she had kept herself dead to desire for too long. Longing welled up in her throat, escaping in a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Oh, Lucas,” she whispered. “Whatever are we going to do about this inexplicable force that seems to draw us together?”
His response was swift and silent. Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her through the half-open door. A nudge of his boot and it shut with a soft snick.
The sound should have brought her to her senses.
Instead, it seemed to trigger the opposite reaction. She kissed him full on the mouth.
“God help me, I’ve tried to fight it,” he murmured. “But as you know by now, I’m not very good at denying myself what I want.”
“Oh, I am weak, as well,” she said haltingly. “So weak.”
“No, you are so strong.” Lucas set her down and framed her face with his hands. “I’ve never met anyone with half your courage and resolve.”
“I—I am not really very brave. When I am alone, there are so many moments when I feel afraid and uncertain.”
“You are not alone now.”
And she was glad of it. “No.” Her mouth crooked. “The gossips must be right—at heart, I am a wicked, wicked woman. I’ve taken advantage of your feelings for Henry and have drawn you into my troubles.”
“Taken advantage of me, sweetheart?” A low laugh rumbled in his throat. “Most people would say it’s the other way around.”
“But—”
The touch of his fingertips on her lips silenced her reply. “Let’s not argue the fine points of morality tonight,” he said.
Oh, what a wise suggestion. She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to feel anything but HIM.
Her tongue licked out, tasting the salty-sweet flesh of his palm. His hand was both hard and soft. The contrast was enticing. Erotic.
Grasping his wrist, she moved it down to cup her breast.
Flame-gold light glinted off the curl of his raven-dark lashes. The fringed shadows hid his expression. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
Ciara nodded, not trusting her voice.
Lucas hesitated. “I know you have been hurt before, but as long as we are honest with each other, there is no need for shame or guilt. Why deny ourselves this moment? It is an interlude for us to lose our cares in the heat of physical passion. It doesn’t have to mean anything else.”
“It’s that simple?”
He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “Yes. The women I take to my bed have no illusions about what I offer. You know your own strengths, Ciara. And I know mine. I am very good at giving pleasure.” Leaning closer, he kissed her full on the mouth. “Here, and on your breasts… and on your quim.”
She felt a lick of heat tease between her legs.
“I can help you see that your life does not have to be shrouded in one unremitting shade of black.”
A hint of the starlit heavens was visible in the windows behind his head. “Rather like the night sky?” she said softly. “A vast darkness made bearable by the tiny points of fire?”
“I am not nearly so poetic,” murmured Lucas. “But yes, that is the idea, stripped to its essence.”
Bare essentials. There was no denying his rampant masculinity. It pulsed from every pore. She traced the line of his jaw, acutely aware of the stubbling of dark whiskers roughening the wind-kissed skin.
“Then show me, Lucas.” A muscle twitched beneath her thumb. “Show me how to live in the moment, with no care for the past or future.”
This time there was no hesitation.
One by one, he undid the tiny shell buttons of her night rail. The fabric slid down a touch, baring the top of her shoulders. The pale, pearlescent moonglow felt seductive, sensual against her skin. Ciara felt no embarrassment. Just a need to see him naked, as well.
She tugged off his coat and unknotted the kerchief at his throat.
His shirt fastenings were next to yield.
With a groan, he fisted the linen and pulled it off over his head.
The stretch rippled the cording of sleek muscle and sinew. As she had seen before, he was no indolent dandy. Broad, muscled shoulders tapered to a narrow waist. The bruises on his ribs had faded to mere shadows, accentuating the chiseled contours of his chest. Flat nipples, coarse curls—dark, masculine textures that she itched to explore.
“Lud, you are so lovely in the moonlight,” he murmured, unlacing the ribbon at her waist. “Like Venus—a body of shining white brilliance against the black velvet night.”
And he was Apollo, a beautiful god, gilded in the flare of the candlelight.
Lucas set aside the flint. He had such graceful hands. They moved, gently as a spring rain, raising a trail of gooseflesh along her shoulder blades. Good God, how could the bones of her back be a source of erotic sensation? Ciara nearly purred with pleasure.
