The Bride Thief

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  God help him, he didn't know how much of this he could stand. Her fingers moved over him, each caress killing him with pleasure. But when she squeezed him gently, he grasped her wrist.

  "Did I hurt you?" she asked in a stricken voice.

  His fingers tightened on her skin. "No. But when you do that…" he swallowed hard.

  Feminine understanding suddenly gleamed in her eyes. "How do you react?" she asked in a voice he could only describe as smoky.

  "It makes me forget to go slow with you. Makes me forget your innocence."

  She flexed her fingers over his aching flesh and he groaned. "I do not feel very innocent," she whispered. "I feel decadent. And wicked. And… wanting."

  God, he knew all about wanting. Wanting until he felt as if he'd caught on fire. Wanting, needing, until he burned from the inside out.

  "I want to touch you more," she whispered.

  Unable to deny either of them, he released her wrist. She glided her hand up and down, over him, igniting him until any semblance of control he might have imagined he still possessed, disappeared. Gone was his sophistication, his experience, his mastery over his own body. His hands trembled and his damn knees felt weak. All from her. Nothing existed except her. The touch of her hands. The feel of her skin. The need to be inside her overwhelmed him. Now. Before he exploded in her hands.

  Slipping one hand under the water, he grabbed the hem of her chemise and drew it upward.

  "Hold onto my shoulders and wrap your legs around my hips," he ground out in a barely recognizable voice.

  She did as he bid, opening herself up to him. His hand slipped between them, under her chemise. He caressed her with a slow circular motion, watching her eyes slip shut. Her fingers bit into his shoulder muscles, her breaths long and deep.

  "Look at me," he commanded.

  Her eyelids fluttered open and pure male satisfaction slammed into him at her languorous, bemused expression. When she focused on his face, he said, "Say my name."

  Her lips parted and she sighed out, "Lord Wesley."

  "No. My given name. Eric." He parted her plump folds, teasing her gently, then eased one finger just inside her. "Say it."

  "Eric," she whispered.

  Her velvety warmth surrounded his fingertip, and his erection jerked in response. She was so tight. So warm. So ready. And he could wait no longer.

  He slowly slipped his finger from her, and a soft moan of protest rumbled from her. With his gaze locked on hers, he grasped her hips, then guided himself slowly into her welcoming heat. When her maidenhead halted his progress, he stilled, the significance of his actions ramming into him like a brick to his head. He was about to take her innocence-irrevocably ruin her. But God help him, unless she begged him to stop, there was no turning back now.

  "We're not… finished, are we?" she asked in a tone that conveyed such suppressed dismay he would have chuckled had he been able.

  Instead, he offered up a prayer of thanks that she hadn't asked him to stop. "No, sweetheart. We're not finished. But when I breach your maidenhead, it will probably hurt for a moment."

  She brushed her wet fingertips over his face. "It couldn't possibly hurt worse than the thought of not sharing this with you. Don't stop. I want to know everything… every sensation. Every touch."

  Praying he wouldn't hurt her, he tightened his grip on her hips, surging upward as he pressed her downward. Her eyes widened and she gasped, a sound that pierced his heart.

  "God, I'm sorry," he said, forcing himself not to move. "Are you all right?" Damn it, had he been too rough? He should have taken more care. More time. But she'd driven him nearly insane-

  "I'm… fine."

  Thank God. But his relief instantly turned to sensual torture. Her feminine softness enveloped him like a tight silk glove, and he suddenly questioned his ability to withdraw from her when the time came. Gritting his teeth against the nearly unbearable pleasure, he remained motionless to give her time to adjust to the feel of him. A myriad of emotions flickered across her face… surprise, wonder, then pleasure, seconds later giving way to desire.

  "In fact I'm…" She moved her hips, and he touched her a bit deeper, her liquid heat caressing him. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and a long sigh escaped her as her lids drifted shut. "Oh, my."

