Do I want to write the scene like that? Emily wondered to herself, and then she awakened to find herself in her bed. Should he admit to being in love with her? She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was just four a.m. Well, so much for the Channel. She would have to clock in earlier tonight. Yes, the duke should admit to loving his wife. It had to be her passion to revenge herself that kept her from admitting that she was in love with him. Yes, that felt right. Turning over, she punched her pillow and attempted to sleep.
She had slipped out of the Channel just as Trahern was about to make love to his duchess. But for the first time she had not simply been an observer. She had been in the duchess’s skin. She had been Caroline Trahern. It had been an interesting experience. It had been exciting, and yet she had not been ready to make love with the duke. It was ridiculous to think as she was, but she felt as if it would have been cheating on Devlin. But the duke looked just like Devlin. And the Channel was a fantasy, not reality, wasn’t it? Or was it that she was just a little shy about making love within the confines of the Channel, and then transcribing the experience onto the pages of her book? Yet she certainly could write what she and Devlin had been doing.
He wasn’t due back in New York until Tuesday. He wouldn’t be in Egret Pointe until Friday night. She had plenty of time to write her first explicit love scene before he wanted to see what she was doing. But no! The story line wouldn’t be to that point by Friday night. But perhaps she could show some of the early sexual tension between Caro and Trahern by then. Give Devlin an idea of where she was going with it. And make love with him. Emily hadn’t realized that, once she had savored sex with a man she liked, how much more she would want to keep repeating that same experience. But she did.
She missed the feel of his bulk against her in the night. She missed his weight on her, the incredible sensation of his penis inside of her, his mouth exploring her sensitive flesh. Emily shivered. She needed to sleep. She needed to escape her thoughts of their naked bodies against each other. Did all women feel like this with their first affair? She climbed out of her bed and, going into the bathroom, opened the narrow floor-to-ceiling medicine closet to pull out the aspirin bottle. Dumping two of the extra-strength tablets into her hand, she gulped them down with some water. She was obviously too keyed up to sleep. The aspirin would soothe her jangled nerves. Taking two antacid tablets to buffer her stomach against the aspirin, Emily went back to bed, lying on her back, her palms open and flat so the tension in her would drain out.
When she awoke it was almost noon, and the rain was coming down in sheets outside of her bedroom window. It was obviously a day to hole up in bed. But first she needed sustenance. Climbing out of bed she went down to her kitchen. She opened a can of meat ravioli in sauce, dumped it into a grab-it, and nuked it. Essie kept the ravioli for when her grandchildren stopped by. However, comfort food was comfort food. If Emily couldn’t have wild sex with Devlin, then ravioli and marshmallow cookies would have to suffice. Putting the bowl on a tray, she rifled through her pantry closet and found the greatest sin of all—something she always hid away for an emergency. She set the double box of Mallomars on the tray, and pulled two small bottles of Pellegrino from her fridge. Napkins. Fork. A little shaker of Parmesan. She carried the tray upstairs.
As she sat in bed consuming the contents of the tray, she wondered if Devlin liked eating in bed. She would serve them an outrageous meal to be eaten here in her bedroom when he came out next weekend. Raw oysters on the half shell, all briney with hot sauce. Lamb chops with asparagus vinaigrette. Fresh local strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, and a bowl of whipped cream for dipping. And they would drink a bottle of Pindar Long Island Spring Splendor, and then make love. Oh, God! She was off on that tangent again. How long until the Channel opened up again? Almost eight hours—worse luck. She’d sleep, and when she woke up again she’d consume the other box of Mallomars for supper, along with her other bottle of Pellegrino. It was a plan.
It was still raining hard when Emily awoke again. The light outside of her bedroom windows was gray. Rolling over, she looked at her clock. Just after seven. Less than an hour until the Channel kicked in. Was she brave enough to let the story flow tonight? She would set her mind to the month before Trahern and Caro married. No. That wouldn’t do. She could write a scene like that with her eyes closed. She would set the scene for their wedding night. Caro’s first sexual encounter with the sophisticated Trahern. Yes! That would allow her a sexual experience to take the edge off of her own lust for Michael Devlin. But would it? Well, she would soon find out, Emily decided.
