Destiny's Daughter

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  To cover her confusion, she flipped open her fan and lifted it to her face. "Whatever are you talking about?"

  "Stop that." With a furious gesture that startled even himself, Chase grabbed the fan from her hand and threw it savagely against the wall, where it fell to the floor in a broken heap. "Don’t you dare try that damned flirting with me."

  "I—I wasn’t flirting. You frightened me. I’ve never seen you in such a temper."

  He took a step closer. "Answer me. How could you do such a thing with Nate?"

  Now that her fear was beginning to subside, her temper flared. "You have no right to interfere in my personal life. I’ll do anything I damn well please, Chase Masters."

  He took another step, and caught her arm in a painful grip. His voice was a low rasp of fury. "Did you enjoy kissing him? Did he make you burn? Did he make you feel the way I do?"

  She felt his hot breath bum her cheek. "I feel nothing but hatred for you. You’re contemptible."

  "Am I?" He backed her against the wall. Towering over her, his hands dug into the soft flesh of her upper arms. His mouth came down on hers in a hard, punishing kiss. When she tried to pull away his arms came around her, pinning her against the length of him.

  "Did Blackwell make your heart pound until you thought it might explode?" He muttered the words against her mouth, then took the kiss deeper. Coming up for air, he whispered against her lips, "Did he make your blood boil, your head swim? Did he?"

  Annalisa couldn’t speak. Her body was too busy doing all the things Chase had just described.

  Her heart was drumming so painfully in her chest, she couldn’t breathe. Her blood ran hot and swift through her veins. Her breath trembled through parted lips, fanning his face. In him she sensed fury and need. Both excited her.

  Chase had intended to prove to her that she couldn’t deny the way she responded to him, no matter how angry she was. What he discovered instead was that the mere touch of her was enough to shatter all his cool control. With that kiss, that first tumultuous kiss, he found himself forgetting every rule he’d ever set for himself. He’d never forgotten her taste, or the fire that built in him during their first kiss that night on the riverboat. From that time on, he’d wanted her. Wanted her as he’d never wanted a woman—any woman.

  "Did Blackwell kiss you like this?" Running open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat, he felt her shuddering response and thrilled to it. She could deny all she wanted. But her body told him the truth.

  Unable to stop himself, he brought his hands along her sides until his thumbs encountered the swell of her breasts.

  "Did he dare to touch you like this?"

  He felt her nipples harden even as she cried out for him to stop.

  "Was this what you felt in Nate’s arms? Did he make you sob his name and cry out in pleasure?" His breath was coming faster now, tumbling from his mouth as he circled her ear with his tongue, then once more covered her lips with his.

  "Tell me you don’t want me, Annalisa," he taunted, as her arms wrapped around his neck. Desire clawed at his insides, ripping apart his last shred of control. He was a mass of needs. Needs that drove him to be ruthless.

  She clung weakly, hating him for knowing just how to make her tremble like a leaf in the wind; hating herself for having no willpower, no pride.

  Entangled in each other’s arms, they slid to the floor where they knelt, clutching each other fiercely.

  "Tell me," he urged, as the words clogged his throat.

  When she said nothing in her own defense, he baited her further. "Is it me you want, Annalisa? Or will any man do?"

  "Chase." Lashed by his cruel words, her voice came out in a sob of protest. "Oh, Chase. There’s never been another man."

  He went very still. With her breath shuddering, and his own breathing ragged and painful, he lifted his head and listened to the litany of words that kept time to the drumbeat of their hearts.

  No other man. No other man. The most beautiful creature he’d ever met, living in a house of pleasure, had known no other man. The words he’d hurled at her came back to torment him. What had he almost done? She was so sweet, so innocent, and he had almost taken her in rage.

  He saw tears glimmer on her lashes, and the sight of them was so shocking that reality came crashing back to him. Remorse flooded his consciousness.

  On shaking legs he stood, then pulled her roughly to her feet. She leaned weakly against the wall for support. Stepping back a pace, he dropped his hands as if the touch of her burned him.

