by Liz Carlyle
Gareth left the window and paced across the room, one hand on his hip. He had to restrain himself from giving in to the impulse to go to her. It was not his place to do so, was it? They were becoming too close. A friendship—no, much more than that—had sprung up between them, two lost and damaged souls. It might be all too easy for Antonia to come to lean on him, to depend on him, when what she should be doing was moving in the opposite direction. Away from Selsdon, and all the whispers and memories. Sometimes he wondered if even Knollwood would be far enough.
Suddenly thunder sounded again, this time loud enough to rattle the windows. As before, Gareth was out the door and halfway down the corridor before he realized what he intended. But by the time he reached the turn which would take him to the ducal apartments, there was no chance of his forcing himself to turn back. He plunged ahead heedlessly, as he had done from the very first. Antonia was alone, and if she was awake, quite likely terrified. Gareth went in through the sitting room, which was shrouded in darkness. Gingerly he made his way to her bedchamber door, then hesitated. Should he knock so that she might put on a robe? Or simply slip in, in the hope that she slept soundly? It was not as if they hadn’t already seen one another in a state of undress.
He pushed open the door to see that in the depths of the room, a lone candle burned. Antonia stood by the window, draperies thrown wide, her arms crossed tight over her chest. Her shoulders were bent, as if she wished to somehow draw inside herself, and her feet were bare. Her long hair hung in heavy waves to her waist, making her look like a wraith in the gloom—an agonizingly beautiful figment of his imagination.
He whispered her name, and she turned at once. Her face was contorted into a mask of grief, but when she saw him, her gaze softened until her eyes were but limpid pools. “Gabriel,” she whispered, darting straight into his arms. “Gabriel. My angel.”
He pulled her hard against his chest and drew a deep, steadying breath. And suddenly he wondered precisely who was comforting whom. Antonia felt so small and so right against his chest. So reassuring and so…innocent. It was as if his worry for her was transcended by his need for her—a need which ran deeper than the sensual and was more insidious than ordinary lust. But perhaps he simply needed her to need him. Perhaps when she no longer did so, when she was well and strong again, she would be able to use him for whatever she needed and move on, as so many others had done.
He should have set her away once the moment had passed; should have murmured something blandly reassuring in her ear. But instead, he buried his face in her hair. “Antonia,” he whispered. “Antonia, I was worried. The storm…”
She trembled a little in his arms. “Gabriel, I feel so foolish,” she answered. “Why must I be this way? It’s just rain—and this is England, after all. It is not apt to quit, is it? I just want to be normal again.”
“I think perhaps you are normal, Antonia,” he whispered. “Besides, what would be the alternative? To feel less? To love less? Would you rather have a life half lived?”
She shook her head, her hair scrubbing against his dressing gown. “No,” she said, her voice a little tremulous. “No, I wouldn’t. I never thought of it like that.”
“I think, Antonia, that when you love someone, you love deeply and immeasurably,” he said quietly. “But even the deepest of affections cannot save us from losing what we love. And then we must go on. That is what you are doing. You are going on. You are coping the best way you know how. Don’t be harsh with yourself, my dear, for the world is harsh enough as it is.”
She looked up at him then with a tremulous smile. “Thank you for that,” she said. “You are a man of great common sense, I think. I—I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you these past weeks.”
Gareth tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and felt his chest go tight with the aching need to protect her. He had just slipped another inch down that black, bottomless well of unrequited love. Falling in love. It was an apt description of the awful thing which was happening to him. Antonia needed a friend, not a lover. Not another set of expectations which might crush her just as she was beginning, perhaps, to find herself again.
But he continued drawing his fingers down through her hair. “Have you not slept at all?”
She shook her head. “No, I was unable—well, actually afraid—to go to sleep once I heard the thunder. Tonight I cannot depend on poor Nellie to come fish me out of the fountain or drag me down off the roof, can I?”
He led her with one hand to the bed, where the covers were already thrown back and the pillows were in disarray. “Here,” he said, laying his dressing gown aside, “I shall lie down with you until the storm has passed.”
