Desire and Deception

by Nicole Jordan

  "Of course I liked it. It's just not a skill one expects to find in a wife."

  Lauren's brows drew together worriedly. "Truly, Jason, I've never done anything like that before:—"

  He touched a finger to her lips. "I believe you, sweetheart. But you do it so very well, not at all like a beginner. You nearly made me lose control."

  Reassured that he wasn't angry, Lauren flashed him a provocative siren's smile. "Perhaps I should practice."

  "Oh, no." Catching her wrists, Jason prevented her from repeating her ministrations. "Now it's my turn to torment you," he declared huskily. Releasing her then, his hands slid down her back to grasp her hips, and before Lauren could even guess his intent, Jason had lifted her up. When she found herself straddling his stomach, her eyes widened, but she waited expectantly, trustingly.

  Jason splayed his fingers over her abdomen, sliding his hands smoothly upward to her breasts. Almost reverently, he cupped the tempting swells, filling his palms with her lush fullness, and as he held her glowing eyes with his gaze, his thumbs massaged the swollen tips. He teased the sensitive peaks till they were rigid and aching, then slowly, he drew Lauren down till he could draw a nipple into his mouth.

  The taste of her seemed to trigger some more primitive instinct within Jason, for his lovemaking became half savage in its intensity. His mouth ravaged her breast . . . devouring, suckling, his teeth raking gently. . . . And then the next moment he was soothing, fondling, kissing.

  If Lauren had been a cat, she would have purred. As it was, she could only moan at the delicious heat building inside her. And when Jason's questing fingers found the soft curls between her thighs, she whimpered and arched against him. She hardly heard the sensuous words Jason was murmuring to excite her further, for he was alternately pressing his palm hard against her, then teasing her with skillful, knowing fingers.

  Sometime later, he lifted her up and slid easily inside her, possessing her in one continuous thrust that filled her. Lauren gasped with pleasure when she was impaled on his heated velvet spear. Letting her head fall back, she arched her spine. The heat was scorching her, setting her on fire. It was like being too close to the sun. This, she thought dizzily, was how Phaethon must have felt driving the flaming chariot across the sky—giddy and dazed and reeling.

  Jason began to move inside her then, but he had only to thrust twice before Lauren burst into flames. Jason watched hungrily, his gratification complete, as she surged to a fiery climax. Only an iron-willed control kept him from succumbing to the white heat consuming her.

  When Lauren at last regained her senses, she discovered that was she lying limply, almost lifelessly, upon Jason's chest. His rigid shaft was still full and throbbing within her, like a deep, slow pulse of pleasure. When Jason slowly began to move again, Lauren almost protested; she wasn't at all sure she could survive another shattering experience like the last.

  "Come with me, sweetheart," Jason urged as he sensed her holding back. "Come with me." His breath was hot against her skin, while his seeking hands moved intimately over her flesh.

  When his lips claimed hers urgently, Lauren moaned. She was completely powerless against the incredible heat that again was mounting inside her. When Jason's masterful control at last shattered, racking his body with uncontrollable shudders, Lauren's passion overflowed as well, bursting forth in a glorious profusion of flame. Exhausted, she collapsed upon him and slept, only to be revived a short while later by his warm, arousing kisses.

  Apollo the sun god, Lauren thought languorously as desire for Jason stung with fresh insistence. How could he be married to her? Gods didn't marry mere mortals. . . .

  It was well after noon by the time they at last rose to dress. Lauren had thought her desire totally sated, but when Jason leaned over to lingeringly brush her lips with his, that same hot sensation stirred inside her once more. Jason grinned at her knowingly, making Lauren flush as she remembered how brazen she had been with him.

  They ate a leisurely meal, and afterward, Jason drove her to the Beauvais plantation. Fortunately, the rain had stopped, and by the time they had concluded their visit with Lila and Jean-Paul, the sun was beating down warmly.

  When they were settled again in the phaeton, Jason fished under the seat and handed Lauren the parcel he found there. She unwrapped it eagerly, discovering a pair of knee-length breeches and a shirt with no arms. "You remembered!" she exclaimed with a joyful laugh, before throwing her arms about Jason's neck and kissing him soundly.