  Gripping her hips, he moved within her with an excruciating slowness that nearly killed him, easing nearly all the way out of her, only to slide smoothly back, filling her. Each time it seemed he caressed her deeper, she clenched him tighter, until he shook with burning need. His breathing turned into short, ragged, pants that matched her staccato gasps as his thrusts grew faster, stronger, the water swirling around them, slapping at their writhing bodies. He feared his intensity might frighten her, but she moved with him, her breaths as choppy as his.

  "Eric," she moaned. Her legs clamped around his hips like a vise, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts to his chest. He captured her against him, holding her so tightly, he didn't know where her skin ended and his began. He felt her orgasm tremble through her with his entire body. Her heart pounded against his, her hips bucked, and her sleek walls spasmed around him, drowning him in the same vortex that took her down.

  The instant she sagged against him, he withdrew from her, helpless to hold back his climax another second. Clutching her to him, he buried his face against her fragrant neck, his arousal pressed tightly between them as his release shuddered through him.

  He had no idea how many minutes passed before his breathing returned to normal and he could lift his head. When he did, she leaned back as far as his binding arms would permit and their gazes collided.

  Pure incredulity glowed from her eyes. "Good heavens," she whispered. "That was…" her voice trailed off into a vaporous sigh.

  "Incredible," he offered.

  "Indescribable," she agreed.

  "Intoxicating."

  She reached out and traced his mouth with a single fingertip. "So many 'i' words to describe what you did to me, Eric."

  He kissed her finger, then drew it slowly into his mouth, circling it with his tongue before releasing it. "So many 'i' words to describe you, Samantha," he corrected.

  She lowered her lashes, and he knew his words brought a blush to her cheeks. "I didn't know people did… this in the water."

  "Neither did I."

  Her gaze flew to his. "You mean you've never…?"

  "In a lake? No. This was a first for me."

  A smile of unadulterated delight lit her face, and his throat tightened at the enchanting, sensual picture she made.

  "I'm glad this was an adventure for you as well," she said. "I feared my lack of knowledge might bore you."

  For an instant the area around his heart went hollow, then flooded with a tenderness he'd never before experienced. How could she not know that she was nothing less than fascinating? In every way? Because so many fools overlook what is right in front of them. Idiots. Yet, he selfishly couldn't deny that what others failed to recognize and admire in her somehow made her seem more his.

  Brushing a damp tendril from her cheek, he said, "I assure you, I have never been less bored in my life. Indeed, boredom is not a feeling you have ever once inspired in me. And you are not lacking, Samantha. In any way."

  He again sensed her blush, and she glanced downward. "I couldn't help but notice that you withdrew before you…"

  "I promised you I would." And you have no idea how the effort nearly killed me.

  Raising her gaze to his, she whispered, "I didn't realize that a man's seed was so… warm."

  Warm? Hell, scalding was closer to the truth. He'd felt hot enough to heat the entire damn lake. Just recalling the sensation of her wrapped around him, his flesh buried deep inside her, pumped renewed desire through him.

  "I think we'd best exit the lake before we become waterlogged." Before I make love to you again. "I hadn't meant to make love to you for the first time in the water?"

  Interest flared in her ey
es. "Oh? What had you planned?"

  "Bringing you to a small lodge on my property." He gazed into her eyes, and his blood stirred. "Would you like to accompany me there now?"

  She only said one word, but it was the only word he wanted to hear.

  "Yes."

  Chapter Sixteen

  From the London Times:

  The Bride Thief Posse now hails nearly five hundred members, and the price on the Bride Thief's head has grown to ten thousand pounds. There is nowhere in England the Thief can hide now. His days are well and truly numbered.

  The following morning, before joining her parents and Hubert in the breakfast room, Sammie peered at herself in the cheval glass in her bedchamber.

  How was it possible that she looked the same when everything was so completely, irrevocably different! How could it be that all the extraordinary things she was feeling on the inside did not show on the outside, except perhaps for the color staining her cheeks?