She looked at him hesitantly. “Please don’t do anything for me that you will later regret,” she said. “I know how you feel about me, Gareth. You feel a duty—”
“Shh,” he said, pulling her nearer. “Don’t talk—isn’t that what you always say? Don’t talk. Don’t think.”
“But we won’t just lie down, will we?” she said softly, as if reading his mind. “I will beg you for more. And you will give in to me.”
Gareth knew she was right, and he hadn’t the strength to simply walk out of the room—the room which smelled of gardenias and of temptation. Of her. “Do you want me to make love to you, Antonia?” he rasped. “Is that what will help you forget?”
Her tongue came out to lightly touch the corner of her mouth. “Yes,” she said swiftly. “You have a gift for it, I think.”
“God, Antonia,” he whispered. “I have a gift for making a muddle of things, too.”
But he kissed her, long and deep, cradling her face delicately between his hands as his tongue plumbed the sweet depths of her mouth. In response, Antonia moaned and opened fully, twining her tongue silkily with his and rising onto her tiptoes.
Gareth plunged his fingers into her hair, stroking over her temples. He told himself he had meant only to comfort her, but he knew in his heart it was a lie. He could feel Antonia’s breathing ratcheting up and his groin pooling with heat and blood. As if emboldened, Antonia delved into his mouth with her tongue, and to his shock, he shivered like an eager stallion. This was wrong. It was another step in the direction neither of them should take. But Antonia pressed her lithe, warm body fully against his, and Gareth gave in. The mess could be sorted out tomorrow. Or another day. This day—this night—was for loving her.
He drew her higher against him and kept kissing her. Antonia’s hands slid up his back as her tongue teased at his, sending another wave of lust shuddering through him. He wanted her so desperately. And she wanted him—for the pleasure and the comfort he could give her, of course. It was nothing more.
Deliberately, he set his hands on her waist and lifted her against the straining weight of his erection. He wanted her to know what he felt; what she did to him. Perhaps he hoped to warn her off. It did not work.
Antonia lifted her lips from his. “Take me to bed, Gabriel,” she pleaded.
He followed her onto the mattress, then drew her firmly against him so that she lay with her back against his chest. After wrapping both arms firmly about her, he set his lips to the back of her head. “There,” he said. “You see? The storm cannot get you now.”
She wiggled back against him, her derriere doing delightful things to his cock. Gareth tried not to think about that, and to merely listen to the sound of her breathing. Tried to remember his purpose in coming here. But it was too late. She had addled his brain with her touch. He was not strong enough to keep his hand from sliding up to cup the warm weight of her breast. He felt Antonia make a sound of pleasure, a little vibration in the back of her throat.
Her hands went to the tie at the neck of her nightgown, loosening it. “Gabriel,” she murmured, her voice now seductively lethargic, “I want you.”
He cupped her breast almost possessively. “Antonia,” he rasped. “I keep telling myself this must stop—for your sake.”
“And for yours,” she a
nswered. “But…but must it stop this very night?”
He knew he should say yes, but the weight of his cock was pressed eagerly against her lush backside. She moved urgently against him again. “You are so good, Gabriel. So good at making me forget.”
Outside, the rain was still hammering down. Inside the dimly lit room, Gareth could have believed that they were the only two people on earth. There was a sense of intimacy and warmth surrounding them which was impossible to deny. Indeed, he had probably come here tonight planning precisely this.
But unwilling to too closely consider his own ignoble motivations, Gareth ran one hand down her leg, then slowly pushed up her nightgown with his thumb as his fingers skimmed up the tender flesh of her thigh. At her hip, he pushed it higher, baring the lovely swells of her derriere. Almost lazily, he reached around and brushed his hand down her belly, feeling her shiver with anticipation. He kissed the side of her neck and kept nuzzling her lightly as his fingers stroked lower, to the soft tangle of curls between her legs. Gently he teased her until she moaned faintly and shifted one leg to open herself to his touch.