“I—” Shyness suddenly overcame her as Lucas started to peel back the front of her bodice. She clutched at the cotton. “I must warn you, I’m not at all what you are used to. I’m skinny.” Old insults echoed in her head. “Scrawny.”
Lucas looked up, a flicker of light edging the curve of his mouth. “You have been told you are unattractive, Ciara?”
A rasp of air escaped her lips.
“Once and for all, forget about Sheffield. He was a crude lout. And a lunatic.” His whisper tickled against her throat. “Every curve, every dip, every inch of your body, is exquisitely perfect.” She felt the twitch of a wicked smile. “But as a scientist you’ll need proof, so let me show you…”
A tiny shiver coursed through her as his tongue outlined the shell of her ear.
“Ahh, yes. Exquisite. And the arch of your neck leaves nothing to be desired.”
Ciara gasped as he nipped at her flesh.
“Mmmm, just wait until I get to your toes, sweetheart. But that may take a while.”
“Oh, Lucas…” A laugh quivered on her lips.
“Yes, that’s it. Stop thinking.” He feathered delicate kisses over the hollow of her throat. Teasing, tingling, tantalizing sensations that left her a little light-headed. “You have a magnificent brain to go along with your glorious body, but it sometimes gets in the way of the other parts.”
His deft humor loosened the last of her inhibitions. Oh, how she wanted to give herself completely to him. With a hitch of her hips she arched against his thighs. “I will make every effort to leave intellect aside.”
A feral growl rumbled in answer. Dark. Rough. Masculine. The sound reverberated somewhere deep in her core.
“You are doing a damn good job of it,” he said.
She splayed her hands on his chest, savoring every nuanced contour of his shape. Men were for the most part a mystery. In wonder, she traced the trail of dark hair down to the top of his breeches.
Lucas held his breath for an instant and then let it out in a husky laugh. “We’ll get there in a moment, sweetheart. But first, let me see you in all your splendor.” He parted her bodice, revealing one breast, then the other.
She went very still.
“Oh, Ciara. You would tempt a saint to renounce his vows. And God knows I am no saint.” He lowered his head and the warm wetness of his mouth covered her nipple.
Ciara gasped.
And then he drew it into him with a slow suckling sound. His teeth nipped at its bud, the pressure sending a sharp and yet sweet jolt of heat through her. A moan caught in her throat as his tongue—his oh-so-clever tongue—lapped and laved the peaked flesh to a point of unquenchable flame.
She swayed, feeling her knees melt. No wonder rakes were
considered so devilishly dangerous. One smoldering look, one hellfire kiss, and all heed of civilized rules went up in smoke.
“Lift your arms, sweetheart,” coaxed Lucas, “I want to take off your night rail.”
“Yes,” she said thickly. “Yes.”
The fabric skimmed up over her head and floated to the floor. She felt wickedly wanton standing there. Never had the full length of her body been exposed to a man’s eye.
“Sweet Jesus.” He stepped back, his gaze slowly sliding from her face to the triangle of red-gold curls between her legs. Through the scrim of his lashes, she saw a spark of molten blue.
Heat spread through her as Lucas tugged off his boots with a feral growl. His erection was pressing against the front of his breeches. Mesmerized, she watched his fingers wrench the fastenings free.
Half turning, he shucked off the buckskins, and then his drawers. Limned in the light of the moon, his phallus thrust forward from a tangle of midnight curls and the heavy sac of his sex.
A primitive sound stirred in her throat. Instinctively, Ciara reached out to touch him.
His response was immediate. She felt him throb and swell against her palm. Emboldened, she circled her fingers and ran a light caress down his length. Lucas groaned aloud as her thumb touched the ridge of his crest. What a fascinating new discovery—the sheathing of a man’s steel was soft as fire-kissed velvet.
“Dear God,” he groaned through gritted teeth.
Roused from her rapture, Ciara stilled. “Am I doing it wrong?”
“No. Exquisitely right.”