  Her embrace played havoc with Jason's control of the horses, but he was pleased to see the sparkle in her golden emerald eyes. "I'm beginning to suspect that I erred in decking you out as a female," Jason teased as he gently extricated himself from her hold. "I don't remember being rewarded like that for an entire wardrobe of feminine fripperies."

  Directing a mischievous glance at him, Lauren folded her hands in her lap. "It would have been highly improper for me to kiss you then," she observed primly. "We weren't married, you will recall. Besides," Lauren added when Jason looked up at the heavens as if praying for patience, "you didn't offer to teach me to swim."

  "Is that the way to your heart, then?"

  "Perhaps," she replied provocatively.

  "Perhaps," Jason mimicked as he turned the gig toward the creek, "I should throw you in and see whether you sink. That's how they determine if someone is innocent of witchcraft, you know."

  Lauren's eyes narrowed. "Jason, are you calling me a witch?"

  "Oh, no, my love!" Then his innocent expression rapidly dissolved into a grin. "Of course, I wouldn't be at all surprised to discover that you can float," he observed, and laughed at the face she made.

  That was the first of such swimming lessons for Lauren. They were repeated almost daily after that, but the initial one stood out markedly in her memory. Not because it was the first, or even because she was finally learning the mechanics of swimming, but because of what Jason said to her that day.

  They had both soon changed clothes—Lauren wearing her new outfit, while Jason stripped down to his breeches. After giving her some rudimentary instruction on dry land, he made her lie on her stomach in a shallow part of the creek as he showed her how to stroke. Then he took her downstream where the water was deeper.

  The pool wasn't as large or as lovely as the one they had found that long-ago golden afternoon on the wilderness trail, but it was deep enough to be over Lauren's head. She eyed it with sudden apprehension, a panic that only nonswimmers can know threatening to unnerve her. When Jason took her by the hand to lead her to the water, her limbs suddenly stiffened, rendering her immobile.

  Jason's voice sounded as if from a great distance. "Look at me, Lauren. I love you, sweetheart. You have nothing to be frightened of. I would never let anything harm you. I can keep us both afloat if you will only trust me. Now, put your arms around my neck. That's it, sweetheart. Now relax and let me hold you up. Trust me, Lauren. Trust me."

  Very soon, she began to enjoy herself. Certainly she never again felt on the edge of panic because she was afraid of water. But she had trusted Jason with her life that day, and more importantly, she had realized that gaining her trust was a prime objective of his. He had been, and was still, attempting to win her completely. Trust me, he had said. He had used those same words before, Lauren recalled, and more than once. And it was likely that he would never stop trying until he had gained her trust in its entirety.

  That conclusion disturbed her. Jason had promised that he wouldn't try to persuade her to return with him to England, and so far he was keeping that promise. But he was to leave in a few weeks. What would happen then? Lauren found it difficult to think of his impending departure without becoming depressed. She already loved him, perhaps too well. So what did he hope to gain by having her trust?

  Not long after her first swimming session, Lauren received at least a partial answer to that question. They had attended a ball with Lila and Jean-Paul, and when the Beauvaises decided to stay for a while l
onger, Jason and Lauren returned home alone in the coach.

  Lauren had enjoyed the evening immensely, but she was pleasantly tired after so much dancing. She rested her head gratefully against the shoulder Jason offered, looking forward to the peace of her beautiful new home and the contentment of falling asleep with her husband's arms around her.

  The night itself was lovely—moonless, but with a million brilliant stars to light up the heavens. The coach swayed gently, while a warm breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the fragrances of jasmine and wild azalea and the din of cicadas. Lauren might have been lulled to sleep, except that Jason decided to make use of the romantic setting.

  Unfortunately, his desire was thwarted by the ostrich plumes of Lauren's headdress. One caught him in the eye when he attempted to kiss her, and he drew back, muttering a curse on her blasted feathers.