“Ahh,” she whispered when his fingers stroked deeper. Lightly he kissed her neck from the back of her jaw down to the elegant curve of her shoulder, pushing the nightgown away as he went. He felt her grow silky and wet to his touch, and he yearned to turn her over and simply plunge himself inside, but that would not do. It was not what she needed. He had found the nub of her desire now, and lightly stroked it with the tip of his finger.
“Gabriel?” Her voice was thready.
“Shh,” he said again, pressing his lips behind her earlobe. “No talking, remember? Just sweet sounds of pleasure.”
He felt her swallow hard. Felt her body roll back against him in a position that was total surrender. He lifted her leg and pulled it back against him. “Imagine,” he whispered, “that this is about nothing but you, and this beautiful sweet place between your legs.”
“Yes?” she whispered.
“And no talking,” he said again. “I want you to think only of your body. Of your satisfaction.”
“But I want you inside me,” she protested. “Please…let me feel…”
Unable to resist, Gareth pushed up the hem of his nightshirt and let his erection spring free. The feel of her bare buttocks against his heated flesh was a torment. He lifted her leg and let himself slide into the smooth wetness between her legs. “Hold your leg like that,” he whispered, “just for a moment.”
He pressed the head of his cock into the silken heat. She was ready; beyond ready. Gently he pushed himself inside, just an inch, to allow her to grow accustomed to the new sensation.
“G-Gabriel?” she whispered again.
Unable to hold back, he pushed deeper. “Good God,” he choked. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Press back against me,” he said. When she did, he thrust more firmly, sliding deep inside her, joining his body to hers. Antonia moaned. Gareth reached around her to touch her again, and she shivered with need. “That’s it,” he encouraged. “Just let me hold myself deep inside you,” he murmured. “Open your legs, and let me stroke you.”
In his embrace, her entire body trembled. He struggled not to move but to let the weight of his cock and the intensity of his touch drive her passion higher, until she started to gasp and to shake almost uncontrollably. Her release, when it came, was powerful and bone deep. Satisfied with his careful restraint, he stilled his hand and felt her tremble until the pleasure had drained through her and she lay still in his arms.
Antonia came back to earth, feeling languid and sated. “Oh, Gareth,” she whispered. “That wasquite remarkable.”
His mouth skimmed along her jaw. “You are remarkable,” he whispered, lightly kissing her neck.
Tentatively, she rocked her hips back against his. “Gabrieldid you?—”
“It does not matter,” he whispered, drawing himself from her body. Gently he pulled her over onto her back and came onto his knees, stripping away his nightshirt to reveal his tautly muscled chest and well-sculpted arms. He tossed the shirt into the floor as her eyes fell to his slender waist, and lower still.
“Here, let’s take this off.” His hands grasped the hem of her nightgown, which was already rucked up to her waist. She lifted a few inches and allowed him to pull it off.
Antonia was not entirely sure what had just happened—but she was sure she had enjoyed it. Only now did she begin to realize that the rain was still peppering down beyond the windows, and that thunder still rumbled in the distance.
In the faint candlelight, Gabriel’s hungry eyes swept over her body. Impatiently, she reached for him, pulling his weight down on top of her. “Now you,” she whispered.
“Patience, my dear.” Braced on his knees, Gareth cradled her head in his arms and kissed her deeply. His heat and his unique scent surrounded her. His big body seemed to shelter her. In response, Antonia delved into his mouth, entwining her tongue with his, and felt great satisfaction when a shudder ran through him.
“Umm, like that,” she said when he drew back again. “Do…that—not with just your tongue, but with…you know.”
He smiled a little at her insistence. “We needn’t rush, Antonia,” he whispered. “The night is long and the storm is still raging.” He bent his head and suckled her breast, drawing the pink-brown areola fully into his mouth, then flicking his tongue over her taut, aching nipple.
Antonia shifted restlessly beneath him, and reached down to twine her fingers in Gabriel’s luxurious blond locks, but he looked up, his eyes glittering, and brought her hand to his mouth. Almost reverently, he kissed her open palm, and then, surprisingly, the scar across her wrist. Feeling awkward, Antonia tried to draw her hand back to hide the disfigurement, but he held on. “I think you are beautiful,” he murmured, holding her gaze as he dotted kisses down her hand. “Every inch, every scar, every freckle.”
