by Lauren Royal
Snapping her arm away, she flipped onto her back. Though the side of her body still grazed his, he voiced no protest.
A couple of minutes passed. The firelight made patterns dance beneath her tightly closed lids as she lay rigid beside him, wishing he would say something, or do something…
She wished he would roll over and kiss her.
He'd cautioned that kisses were likely to lead to more, but while half an hour ago she'd been shocked, now, fiercely aware of him next to her, she found herself intrigued.
What would it be like? The French novels she'd read made it sound mysterious and wonderful, and if it would make her feel anything like Colin's kisses did, she was inclined to want to experience it. Who would she be hurting? Who would ever know? She'd never see Colin again, and if losing her virginity was the price she had to pay for stealing a few more of his luscious kisses, perhaps she was willing to bear the cost.
Besides, she didn't really believe he couldn't kiss her without going further. The mere thought was absurd. Gentlemen flirted with and kissed ladies all the time, without anything more ever happening.
Maybe he really did hate her. Maybe this was his way of politely refusing to kiss her without hurting her feelings. Maybe he found her so repugnant he couldn't bear to touch her at all…after all, he'd made her promise not to lay a finger on him, then growled at her when she did.
She had to know. And there was only one way to find out.
She waited a few more minutes and then rolled against him again, lazily, as though she were doing it in her sleep. Her arm crept up and around…
He flipped over, landing half on top of her, his lips searching for hers and finding their target. A harsh sound came from deep in his throat. His kiss felt punishing and angry, but she responded all the same, and after a minute he lifted his head.
She opened her eyes to find his glaring fiercely back. "I warned you, Amy," he said.
With a quick nod of acknowledgment, she pulled him back down to her. Lips parted, she raised herself to meet his kiss.
A curious quiver of wanting ran through her when his mouth came down on hers again. She lost all train of thought. One moment she thought that of course he could stop; the next moment she didn't care. She wanted him to kiss her forever—and the consequences?
Damn them, she thought.
Then she ceased to think at all. It seemed she was capable only of feeling—feeling the demanding caress of his lips; feeling his tongue invading her mouth, soft and teasing; feeling his body, hard along the length of hers.
When she inhaled, his distinctive scent made her dizzy. The crackling sound from the fireplace receded, replaced by a rushing sound deep in her head. Gentle, damp kisses trailed her eyes and nose and cheeks. He nibbled at her earlobe, making a shivery thrill race through her veins.
He pulled away, his darkened eyes questioning. "Are you sure?" he asked in a suffocated whisper.
Her heart lurched in her chest. Oh, no, he couldn't change his mind, couldn't leave her now. Unable to say yes out loud, she grasped his shoulders, clutching him roughly, wordlessly.
He dropped his head, but not before she saw the raw hunger in his eyes. His lips claimed hers once again, sending the pit of her stomach into a wild swirl. Feeling his heart thudding against her breasts, she knew he was experiencing similar sensations. She'd asked for this. She'd wanted to know how he really felt about her.
She had her answer.
Yet she didn't want him to stop.
His fingers brushed a breast through the thin fabric of her chemise, and its peak tightened into hard tenderness. Her body arched toward him involuntarily, and she whimpered, her breath becoming strangely ragged.
"Like that, hmm?" he murmured against her mouth.
Her cheeks flamed, and "Mmm" was the only answer she could manage. Her fingers tangled in the thick hair on his neck as she kissed him frantically, pressing up against his hand, her body yearning for something she couldn't put a name to.
With whisper-soft caresses, his hand moved lower, skimming leisurely over her middle. She tensed when his fingers traced the curve of her hip.
His voice soothed, a husky whisper. "Ah, sweet Amy." He brushed her mouth with his as his hand teased lightly through the fabric, then more firmly, tracing the line where her thighs met.
A heat spread from his fingers, bathing her in warmth. Her body was humming, or maybe she was humming; she wasn't sure which. Or maybe it was neither, maybe it was all in her head.
