by Wood, Lynn
Luke’s mind was having trouble deciphering his bride’s demand, so he simply shook his head. “No.”
Melissa sighed. “You’re going to ruin it.”
“No,” he repeated, if anything tightening his grip on her. “There is no way in hell I’m taking my hands off of you now.”
The corners of Melissa’s lips kicked upward at his staunch refusal. He obviously suspected her of trying to trick him into turning his back so she could escape him again. Rather than arguing the point, she boldly met his glance and released her hold on the quilt. It fell away from the transparent, shimmering gown and got stuck for a moment on where Luke’s hand still gripped her hip. His sharp intake of breath at what lay beneath the quilt was enough to satisfy her of the effect of the queen’s gift.
“You’re trying to kill me,” Luke whispered huskily as his eyes roamed over her no longer bruised flesh barely concealed by the tantalizing gown. He did release his hold on her, but only long enough to let the quilt fall to the floor between them so he could lift her into his arms. She looped her own around his neck as he held her against his strong chest. He made no move to set her down in the bed. Instead he just stood there, holding her in his arms.
Both puzzled and amused by the dazed look in his eyes, she asked cautiously, “Luke?”
“I’m never letting you go.”
Her eyes searched his and there was sadness in her voice when she replied, “You’ll change your mind when you’ve had time to consider. You feel guilty because of what your brother did, but I’m completely healed now, Luke. You no longer need to feel responsible for me.”
Luke gazed down into her imploring glance and realized he needed to tread carefully. His new bride was a tantalizing mixture of both fierce pride and a beguiling uncertainty about her own appeal. “Melissa, you are my wife. I will always be responsible for you. If you don’t mind I would prefer to leave my brother out of this discussion.”
“So would I, but he’s still here isn’t he? His shadow, or at least the memory of how he hurt me, the fact I was the one guilty of his death…how do we pretend none of that ever happened?”
Frustrated by his wife’s insistence on attributing his actions in marrying her solely to his brother’s assault forced Luke to delay a little longer his plans for his wedding night. Why did women have to complicate everything? They were married. She was his wife. This was their wedding night. He should be indulging the fantasies he’d been immersed in ever since their single night together rather than discussing his monster of a dead brother. He didn’t think his frustration was unreasonable. Any man in his position would feel the same way. Sighing heavily, he sank down on the bed with his wife’s soft skin and feminine scent making it hard to concentrate on this nonsensical conversation she seemed intent on having tonight, of all nights. “Melissa, I don’t believe either of us is pretending it never happened, but I know for a certainty you were not the first woman my brother attacked.”
“I do not doubt that,” Melissa bitterly agreed.
“You are the only one I made an offer of marriage to.”
Melissa considered his comment for a moment and felt hope rise in her heart, and then she remembered her own part in their hurried union. “But Luke, I tricked you into taking my virginity, so since I didn’t die like we both assumed I would, you felt you had no choice but to marry me.”
Despite the seriousness of his bride’s pleading glance, Luke couldn’t keep his lips from twitching at her dramatic conclusion. “So by your convoluted way of thinking, I was forced to marry you because you failed to keep your implied promise to me by not dying.”
She smiled at his quick understanding and sighed with relief. “Yes, exactly.”
He laughed out loud. He couldn’t help himself. The booming sound bounced off the walls and could be heard in the halls outside their wedding chamber. He caught a glimpse of his wife’s confused expression and laughed even harder. Obviously he would have to straighten out his bride’s foolish conclusion in the morning. For now he was done fighting a losing battle with his self-control. He was through being patient and understanding. He was finished with feeling guilty for trapping his wife into marriage, and using the king to help him accomplish his goal.
The simple truth was he wanted her. He desired her in that damp cave and he wanted her nearly every waking moment since. He’d ruthlessly used any and every means at his disposal to gain her agreement to marry him. She was his wife now and always would be. They could work out the details later. Right now he was going to indulge his manly passions for his bride on their wedding night and thank God he arrived in London in time to prevent the king from marrying her off to another persistent suitor William owed a debt to.