“I—I don’t have freckles,” she murmured, almost mesmerized by the intensity in his eyes. She gasped when his tongue lightly flicked across her palm. Then, still watching her, he drew her index finger into his mouth and gently sucked. Something inside her stomach turned a flip-flop, and she felt that warm ribbon of hunger go twisting through her, pulling at her very core.
Impatient, she lifted one leg to pull him down with it, but he moved his hand and pressed it firmly back down into the softness of the bedcovers. He shifted his mouth to the other breast, laving her, teasing her, and drawing out her need as if it were a fine, taut thread of silk. Her breathing ratcheted up just a notch, and Gareth slipped lower until he was planting kisses between her breasts, down her belly, and lower still.
When he was between her legs, he slid his palms up to push her thighs apart. With one knee, he nudged them still wider. “Antonia, I want to love you like this,” he rasped, looking up at her. “Will you let me?”
Scarcely comprehending what it was she agreed to, she nodded. Watching her with his heavy, hooded eyes, Gabriel skimmed his warm, elegant hands up her inner thighs until she was fully open. Fully exposed. Antonia let her head fall back into the pillow, unable to hold his gaze. Other than his light teasing that afternoon at Knollwood, Antonia had never known such decadence could exist; that one human being could instill in another such a rush of joy and yearning.
Lightly, Gabriel touched her with his tongue, making her whole body jolt and sending a rush of heat across her cheeks. And then he stroked her in earnest, and she almost came off the bed with a cry of pure pleasure. She cried out, her voice weak and thready. “Gabriel?”
He looked up but did not release her. Instead, he bore her hips down into the bed’s softness and held her there. Again his eyes, hot and hungry, swept down her, holding her in thrall.
Her hand fluttered uncertainly. “Please, Gabriel…just—”
“What, love?” he murmured. “Shall I…shall I stop? Is that your wish?”
Antonia felt her throat work up and down. �
�No,” she rasped. “Don’t stop, Gabriel. Don’t ever stop.”
With a satisfied smile, he lowered his head and drew his tongue deep, making her whimper. And then he touched her with one finger, slipping it inside. She heard herself moan, a soft but desperate sound. Gabriel’s clever fingers and teasing tongue delighted her. Tormented her. Left her aching for more.
Another finger slipped inside, and his tongue began to graze her feminine nub in deliberate, delicate little flicks, leaving her trembling on the precipice. Antonia had never experienced such intense pleasure. For long, exquisite moments, Gabriel loved her with his tongue and with his hands. Antonia’s hands dug into the blankets as if she were fighting to remain earthbound, and then she was arching off the bed like a wanton and begging him for release. Chanting into the darkness, “Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel.”
He stroked deeper, more intently, lingering in that sweet, perfect spot. Again and again, his skill pitched her higher until Antonia imploded with ecstasy, her body seizing with spasms of raw pleasure, her throat working soundlessly as she drowned in it.
She came awake to the present to see Gabriel kneeling between her legs. His gaze was fierce in a way she had never seen before. Possessive. Demanding. And Antonia wanted to be his, at least in this wonderful, exquisite moment. She no longer heard the storm. There was only the here and the now, and the perfect intimacy between them. She reached out and murmured Gabriel’s name.
His hand was on his erection. He drew back his flesh, and planting one strong arm on the pillow near her head, he leaned over her, again urging her legs wide. “I want to be inside you, Antonia,” he said roughly.
Antonia reached out and took his erection into her hands. His eyes squeezed shut, and he made a sound—something between a hiss and a groan. His heated flesh felt as if it were covered in warm velvet. She felt Gabriel’s strength, the power of his virile male body, coursing through him. Gently she guided him to her, lifting her hips, and pleading for him to take her. When it felt as though he hesitated, Antonia stroked him lightly, and a pearl of fluid seeped out onto her hand. He closed his eyes and shuddered, the muscles of his arm and his throat going taut and sinewy.