  Hugging her arms around herself, she closed her eyes, allowing memories from last night to wash over her. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined the intimacies she and Eric had shared, first at the lake, then at his lodge. The indescribable sensation of lying naked before a man who slowly explored her body with his hands and lips, eliciting a passion in her that she had never suspected herself capable of.

  Then, the sheer beauty of exploring his naked body in return as he reclined before the hearth, the fire's glow illuminating a fascinating display of masculine planes and muscles. Endless caresses and whispering as he taught her how to please him, and discovered what pleased her. Long, slow, deep kisses that touched her soul. It had indeed been the adventure of her life… yet so much more.

  Opening her eyes, she stared at the unremarkable woman reflected in the glass. What did he see in her? He'd worshipped her last night as if she were a queen, yet there was no denying a man like him could have any woman he wanted. For right now, incredible as it was, he wanted her.

  But for how long?

  Don't think about it, her heart warned, but her mind refused to listen. She'd be a fool to entertain the notion that she could hold his interest for any length of time. How long before he tired of her? A week? A month? Sharp pain knifed through her at the thought of them parting company. Of never seeing him again. Or worse, seeing him and having to pretend that nothing had ever passed between them. Knowing that he was enjoying the intimacies they'd shared with another woman.

  Waves of helpless jealousy washed over her at the thought of him caressing another woman… of someone else touching him. Arousing him. Pleasing him. She pressed her hands to her stomach and fought back the hot tears that pooled behind her eyes, valiantly trying to banish the thought before her heart broke in two. You fool, This was supposed to be an adventure. And look what you've done. You've fallen in love with him.

  Why hadn't she warned herself against such a disastrous occurrence? Prepared herself? Why hadn't it occurred to her how utterly logical it was for her to lose her heart to him? He not only possessed every trait she admired in a person, he filled every corner of her mind with romantic dreams that she should dismiss as ridiculous and illogical, but that instead suffused her with… love.

  A strangled sound erupted from her throat, and she staggered the few steps to her escritoire, dropping down into the hard wooden chair. She tried to deny her inner voice's words, but there was no point. She loved him. Helplessly. Hopelessly. So many "h" words to describe my feelings for him. And of course there was one more 'h' word-the one that would describe her when their affair ended.

  Heartbroken.

  He would continue on to the next woman, and she would be left with nothing more than the memories of their time together, for she could not envision ever taking another lover. Not when her heart and soul belonged to Eric.

  Rising, she paced the length of the room. The longer she allowed their liaison to continue, the worse her heartbreak would be when it ended. She knew with sinking finality that she would only fall deeper in love with him-and she wouldn't be able to bide her feelings from him for she was not a good actress.

  She paused in her pacing and buried her face in her hands. Dear God, how humiliating if he knew… if he pitied her for her hopeless feelings. But what else could he do except pity her? There was no chance that he would return her feelings. He might treat her kindly, hold her in some affection, but he would never fall in love with her. Never want to marry her and spend his life with her. His earlier words reverberated through her mind. I've no intention of ever marrying.

  She'd had no desire to marry either, a decision that had been simple to accept before today. Why would she wish to spend her life with someone who did not respect her dedication to her scientific studies? She hoped to someday make an important contribution to medicine with her honey cream-something Eric did respect. Now, for the first time, she could see that she would not have to give up her dreams in order to appease a man.

  But the man she wanted had made his aversion to marriage very clear. Why did he feel so strongly about it? She shook her head. Although she was curious, in the end his reasons did not matter. He did not wish to marry, and that was that. And even if he should some day change his mind, he would of course choose a beautiful, young wife from the peerage.

  Her common sense told her to end things between them. Immediately. Before she further risked her heart. But her heart rebelled, urging her to grasp whatever time she could with him, and to enjoy it while it lasted. She'd have a lifetime to mend her heart.