  "My God. What’s happening to me? Have you made me lose my senses completely?" Touching a hand to her cheek, he wiped her tears with the back of his fingers. "Forgive me, Annalisa. I had no right."

  She couldn’t speak. Drawing in deep drafts of air, she lowered her head, avoiding his eyes.

  Curling his hands into balled fists, he said gruffly, "I’ve never had a woman take me to the edge of madness before. And I’ve certainly never had to force my way with a woman." He turned away. "Don’t worry. I won’t bother you again."

  Annalisa shivered. The moment he turned away from her she felt the chill. In his arms she felt warm, vibrant, alive. He had the power to awaken feelings she’d never even known existed. Had they always been there, waiting for this man, this moment? Without his touch, she felt her heart withering, dying. Whoever he was, whatever he did, no longer mattered. The only thing that mattered was her need for this man. He was the only one who would ever be able to touch her heart. And in his shame and anger he was turning away from her. This time, her mind warned her, he would turn away for good. Chase Masters was not a man who would go back on his word. And he was definitely not a man to crawl. Desperately, she seized on anything that would keep him here with her.

  "Chase."

  At the low, guttural tone of her voice, he turned back. In her hand was the little gun he’d given her. He arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Put that away. It isn’t a toy to be taken lightly. I told you I was sorry."

  "That’s not enough." Her heartbeat was erratic. Her voice was growing stronger now. Surprisingly strong and clear.

  "All right. I’ll pack up and leave in the morning."

  "Still not enough."

  Warily he eyed the gun. As his passion faded, his temper soared. "It isn’t wise to pull a gun on a man unless you intend to use it."

  She gave a sound that was more a sob than a laugh. "Oh, I intend to use it. Unless you say the right thing."

  "What more can I say?" His eyes narrowed. He suddenly noticed that the chamber was open and the gun was empty. What would she say when she discovered her error? Or was it an error? He studied her more closely. Was her hand shaking slightly?

  "You can say that you’ll stay with me."

  He went very still, absorbing the shock. Too stunned to speak, he considered her words, weighing them carefully. Just what was her game? In the dim light, her eyes gleamed like a cat’s.

  His own tone deepened with passion. "I have no intention of staying under this roof any longer and being tormented by the thought of you all alone upstairs in that bed."

  "That isn’t what I had in mind."

  Puzzled, he considered her words. The first hint of a smile returned to his voice. "Just what did you have in mind, Miss Montgomery?"

  Her voice was so low he could barely hear it. From passion? Shyness? "I thought you might be persuaded to stay up there with me."

  Had he heard correctly? Or was his mind playing tricks? His smile fled. "I won’t be teased, Annalisa. If I go up those stairs with you, I intend to hold you, the way a man holds a woman. And love you." His tone warmed, sending delicious tingles of anticipation along her spine. "The way a man loves a woman. And I’ll expect you to make love with me as well." When she didn’t respond, he added firmly, "And I don’t intend to be sent away under cover of darkness. I’ll insist on spending the night. The whole, long night."

  She ran a tongue over her dry lips. He watched the movement and felt a tightening deep in
side.

  He forced a casualness to hide the tension humming through his body. "Deal?" He held out his hand.

  She stared at his big hand, then at the object gleaming in her own. Placing the gun back in her pocket, she extended her palm. "Deal."

  His hand closed over hers and he pulled her so close their bodies were almost touching. Staring down into her eyes, he looked for any trace of uncertainty. What he saw was heat, and strength, and unbridled desire.

  He resisted the temptation to kiss her. If he did, they would never make it to her room. He would have to take her here, now. With a rough jerk of her arm, he hauled her along beside him down the hallway and through the parlor, where everyone continued talking and laughing. No one even seemed to notice as a stiff, silent couple climbed the stairs. When they reached the landing to the top floor, he turned to her and without a word swung her into his arms. Against her cheek she felt the thudding of his heart. It was nearly as loud as her own. That thought brought her comfort as she fought back the first wave of fear at the realization of what she had just done. There was no turning back now. She was about to experience for herself all the things that until now she had only dreamed of.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chase swallowed back the passion that clogged his throat as he gazed down at the beautiful woman in his arms. Annalisa. Annalisa. He would never grow weary of her name. Tearing his gaze from her face, he glanced around him.