Trahern looked like her editor. Emily’s subconscious had made him so. But there was just the faintest sense of roughness about the duke that wasn’t at all like the smooth and elegant Michael Devlin. The duke was very much a man of his own time period, which was as it should be. There was a hint of danger in the green eyes. He was a man who was very comfortable with who and what he was. And he was a man who would have his own way. Emily shivered. But that was as it should be too. She had made all of her previous heroes far more civilized and urbane than Trahern was. Trahern was almost a throwback to another century. But she liked him, and she knew her readers would fall in love with him to a woman. Bad boys were always far more interesting than good men. Michael Devlin certainly was, she thought with a little grin as she finished consuming the second narrow container of Mallomars. They were half the size Mallomars used to be, she thought, annoyed. But then, she had to suffer only half the guilt because of it.
Emily got up and took the tray downstairs, rinsed the grab-it, and stuck it in the dishwasher. She dumped the evidence of her Mallomar consumption in the garbage, and recycled the two green bottles. Then, returning upstairs, she took a lavish bubble bath, pulled on a clean sleep shirt, and, grabbing the channel changer as the upstairs hall clock struck eight o’clock, she turned on the television. Almost at once she saw a gray stone country church. The scenery about the church proclaimed it full high autumn. The oak and the ash trees were gold and red. The ducal coach drew up before the church. A footman jumped from his perch and hurried to open the door on the right side of the vehicle and let down the steps. Then he handed out Caro Trahern.
She was dressed in a gown of pale blue watered silk. The full skirt had a pleated hemline that hung just off the ground. The fitted bodice and skirt formed a single garment. While the neckline was low, the bride wore a delicate lace fichu that was fastened in front with a beautiful brooch of pearls and gold. The sleeves of the dress were fitted to the elbow, and from them hung the same delicate lace as the fichu. Her shoes were flat-heeled and embroidered with rounded toes. On her head she wore a broad-brimmed hat trimmed in lace and ribbons. And in her hand she carried a posy of rosebuds and lavender tied with matching blue ribbons and lace.
Emily reached out and pressed the enter button on the channel changer as the duchess began to walk into the small church. Music swelled from the small organ that was being vigorously pumped by a rather beefy lad she recognized as the blacksmith’s son. Once again she had put herself into the skin of her heroine. The duke awaited her inside the church vestibule. Their eyes met. She took his arm, and together they traversed the center aisle of the little church to where the Reverend Mr. Playfair awaited them. The congregation, Emily noted, was made up of villagers and servants. Caro’s second marriage would not be a grand affair, given the fact that she had been widowed for only thirteen months. The ceremony was the simple Anglican one, and over quickly. The bridal couple traversed the aisle.
Outside the Duke and Duchess of Malincourt greeted their villagers, who cheered them off as the open coach awaiting them took them back to Malincourt Hall. The day was so beautiful that Emily felt her eyes fill with tears. Her new husband noticed, said nothing, but put his hand on hers. She looked at him and smiled a weak smile.
“What are you thinking?” he finally asked her.
“Of the day I wed your uncle at St. George’s in London,” the duchess an
swered him. “It was June, and the king and queen came. My father hadn’t even given me a season, but he and your uncle insisted upon a grand society wedding. They were making a very strong public statement so that my uncle Richard would have no basis for a claim on my inheritance. Of course, I didn’t know then that my father intended to kill himself. Your uncle Godric was very good to me, Trahern. But I think if I am to be honest with you, I must say I prefer this wedding day to the other. I am not a woman for show.”
“I hope you also prefer this groom to the other,” he replied. “And tonight you will have a true wedding night. Something you did not have with my uncle, I know.”
The duchess blushed prettily. “Sir, you are too bold,” she half whispered.