Melissa wiggled a little in Luke’s restraining arms. She didn’t think most brides were forced to face the prospect of being a source of hilarity to their husbands on their wedding night. Feeling her struggle, Luke stopped laughing and looked down to meet her indignant expression. Their eyes locked and held and the amusement slowly died out of Luke’s midnight eyes. He turned her in his arms and laid her down on the bed, then stood to quickly disrobe.
The light from the fire provided Melissa with ample evidence of her husband’s manly passions. She was at the same time both comforted he still desired her and a little afraid at the evidence of just how much he appeared to want her. It was dark that night in the cave so she hadn’t seen clearly how much of him there was. By the time she realized the discrepancy in their sizes she was so dazed with illness and passion it was too late to think clearly about the matter.
Now her thoughts were quite clear. Too clear. She should have indulged in a glass of ale with dinner. Actually, she thought, as she stole another quick glance at her husband’s naked form and thrusting manhood, she should have indulged in several glasses of ale. She chided herself to catch hold of her growing panic. She was not a virgin after all. There was no reason for the very real terror growing inside her.
Luke watched his bride’s slight trepidation at the sight of his nakedness rise to true terror as her eyes widened and her breath sounded audibly in the heavy silence between them. He reached down and cupped one full breast with a hand that shook from the force of his rising need. He could feel her warmth and softness through the thin gown. She gasped at his boldness and tried to push his hand away.
“No, you belong to me now, Melissa. No other man shall ever touch you.”
Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes in response to his fierce vow. Impatiently she reached up to brush them away. She was acting like a frightened virgin who was faced with being bedded by a stranger on her wedding night. How in the world did her young sister get through her terror of that first joining with Nathan? Her heart was hammering so loudly in her chest she thought for certain Luke must hear it, yet she was no virgin, and Luke was not a stranger to her, but the way he was looking at her, watching every tiny move she made, monitoring every breath she drew, was making her inexplicably nervous about what was to come.
It was one thing to surrender her body to him when she honestly believed she would never have to face him again, but the door to that escape hatch was closed to her now. She would wake in the morning with Luke in the bed beside her, and then what? She realized that was what she feared most, not what would happen between them tonight, but what would become of her in the light of day. Would he leave her? Would he really look for Michel? Could she trust his claim he truly wanted her for his wife? Could she trust her heart and her life to this man? To this enemy knight? When all that stood between them were blood and violence and death. Not exactly a sound foundation to base a marriage upon.
“Well, wife?”
Luke’s slightly amused query drew her attention back to his sinfully, handsome face. “Well, what?”
Melissa felt the bed give beneath his weight. Her breath caught in her throat when he reached out to tug on the ties of the transparent gown and pushed the thin material away from her breasts. He leaned his head down and used his
tongue to caress her tender skin, then circled one straining nipple before closing his mouth over it and sucking with extreme tenderness. Melissa made no effort to suppress the moan that rose to her lips at his gentle attention. One strong hand slid down her middle, along her thigh then trailed lower until he came to the end of the gown, all the while his tongue teased her, tantalized her, until her panic was replaced by rising need.
“Luke.” His name on her lips escaped in a husky plea. His only answer was to slide his hand beneath the gown and trail his seeking fingers up the long length of her leg until they reached her thigh and turned inwards. When his questing hand found the damp curls giving evidence of her body’s response to him he lifted his head from her breast and smiled down into her glazed expression and bent closer, burying his head in the dark curls along the base of her throat. Melissa relaxed a little when she realized Luke’s breathing was no longer steady either, and the hand caressing her so intimately shook slightly.
“Luke?”
Her voice was all dazed passion to match the faraway look in her sapphire eyes. His body was riding him hard, but he was aware of the fear his bride tried to hide from him, so he took things slow to remind her of the pleasure they would give each other.