  The first thing Chase noticed when they entered her room at the top of the house was the silence. When he nudged the door closed, still holding her in his arms, the solitude of the room wrapped around them, enfolding them. The men and women downstairs no longer existed. There was no raucous laughter, there were no murmured voices. There was only the sound of an owl, hooting to the moon, and the sighing of the wind in the trees. And of course their breathing. Shallow. And their heartbeats. Thundering.

  Candles were set in wall sconces on either side of the room. On the night table a lantern flickered. Besides the artificial light, the room was bathed in moonlight. The fragrance of roses wafted on the breeze from the open window that overlooked the garden, mingling with the scent of rosewater and lilac soap, and dried rose petals scattered in drawers and cabinets.

  He set her on her feet, and brought his hands to her shoulders. Her skin was soft. So soft it put velvet to shame.

  "My beautiful Annalisa." Seeing the fearful look that came into her eyes, he began moving his hands in ever-widening circles, over her arms, her shoulders, her back. Staring down into her eyes, he lifted his hands to her hair. "I’ve been yearning to do this." Removing her combs, he watched through narrowed eyes as the dark strands tumbled loose to drift in silken clouds about her face and shoulders. She heard him suck in his breath. Then slowly, deliberately, he drew her close and nibbled the corner of her mouth. It was the sweetest of kisses, as if, she thought, he understood her fears, her hesitation at this thing they were about to do.

  "You’re soft," he murmured against her mouth. "So soft."

  "And you’re so strong it frightens me."

  He nuzzled her cheek, then brought his lips to her ear. "Don’t be afraid," he whispered, sending little chills rippling along her spine. "Don’t ever be afraid of me. I’d never hurt you." I’d beg. I’d crawl for you, he thought. But I could never hurt you.

  "I know. Oh, Chase." Trembling, she wrapped her arms around his waist, and brought her lips to his throat.

  Instantly the fire spread, causing him to clutch at her and drag her fiercely against him. He wanted to go slowly, to give her the time she needed. But his passion was building, and he struggled to hold it at bay.

  Touching his tongue to her lower lip, he surprised her by tracing its fullness, then tracing the outline of her upper lip. The sensation was so new, so unexpected, that she parted her lips in a smile. But instead of accepting her open invitation to kiss her lips, he kissed the tip of her nose, then pressed light kisses on her closed eyelids. They were the softest, gentlest caresses she’d ever known. Floating, dreamy, she held her breath as she felt his mouth trail her cheek, the curve of her jaw, before coming to rest fully on her lips. Her lips parted for him and her tongue met his with a mixture of curiosity and boldness.

  The fire was instantaneous. Lightning would have been less shocking. Changing the angle, he took the kiss deeper, and felt her hands clutch blindly at his waist. Then she brought her hands slowly upward, finding a gap where his shirt had pulled away from his pants. Tentatively touching the bare flesh of his back, she was surprised at the ripple of muscle as his arms drew her closer.

  Her breasts were flattened against his chest. He could feel her thighs pressed against his. But there were too many barriers between them. Lingering over the kiss, his hands found the fasteners of her gown. In a rustle of silk, it fell to the floor. He smiled when she boldly reached for the buttons of his shirt. But he had to help her when her nervous fingers fumbled at the waistband of his riding breeches. In the silence, their breathing increased as their clothes whispered to the floor and lay in a forgotten heap.

  Wearing only her chemise, Annalisa felt his gaze burn over her as his hands reached for the ribbons at her shoulders. Slipping them free, he slid the gauzy covering from her, freeing her breasts. She felt his gaze while she timidly studied him.

  How different, she thought, were a man and a woman. And yet how beautifully they complemented one another. His body was beautiful. More beautiful even than she had discovered that day in the river.

  He caught her hand and pressed his lips to the center of the palm, then closed her fingers around it. He kissed her wrist, and the bend in her elbow, then slowly, tantalizingly dragged his lips along her upper arm and dropped little kisses along her shoulder until she trembled.