She dropped her gaze, eager for a closer study of his maleness. Her marital encounters had all been quick, jerky fumblings under the cover. Push and shove. The experience had been more painful than pleasurable. She couldn’t remember ever seeing Sheffield’s shaft. Not that she had ever desired to view him naked.
But Lucas… Lucas was a sight to behold.
Ciara loosened her hold, letting the weight of his cock slip free. The head twitched up, erect and proud. In the flickering candlelight, the ruddy flesh appeared aflame. She grasped him again, ever so gently, and let her fingers slide down to the thatch of dark curls at the base of his belly. They sprang back at her tentative touch. Twining deeper, she marveled at the contrast in male textures—smooth flesh, taut muscle, coarse hair.
She could have spent hours exploring him, but Lucas shifted and angled her chin up.
“Look at me, Ciara. I want to see your eyes, sweetheart.”
Her lashes lifted.
“Lud, you are a passionate creature.”
“I’m not,” she protested. On the contrary, she had always been ruled by reason. So how to explain this?
“Oh, yes. You are.” His eyes simmered with a sensuous gleam. “I see it in your work, your dedication, your delight in discovery. You must trust in my greater knowledge of this subject.” Lucas stroked her spine. “Do you, Ciara? Do you trust me?” he crooned.
Against all reason, she did trust him. With all her heart.
“Yes,” she whispered. Yes.
Suddenly she was floating on air, her hair falling in shimmering waves over his back. A twisting spin, and she dropped onto the bed, her bare bum sinking into the tangle of silky sheets.
Lucas was laughing softly, and so was she. In her wildest dreams, she had never imagined that sex could be… fun.
Wickedly so.
He was on his knees, positioning himself at her feet. His hand took hold of her ankles and urged them apart. “I’m aching to taste you, to tantalize you, Ciara. Will you let me do that?”
In answer, she hitched her legs wider. Oh, how she wanted to experience such intimate pleasures with him.
He lowered his head, and all at once his open mouth was sliding along the inside of her thigh. The sensation was indescribably delicious—the heat of his lips on her skin, the coolness of the night air on the trail of wetness. She flinched a little shyly as he reached the notch of her curls. But her hesitation quickly yielded to the gentle probing of his tongue.
The Grotto of Venus. No wonder its mention had sparked a chorus of feminine sighs on that fateful afternoon in the park.
Parting her folds, Lucas opened her more fully to his lush kisses. Ciara whimpered, feeling her body respond with a clench. He licked again, and again. Some force—some fire—was burning inside her. Surely it must soon find release, else singe her to a crisp. Sensing her growing need, Lucas drew her pearl between his teeth.
A tiny nip ignited a heated cry, and an instant later, she convulsed in a shower of white-hot sparks.
As she lay limp, waiting for the waves of pleasure to subside, she managed a soft whisper. “I… I am…
bereft of words.”
His lips feathered across her belly. “Your body is exquisite in its eloquence, sweetheart.” Then moving with the lithe grace of a panther, he was atop her, his legs straddling her thighs.
Oh, she knew—she knew—that Lucas had done this countless times with countless women, but somehow he made her feel special. As if the only thing that mattered at this very moment were the two of them joining as one.
It was just a length of engorged flesh, she told herself. Nothing more, nothing less. Friction, heat—the results of the experiment were really no mystery.
He parted her knees, opening her wide to his gaze. She closed her eyes, feeling oh-so-wicked, oh-so-wanton.
“Beautiful.” Lucas sounded a little breathless as he leaned low and spread his hands across her middle. They inched up in a leisurely glide, caressing her ribs and then cupping her breasts. “So beautiful in every way.” The warm length of his cock tickled against her belly.
Beautiful. He made her feel it was so.
“Spread your legs wider,” he said in a husky whisper. His mouth replaced one of his hands, and he licked a slow, sensual circle around her peak.
Twisting, trembling against the weight of his legs,
Ciara arched up into his embrace.
And then his fingers found her feminine slit and stroked through her slickened folds. “Your quim is ripe again,” he said with rough satisfaction. “And ready for me.”