“Yes, love?”
“If we…”
Luke took immediate exception to her choice of words. “If we?”
Melissa blushed. “I meant…I only wondered…”
But Luke merely shook his head. “No more wondering, wife, only feeling tonight.”
“But…”
“No more buts, no more debates, no more crazy explanations for my motives for marrying you. You’re my wife, Melissa. I will never release you from your commitment to me. I will never let you go.”
Melissa finally gave voice to her fearful longing. “I don’t want you to ever let me go.”
Her whispered confession was his undoing. All trace of the gentle husband disappeared beneath the swell of his rising passion. In its place was the fierce warrior his dark reputation hinted at. He risked letting loose the strict bonds of self-discipline he constrained himself with and used his weight to push his bride back against the bed. His hands drew her arms above her head and captured them there in one of his own. His bride’s breath was coming in audible gasps now at the realization he was no longer making any effort to disguise his strength or his passion from her.
A pulse beat furiously at the base of her neck. Her eyes clung to his, wide-eyed and all helpless femininity within their depths, and he was lost. The remaining bonds holding him back from giving full rein to his manly desire snapped beneath the temptation this one woman held for him. He bent his head and feasted on her. His mouth closed over her sweet lips and his tongue forced its way inside the moist crevice to taste, to stroke, to plunder and stake his claim. She squirmed in his arms, trying to free her arms from the hand clamped around her wrists, but her efforts and her smooth soft skin rubbing against his naked flesh only sent his passions soaring.
He slid the side of his face along the slender column of her throat, felt the rapid beat of her pulse against his mouth, then trailed lower, all the while tasting, nipping, stroking until she no longer fought him, until she no longer strained against the hand holding her arms, nor squirmed beneath him in a futile attempt at escape. No, now her body strained in the opposite direction, towards rather than away from his questing mouth and hands.
His mouth slid lower, pausing only to circle her navel with his tongue and then blaze a bold trail to the source of her femininity. The scent of her passion, her desire for him, sent his own senses reeling. Hunger for her clouded his thoughts until pure male instinct took over. She was his mate, the one God formed for him in her mother’s womb. His tongue pierced the soft curls and sought the damp opening beneath giving evidence of her answering desire for him, his touch, his possession. She screamed. His name. He smiled at the astonishment in her voice. She lifted her lips higher and spread her legs wider, all the while her soft pleas and helpless moans enthralled him, drew him in and made him hers as much as she was his.
Melissa was clinging desperately to the little hold she retained on her control, but it was like trying to hold onto to the remnants of her broken ship when it had split apart in the sea. Every time she thought she secured a firm hold, it slipped between her fingers. Luke’s calloused hands and demanding mouth, and dark whispered promises against her skin were stealing away every last vestige of her desire to remain apart, to retain her sense of self and not surrender to the dark cravings he was unleashing within her. His tongue slid along the most secret part of her. She could feel the dampness between her legs growing until her opening was slick and welcoming. His mouth closed over her and sucked, hard.
She couldn’t stop herself from crying out his name, even as tears stung her eyes at the beauty of his lovemaking. Had it been like this that night between them? Or had she been too dazed, too ill to appreciate so fully every tender caress, every fervent demand his body made on hers. When he rose above her, his dark eyes and shoulder length hair making him appear like some primitive god rising above her, she didn’t need his urging to spread her legs for him. If he didn’t take her now she thought she might die of the longing for him to be inside her, to fill all the empty places only he knew, only he could fill.
His eyes held hers as he consummated their marriage, slowly, inch by inch until he was fully embedded in her. There was no pain with this joining, only an unbearably pleasurable stretched feeling as her body struggled to accommodate the length of him. Still their eyes clung to each other, both demanding the other concede the foolishness of the positions they held so stubbornly to. It was Melissa who broke first beneath the thundering silence. “Luke.”