He leaned over and murmured in her ear, “Surely you know how much I want to make love to you, Caro, my darling. I know you are an innocent, and I shall be patient and gentle. But come tomorrow morning you will be a woman in every sense of the word. I am not my uncle Godric. I am a man in the full flush of his manhood. I desire you very much, Caro. I only hope you desire me too.” He kissed her ear softly.
Her cheeks felt very warm. “I have no knowledge of what you expect of me, sir. I would not have you disappointed, but in matters of the heart I am lacking in education.”
“And it will be my supreme pleasure to educate you, my darling,” he told her.
She could not stop blushing, and was quite relieved to reach the house. There a light repast had been set out for them in the magnificent dining room. They ate in silence, and when they had finished repaired to the family salon. It was late afternoon. The servants had seen to the fires, and the room was comfortable.
“Why do you not repair to your chamber and take a little nap?” the duke suggested. “I am going to read. I will join you later.”
She stood up quickly and curtsied, saying, “The day has been fatiguing, milord. I shall take your good advice.”
“It will probably be one of the few times you do, Caro,” he replied, a twinkle in his eye. Then he chuckled at her expression of surprise. “Run along, my dear.”
Well, Emily thought as the duchess hurried upstairs to her bedchamber, you are turning out to be an interesting man. My duchess will have to be very clever to avoid her husband discovering what mischief she has been up to for almost three years. Poor Godric had never known, but then he was old and sick, and only wanted his comforts. As long as he had them, and Caro visited him when home from London, which was where she always claimed she had been, Godric Trahern was contented. He had married her to protect her, and she certainly had never realized that he would see to her future when he was gone. But he had, arranging first with his nephew and heir, and then with her, that she would marry Justin Trahern after a single year of mourning.
“No longer, Caroline,” he had said. “You are a very wealthy woman in your own right, and your father did not want you taken advantage of; nor do I. You know little of the world, my dear. You must be protected.”
Yes, her first duke had been a good man.
Emily shifted her mind-set back to the duchess, who reaching her own chamber, had her maid, Nancy, help her to disrobe. Bathing in a basin of perfumed water, she let the young girl help her into a delicate pale peach silk negligee.
“I shall not need you again tonight, Nancy,” she said as she lay down to rest. When the duchess was once again aware of herself, the sky outside of her bedchamber window was dark. She heard the door connecting her room with the duke’s open, and she turned over to see him in the light from the fireplace.
“Do not get up,” he said quietly. “I have come to join you, Caro.”
The duchess swallowed hard. Of course, this husband would want to claim his connubial rights as soon as possible, and it was their wedding night. “You will have to lead me, sir. As I have previously told you, my experience is nil.” She saw in the firelight that he was wearing a red paisley silk robe, but she suspected that beneath was naught.
“Under the circumstances of your first marriage I would not expect you to have had any experience, my dear. I know you are a virgin. My uncle assured me of it before he died.” He slid beneath the coverlet next to her. “There are many men in my position who would take from you what they believed was their due without so much as a by-your-leave. But I have found a woman who enjoys the act of copulation is a far better partner in bed sport.” He pressed her gently back among the pillows and touched her lips with his. “Tonight I will make love to you slowly and with great care, Caro. And tomorrow night I will begin to teach you how to respond in kind.” He kissed her gently again, his tongue tracing the outline of her mouth.
“Oh!” the duchess murmured softly.
He raised himself up, balancing upon an elbow, and carefully undid the ribbons at the neckline of her negligee. The garments opened to reveal her snowy-white bosom. The duke’s dark head bent, and he began to kiss the flawless flesh. His free hand pushed the fabric aside further, his mouth closing over a perfect little pink nipple. His tongue licked. His teeth carefully worried the sensitive nipple.
She could sense it all, Emily realized, delighted. She felt everything her duchess was supposed to be feeling: a tiny, almost imperceptible tingle between her legs, a longing she had not understood before. Her arms wrapped about the duke. “Oh, Trahern,” she murmured in his ear. “What is this magic you are making with me?”
In answer he ripped the delicate silk of her negligee open so he might have total access to her lovely body. A hand cupped her breast. He nuzzled it, and kissed the sharply pointed nipple. “I adore you, Caro!” he murmured against her ear. “I only want to give you pleasure, and more pleasure.”