Now. Now. Her breathing had become so feverish that she couldn’t tell whether she had actually spoken aloud.
A laugh, low and lush, feathered against her flesh. “We mustn’t rush, sweetheart.” He delved deeper, finding her hidden pearl. “A scientist should never hurry the steps of an experiment, is that not right?”
She cried out in answer, no longer capable of coherent speech. The friction of his callused thumb was driving her a little wild with want. Her arms went around him, needing the feel of him hard against her. Inside her. The urgency was mounting. Closer, closer. Ciara pulled him down, dimly aware that her nails were scoring a trail across his shoulders.
Lucas rocked back with a grunt. His face glistened with exertion, and the dark tangle of hair shadowed his eyes. The long, curling strands gleamed like polished ebony in the winking light. Ciara felt a whisper of air as he parted her flesh. The momentary coolness was replaced by throbbing heat as he positioned himself at her opening.
She nearly surrendered her sanity.
His cock nudged in a fraction. Then withdrew.
Ciara squirmed within the rock-hard muscles of his thighs, moaning a wordless complaint. So wrong. So right. It went against all reason, she knew, but oh, she wanted him. Madly. Badly.
Lucas entered her again, this time a little deeper, before sliding out of her passage. The head of his cock rested against her slickness, pulsing with pent-up heat.
The sensation was unbearably wonderful.
Grasping his buttocks so he couldn’t retreat, she arched up her hips to force him deeper.
For an instant, Ciara saw something akin to her own wonder reflected in his gaze. She must be mistaken, of course. A quirk of the stars and shadows. Coupling was such a commonplace experience for him. But perhaps that flash of baring his soul was what made him such a sought-after bedmate. He made a
woman feel that she was the light of his life.
Such skillful lovemaking must take a good deal of practice… No, she would not think of that. Or anything, save the magic of the moment.
Oh, God. Lucas gritted his teeth, praying for self-control. He must keep himself in check and go slowly. This was the first time for Ciara, and he meant for it to be special. Oh, to be sure, she had had a man inside her before. A quick ploughing of her flesh. A mere filling of her womb with seed. But he suspected she had never been roused to feel any joy in it.
For far too long, Ciara had been forced to keep her true self—her womanly passion, her scholarly brilliance—bottled up. She had been told to feel ashamed of her glorious body, her glorious mind.
The Wicked Witch of Pont Street.
Most men were afraid of a woman with brains. While he found her intellect and accomplishments inspiring. Exciting. Enchanting. Amazing. She made him wish to be a better man.
But not just now. Weak, selfish sybarite that he was, he could not pull back. His body was afire with crude, carnal lust. He thrust into her, feeling her liquid heat close around him. “You bedazzle me. Beguile me.” Bewitch me.
She arched up to meet him, her eyes reflecting the luminous light of the stars. Their bodies rose and fell in a sinuous rhythm. Faster and faster, until her heartbeat was a wild drumming in his ears. Or was it his own?
Impossible to tell.
The pulsing beat drove him on. A last thrust and he felt her hips lift and a surging shudder dissolve into a liquid cry.
His own shout of savage satisfaction echoed her climax. She was his now—all his.
As she convulsed around him, Lucas pulled out just in the nick of time, his essence spattering over her cream-white belly.
“Sweetheart.” Bracing himself on hands and knees, he covered her throat with kisses until her gasps subsided.
Damn. That had been a close call. Neither of them had given any heed to protection, and begetting a child on her would only add to her troubles. However, an odd pang of longing twisted inside him as he leaned back and gently wiped his seed from her skin with a corner of the sheet.
She now lay perfectly still, her lashes lowered, her hair fanned out on the pillows like a shimmering halo of gold. Strangely enough, he felt a little awkward about breaking the silence. Words somehow seemed inadequate for anything he might wish to say. Instead, he simply lowered himself down beside her, content just to savor the little details about her—the scent of her sex, the softness of her spent body, the gentle rhythm of her breathing.