  Drawing her close, he felt the heat of their bodies as her softness melted into his strength. How right they were for each other. How perfectly they fit together.

  "You’re so lovely, Annalisa."

  As she lifted her face to him, he struggled to bank his needs. For her all of this was new, all of it bewildering. He wanted it to be memorable. God, how he wanted her. His mouth closed over hers with fierce possession.

  With her head swimming, she lost herself in him. He smelled of tobacco and faintly of sweat. He tasted as dark and mysterious as the bayou from which he’d come. He tasted and smelled and felt like a man. Her man. The blood roared in her temples, and she felt her knees buckle. Scooping her in his arms, Chase carried her to the bed and settled her on the satin sheets, then lay beside her.

  In a shaft of moonlight, her dark hair was touched with fire. It flowed across the white pillow and settled over her shoulder like a cloud, covering one breast. Her skin was dusky, and in the flickering light of the lantern, touched with mysterious shadow. But it was her eyes that held him. Gilded with moonbeams, they burned more brightly than any topaz. And in their depths, he saw himself.

  "Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?"

  Before she could respond, he pressed his lips to hers. He inhaled the woman scent of her. She smelled of roses and lush, French perfume. She tasted of sherry. There was a sweetness, a cleanness about her that made him feel clean as well, reborn. My woman, he thought, feeling passion throb. My woman.

  A flame leaped, heating her blood, searing her flesh. His lips were by turn harsh, then gentle. As if he were unable to control himself, his kiss began persuading, then demanding. Her heartbeat started racing. A pulse fluttered in her throat. She never wanted this kiss to end. She wanted . . . Oh, God, she wanted to give in a way she had never wanted to before. And she wanted to be filled by him.

  "I want to know your body, Annalisa, as intimately as my own."

  His lips left hers to explore her throat and the little hollow between her neck and shoulder. Icy needles skittered along her spine. As her breathing became labored, his lips roamed her collarbone, then dipped lower, to the swell of her breast. Sensations shot through her, leaving her shocked and dazed. With his tongue he
teased her nipple, until she gasped and pushed against him, afraid of the feelings that swamped her. Drawing her gently against him, he lifted his mouth to hers, while his fingers continued exploring her body.

  Chase’s work-roughened fingertips felt wonderful against her smooth flesh. She felt them travel across her rib cage, then lower to the smooth skin of her stomach. When they moved lower still, to the soft flesh of her inner thigh, she stiffened, but there was no time to protest. Chase’s lips were once again probing her collarbone. When they closed around an erect nipple, she moaned and felt a contraction deep inside.

  Her body had become a mass of nerve endings. Hundreds of pulse points throbbed. Everywhere he touched, everywhere he kissed, brought new sensations that drove her higher, and higher still, until she could no longer think. Each time she thought she had reached a peak, he took her higher, then higher still. It was exhilarating. It was breathtaking.

  Steeped in feelings, she moved in his arms, enjoying pleasures she had never dreamed possible.

  "Touch me, Annalisa."

  She stiffened, afraid for a moment to touch him the way he was touching her. And yet, if it brought her such pleasure, why should it be denied him?

  Placing her hand on his shoulder, she thrilled to the ripple of muscles there. There was no softness about Chase’s sculpted contours. Running her fingertips along his upper arm, she paused at a small, raised scar. Sliding her hand to his back, she encountered another, longer raised scar that ran from his shoulder to his waist.

  "What are these?" She could hardly speak. Her heart must be lodged in her throat.

  "Old wounds," he whispered.

  "From the war?" He’d never mentioned that he fought in the war. She had always thought he had avoided the fighting.

  "Let’s not speak of war," he murmured, bringing his lips to her throat. "Just keep doing what you’re doing. It’s magic."

  She wished she could erase all scars from him. If her touch were truly magic, she would be able to do so. Tenderly she touched the raised scar once more, and felt his muscles relax at her touch. Gingerly, she reached a hand to his chest, enjoying the way the dark hair tickled her palm. Soft. A man, all muscles and strength, was also soft. She allowed her fingers to play in the hair of his chest until she touched his nipple. It hardened. She pulled back her hand. What had she done?