She found her hands fumbling with the tie about his robe. “Take it off, Trahern,” she begged him. “I find your kisses and caresses have made me curious for more. For everything! Hurry, milord!”
He untangled himself from her briefly in order to shrug the robe from his muscular body. And while he did Caro pulled the shreds of her negligee from her own body and threw them carelessly on the floor. Then, gathering her into his arms, he began to kiss her until her head was spinning. “Do you know what I am going to do to you, my adorable bride?” he asked her low.
“You are going to fuck me,” she whispered back. “And I want you to, Trahern! Oh, how very much I want you to fuck me!”
But he was true to his intent. He began to kiss every inch of her body available to him. He turned her this way and the next, his lips caressing, his tongue licking her flesh until she was afire. She gasped when his finger invaded her body, a tiny bit of fear touching her nerves, but he sensed her anxiety, and soothed her even as a second finger joined the first, and he began to move them back and forth.
She was burning with a desire she had never known existed. “Oh!” she cried. “Oh!” as the fingers slipped from her, and the tip of one of them touched the rosebud hidden between the folds of her nether lips. The fingertip worried the sensitive little nub until she was almost weeping with the burning hunger she felt.
He mounted her naked body, his big hands first pushing her milky thighs open, then guiding his lover’s lance into her body. Her virginity quickly gave way, and he rode her fiercely. His big cock flashed back and forth within her, and her low moans grew in intensity until she was almost screaming with the pleasure he was giving her. Then, just as the world exploded around her, the duke bent low and whispered in her ear, “I promised you, Emily, that we would begin a grand adventure, and we now assuredly have, my darling.”
Her orgasm came in hard, hot bursts even as her eyes flew open and widened at his words. “Trahern!” she cried, and then fell into unconsciousness as his own lust spurted forth in the great jets of his love juices. And when she opened her eyes again she was in her own bed. The dawn was beginning to break outside of her windows, and the screen of the television was blank with snow.
Emily Shanski lay quietly on her back. Her sleep shirt was up to her waist, and she was sticky and wet between her thi
ghs. My God! What had happened to her? She had slipped into the duchess Caro’s skin, or so she thought. But the duke had known that she was there. And in that moment of perfect pleasure he had told her so by addressing her by name. Briefly she was frightened. Perhaps it was not such a good idea to interact with her characters. But she had to admit that she felt more relaxed now than she had when she had turned on the Channel eight hours previously. Her sexual tension had completely vanished.
Emily climbed out of her bed and, barefooted, hurried out into the hall and up the stairs into her office. She had to get the scene she had just played out with the duke down on paper before it faded. With luck she could have the story line right up to that scene before Devlin arrived Friday night. Would he be pleased with her? God, she hoped so! Her career was the one thing in the world now that meant everything to her. If she had to write explicitly sexy love scenes to save it, then she was going to learn how to do it. And now, Emily realized, she had two lovers to learn her craft from.
She turned on her PC, and sat down. Two lovers. Of course, Devlin was going to take full credit for her metamorphosis, she chuckled to herself. Well, let him. The Channel was something special that belonged only to women. Men didn’t have to know about it. At least, that was what Rina had told her when she had introduced Emily to it. It was a delicious and dirty little secret, and while Emily had enjoyed being an observer as she imagined her novels in order to make certain they were believable, she had to admit that being an active part of the fantasy was even more fun. And for the first time in her life Emily decided that she wanted to have fun. She began to write, and it wasn’t until four hours later that she came down from her aerie.
The day was as clear and warm as the previous had been rainy and chill. She was hungry, and decided to fix herself a Sunday style breakfast even if it was Monday. Rina and Sam were coming by to take her to the Memorial Day parade, and then they were all going out to the club for lunch. French toast! That was what she wanted. French toast with lots of butter and syrup and sausages. She had begun to pull the ingredients together when the phone rang. Answering it, Emily heard Devlin’s voice, and her heart beat just a little faster.
Forbidden Pleasures Page 10