  Smiling in the darkness, Lauren wordlessly removed the bandeau and raised her lips to receive Jason's kiss. She wasn't quite prepared for his impatient passion, though, or for her own response. She emerged from his embrace trembling with need.

  "God, you're so beautiful," Jason said huskily, the velvet timbre of his voice stroking her senses. His tongue was teasing her earlobe, stirring hot excitement in her body.

  Knowing quite well where another such kiss from her lusty husband could lead, Lauren thought it best to divert his attention. Laughing lightly, she tried to push him away. "How can you tell what I look like? It's far too dark to see."

  His arms tightened around her. "Uraram, you taste beautiful. Do you know what you do to me?"

  "Yes, you do it to me as well. But the driver—"

  "Devil take the driver. I want you."

  Lauren pressed her palms against his chest. "Not here, Jason."

  "Yes, here." His hand slipped inside her bodice, covering a ripe breast possessively.

  "Jason, the coachman will hear," Lauren protested weakly.

  "I'll shut the window."

  She reacted immediately to his words. "No! Please, no!" she cried, twisting frantically in his embrace.

  Jason released her at once, but the intimacy between them had been broken. In the resulting silence, Lauren hung her head, realizing she had made Jason angry. She could feel his eyes on her, but though she tried to think of something to say that would restore his good humor, nothing came to mind.

  As the silence between them stretched into an eternity, Lauren was reminded of the night Jason had spirited her away from the casino. She had been frightened out of her wits then, finding herself trapped in a closed carriage with him.

  At last Jason said very softly, "Come here, Lauren."

  She peered at him uncertainly, but could read nothing of his expression in the darkness. "You are angry," Lauren said gloomily.

  "Yes. But perhaps 'hurt' is a better description of my strongest feeling at the moment. It hurts me when you pull away from me in fear. Now, come here."

  When he reached out to draw Lauren into his arms, she didn't resist. Instead she rested her head on his shoulder as Jason gently stroked her hair. "I'd like to help you, sweetheart," he murmured. "Perhaps I could, if you would allow me." Then in an almost inaudible tone, he vowed, "I would give anything, anything, if you would only trust me."

  "I do trust you, Jason," Lauren returned quietly.

  "Do you?" There was an odd inflection to his voice, a mixture of skepticism and hope. After a time, he drew back, cupping her face in his hands. "Lauren, I wrote to an acquaintance of mine, a doctor who specializes in phobias such as yours. Many of his patients have suffered various degrees of memory loss because of some traumatic event they've experienced, and he thinks your fear may be similar. That may be why you suffer from nightmares. He also says a cure is possible, but that it's important for you to remember the events that caused your condition."

  "But I don't—" Lauren broke off as a chill ran up her spine. Jason was referring to Andrea, of course. Her poor half sister had experienced the horror of seeing her parents murdered, and had nearly lost her sanity as a result. Thinking of it, Lauren wanted to shudder. "There is no reason to assume my problem is similar," she said carefully. "What could there be for me to remember?"

  Jason's breath was warm and caressing against her cheek. "I'd like to know that, myself," he replied, before bending to kiss her. When he next spoke, his voice was not only husky with suppressed desire, but was also soothing and coaxing, as it had been when he first urged her into the water. "Lauren, I'd like to help you face whatever makes you so afraid. Will you trust me, sweetheart?"

  She regarded him warily. "But it isn't something I can control, Jason."

  He put a finger to her lips. "I want to try. Will you allow me?" Hesitantly, she nodded. "All right, then. I just want you to relax and remember that I'm here with you. I won't let anything happen to you."

  "What do you intend to do?" she asked apprehensively.

  "Nothing that will harm you. Now put your arms around my neck, like you did when you were learning to float."

  "Jason, please—"

  "Trust me, Lauren. That's it. Now, kiss me." < Tentatively, Lauren complied. But as his kiss deepened, she became lost in the private world of sensation that Jason's caressing lips and stroking hands created.

  At first she hardly noticed when he leaned forward to slowly close the coach window. She sensed something was different, but his soft murmurings held her attention. "Feel my love for you, Lauren. My sweet Lauren. Let it surround you. My beautiful Lauren. My precious love."