His name on her lips, the pleading in her eyes, and he was lost. Grasping her hands in his he withdrew and plunged inside her moist channel, unable to suppress his own moan of pleasure as her body gave what her spirit was unwilling to. Her flesh surrendered to his greater strength, to his right to take, to direct, to control where she would go, what she would feel. Her hips rose up to meet his every thrust, her legs wrapped around his waist, intent on keeping him inside of her. Their passion for each other grew until it was a thing separate from them, possessing a wild, stubborn, insistent, raging life of its own, determined on its own course and dragging their two reluctant wills along with it. Like the restless, untamed waves of a stormy sea it crashed over them, tested them, dragged them under and then flung them helpless back to the surface, gasping for breath.
Lost in its fury they clung to each other, fed on each other, until after a last desperate climb, Melissa dove off the crest and plunged into the still raging sea. His name, the Almighty’s name, forced itself through her parted lips on a desperate cry as her release tore through her, and swept her away from whatever mooring her battered spirit still futilely attempted to cling to.
In the eye of the storm, his own body still riding him hard, Luke paused to watch Melissa’s open passion-filled eyes to stare up at him poised above her. Blue smoke wisped between them as she came back to herself, the shadowed look in her eyes suggesting her exile had been a violent one. “Luke.” He would never grow tired of the sound of his name on her lips, spoken in the husky tone of satisfied passion. He bent down and brushed his lips across hers, then surged back into her. She shook her head in denial, even as he withdrew and plunged forward again. “I can’t…not again…”
But he ignored her plea. Melissa had spent her life leading the men in it around in chaotic circles. Despite her sister’s warning, he had no intention of being one of them. His bride believed she was the equal of any man’s strength, endurance, and wits. The incredible outcome of her battle, particularly in her weakened state against his brother, only served to bolster her foolish confidence. He filled her again. Before this night was over he meant to prove to her she was not his equal in strength, endurance or wits. He knew she couldn’t prevent her body’s instinctive response to his greater strength, even if
her spirit continued to wage the unequal contest between them.
He took out on her weaker, slender body his outrage at her insistence their marriage was only a temporary concession on her part, as if he was a casual lover she could pick up and discard at will. As if she could replace him with but the tiniest quirk of her little finger. The fact he knew she could do just that only served to incite him further. If they were to be separated at her insistence while he searched for her brother in order to prove to her he was an acceptable mate to her, then he would make certain she was not tempted to seek her pleasure in another man’s bed.
She would remember this single night she so reluctantly bestowed upon him. Recall it in the cold silence of her lonely bed in the coming months. Long for it, dream of his hands on her flesh, the taste of his mouth joined with hers, the feeling of him filling her, riding her, bringing her to sweet release again and again while she writhed in his arms as she was doing now, her body so finely attuned to his, no other could take his place in her womanly fantasies. When she woke in the night it would be for him her empty arms sought to fill the void of the loneliness she thrust upon them both.
Melissa’s thoughts were so scattered she could no longer discern where her body stopped and Luke’s began. She couldn’t recall ever feeling anything but this glorious feeling of Luke’s insistent demands on her already fully sated passion. He pushed. She retreated. He withdrew. She followed. Whenever. Wherever. As if they were no longer separate but a single new body, testing itself, straining against its own limits to discover where they were and then pushing through them, seeking again, testing again, more, always more.
She was helpless to stop the heady feelings crashing over her, surrounding her, leaving her no chance to escape their seductive thrill. Luke was a master craftsman. She was his uninitiated steward. He knew exactly where to touch, where to stroke, what it did to her when his mouth closed over her breast and sought her straining nipple. She felt her eyes go blind as he quickened his stroke and the tempest rose again within her. Unbidden her lips formed his name to beg for the release only he could give her. She couldn’t prevent her own breathless cries, “Please, Luke, please…” Nor could she silence the scream that left her lips as his body responded to her desperate urging and he reached between their joined bodies to stroke her.