  Perhaps. Yet she suspected her heart would never mend. And she could never bear his pity. And she'd never successfully hide her feelings from him. For her own sake, to save herself from falling so far in love with him that she would never recover, she had to end their affair.

  Still, she could not bear the thought of not seeing him one more time. She had to hold him, touch him, just once more. To store up the memories that would have to last her for all the empty, lonely nights ahead. They'd agreed to meet again tonight, at the garden gate at eleven o'clock, then depart for his lodge. She would cherish him one more time, then pray she'd find the strength to let him go.

  Eric stood in front of the windows in his private study, sipping his morning coffee. His gaze wandered to the mantel clock and a wry smile twisted his lips. Exactly three minutes had passed since he'd last checked the time.

  Fourteen hours until he saw her again. No, actually fourteen hours and thirty-seven minutes. How the hell was he going to fill the time? He glanced at his desk. Several dozen pieces of correspondence required his attention, as did the accounts for his Norfolk estate.

  He expelled a long, frustrated breath. No matter how he might try to engross himself in work, nothing would banish the memories of last night. The feel of her under him. Over him. Wrapped around him. The sound of his name on her lips as she climaxed in his arms. Discovering all the fascinating secrets of her body. Her wide-eyed, wondrous exploration of his. The white-hot intensity tempered by the laughter they'd shared.

  None of his previous sexual encounters had prepared him for what he'd experienced with Samantha. Never before had he felt this overwhelming rush of fierce protectiveness. This chest-aching tenderness. This sharp-edged desire to know everything about her… her mind as well as her body. This raw need to please her in every way. To hold her to him and simply not let her go.

  Draining his last sip of coffee, he set the china cup on his desk, then pressed his fingers to his temples in a vain attempt to relieve the unsettling emotions scraping at him. Damn it all, he felt edgy, yet at the same time, uncharacteristically vulnerable. And he didn't like it one bit. How had she-an innocent in the ways of love-managed to arouse and enchant him as no experienced woman ever had? Why wasn't last night proving to be like all the other nights he'd spent in a lover's arms-delightful while it lasted, yet eminently forgettable once the act was completed?

  A dozen words to describe last night jumped into his mind, but forgettable was not one of t
hem. A humorless laugh rumbled in his throat as he recalled how less than a fortnight ago he'd entertained the notion that he could see Samantha Briggeham one more time and then forget her. What a raging jest on him! He hadn't been able to push the woman from his thoughts before he'd made love to her. Now she occupied every corner of his brain.

  Forget her? How could he hope to do so when the feel of her, the scent of her, was indelibly etched in his mind? And, he feared, more than his mind. It was as if she'd engraved her name across his heart. And soul. A disturbing development to be sure.

  This desire, this need for her, sorely tested his control, a facet of himself he'd always prided himself on. It had required a Herculean effort keep from spilling his seed in her last night. In truth, he'd barely managed to withdraw in time.

  His gut clenched, and he mentally cursed himself. How had he allowed their relationship to progress to this point? Why had he pursued something so utterly impossible? Because you're a selfish bastard and you couldn't keep your hands off her. As much as it shamed him, he couldn't deny the truth of his inner voice. And there was only one way to fix what his selfishness had wrought.

  He would have to end their affair.

  Everything in him cringed in protest, and he swore his heart screamed No! But damn it all, these… feelings, these soft and tender emotions she generated in him did more than unsettle him. They frightened him. He could not offer her the sort of future she deserved. Indeed, any long-term liaison with him might possibly place her in danger.

  Their affair would have to end sooner or later. For both their sakes, he needed to make it sooner.

  But God, not just yet.

  He had to see her again. One more time. To memorize every look, every touch, every inch of her. Because he knew, in his suddenly heavy heart, that he would never meet another woman like Samantha Briggeham.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the study door.

  "Come in."

  Eversley entered, his normally impassive butler's face showing unprecedented animation. "You've a guest, my lord."