  His hypnotic voice, his words of love, kept the specters at bay for some time, but Jason was unable to prevent their intrusion forever. One moment Lauren was soft and warm and willing; the next she had gone rigid with terror, raising her hands to crush them over her ears. Nothing, not words, not kisses, not embraces, could penetrate her mind while it was frozen with fear.

  And even though Jason knew what to expect, he was enraged by his own helplessness. She was hearing ghostly voices no one else could hear, being tormented by something invisible, intangible, something he couldn't fight it as he could an ordinary foe.

  Seeing Lauren in such distress filled him with anguish, and as he rushed to open the window, Jason knew he would never again intentionally put her through such suffering. He couldn't stand it, even if she could. Even if it meant sacrificing their future together, he wouldn't try again to make her face whatever horrors affected her so.

  "Jason!" she cried in a hoarse whisper.

  Her plea knifing at his heart, he gave Lauren's shoulders a desperate shake, trying to bring her back from whatever macabre world she was lost in. As he felt her gradual revival, he let out a ragged breath. "God, Lauren, forgive me," he groaned, pulling her quivering body into his arms, feeling her shaking all over. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmured over and over, pressing his lips against her forehead. "I never meant to frighten you like that."

  Jason held her till her trembling ceased, yet his agonized thoughts wouldn't be still. He wasn't able to help her, he thought despairingly. No matter how great his love for her, he couldn't help her.

  He stroked her damp brow, lost in his grim reflections, and hardly realized when Lauren reached up to touch his cheek. "Are you disappointed with me?" she asked worriedly.

  Jason stared down at her, clearly shocked by her question. Then his arms tightened fiercely about her and he buried his face in her hair. "No, Cat-eyes, I'm only wondering how I can ever face you again. Perhaps I don't deserve your trust."

  For a moment Lauren was speechless. She had never known Jason to be so gloomy, never known him to sound so defeated. This couldn't be her masterful, supremely confident husband. Certainly she never imagined that she would be in a position to reassure him, to offer him comfort.

  Tenderly Lauren wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling her heart swell with love for him. "It was different this time, Jason, truly," she said softly. "I was frightened, but this time I could feel you holding me. And I could see you, a shadowy f
igure so far away. I thought that if I could only reach you, I would be safe. It was never like that before, Jason."

  Jason sighed deeply. When he glanced out the window, he realized the coach had stopped moving. "We're home," he commented absently.

  Lauren placed a restraining hand on his sleeve. "Jason, did you hear what I said?"

  "Yes, sweetheart."

  "Don't you believe me? That you were there in my . . . nightmare, or whatever it is I have?"

  "I believe you. You cried out my name once."

  "I did? Well, that must prove something. Always before I've been alone with no one to help me. You were there for me this time, Jason."

  "Yet I didn't help you, did I?"

  Lauren was amazed at Jason's despondency. "So? I've lived with this 'condition', as you called it, for years. You can't just expect to come storming into my nightmares and sweep me off my feet the very first time, like you did in real life!"

  Suddenly coming to his senses, Jason shook his head. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he caught Lauren's hand and pressed a kiss in her palm. "No, I suppose that is too much to expect. See what you've done to me, Lauren Stuart? Here I am demanding prime billing in your nightmares when I should be content with merely a passing appearance."

  She ignored his mockery. "But it is a beginning, isn't it?" she pressed.

  Jason remembered that one encouraging moment when Lauren had called out to him. "Yes, my love," he conceded gently. "It is a beginning."

  Chapter Nineteen

  "Do you suppose there is a fire?" Lauren remarked after being jostled rudely by a couple who was hurrying along Chartres Street toward the Place d'Armes.

  Lauren's maid, a young black girl named May, had been keeping a respectful distance behind, but she moved closer when her mistress was nearly thrown to the pavement. "Thank you, May, but I'm quite all right," Lauren said, refusing the girl's support. "Perhaps we should see what is causing all the excitement."