Her head was swimming.
"Sweet," he repeated, his breath warm in her ear. "Has no man touched you here before?"
Her face flushed, and the rest of her, too—her skin tingled. "N-no," she whispered back.
"It's good, is it not?"
She moaned softly and felt Colin smile against her lips. Before she knew what was happening, he'd tugged down her chemise and fastened his hot mouth on her bare breast, suckling gently, laving his textured tongue over the sensitive tip.
It felt wonderfully scandalous. Did all men do this? She'd thought of lovemaking as kissing and hugging and mating, not…consuming.
God in heaven, it was indescribable.
He wandered to her other breast, his mouth hot there, the air cooling the wetness he'd left behind. Driven to distraction with new sensations, she writhed against him. Her breath came in short gasps; her hands roamed the hard planes of his back. She could scarcely believe she was acting so wanton, but she couldn't seem to help herself.
She didn't want to help herself.
He dropped damp, teasing kisses on her shoulders and neck, then everywhere near but not on her lips, until she grabbed his head in demand. He laughed triumphantly into her mouth, a deep, rich sound of pleasure.
Suddenly he was in motion, sitting up, the blanket tented on his shoulders. He swept off her chemise, and when she felt the shock of chilly air on her skin, her eyes flew open. She shivered, either from cold or the astounding reality of him gazing hungrily upon her—she wasn't certain which.
Colin drew in his breath. "You," he said slowly, worshiping her with his eyes, "are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen." Leaning over, he ran gentle hands on her skin, skimming her breasts and hips, raising goose bumps on her flesh. Her heart pounded almost painfully, but when she tried to look away, he caught her face in his hands and captured her eyes with his.
Bringing the blanket with him, he lowered himself, reclaiming her mouth in a devouring caress while he slipped his hand between her legs and parted them gently. His fingertips trailed sensuously on her inner thighs, making her begin to tremble. When he brushed against the curls that guarded her most secret self, she gasped in shock and wonder.
"Hush," he whispered into her open mouth. Concentrating on one long, deep kiss, he slipped a finger inside her tight passageway.
Somewhere in the back of her passion-hazed mind, Amy was scandalized. She could scarcely believe she was permitting a man to touch her there, let alone move his finger in and out of her body, as he was slowly doing now. It couldn't be right…or could it? She wondered foggily where the slickness was coming from, but the slippery feeling was so delicious she couldn't possibly care.
Colin's thumb found an exquisite spot, and waves of desire swept through her body, taking her unawares. She clutched him tighter, feeling as though her heart would burst if something, she didn't know what, didn't happen soon. She thought she would go insane with the pleasure of it.
He left her and she felt abandoned, holding her breath as he slipped off his breeches. When he rolled back to her, she threw her arms around him and held him tight, silently daring him ever to leave her again.
He laughed deep in his throat, a husky, choked sound, then reached blindly for her hand, guiding it to his rigid flesh. Overwhelmed by wondrous new sensations, Amy was beyond shock. Her fingers closed around him, and her eyes opened wide.
"It will work, Amy," he whispered, kissing her eyes closed, one and then the other. Amazed at her own boldness, she move
d her hand a bit, learning him.
Warm, velvety…
With an audible breath, Colin wedged a knee between hers, and her legs came up instinctively to cradle him. God in heaven, he felt so right covering her body. He pressed himself against her, and she held her breath, but he stayed poised there, waiting…
For what? A whimper sounded deep in her throat, surprising her, then she involuntarily rose to meet him.
He groaned softly. "I don't mean to hurt you, love," he forced between gritted teeth. "But this once—"
She moaned in response, but she hadn't really processed his words, only the love. She knew it didn't mean anything, couldn't mean anything—it was just the type of thing men said to women in the throes of passion—but it made her blood sing anyway, just to hear it.
Still thinking of that, she stiffened in shock when he thrust home. Her breath caught in her chest.
He stilled and came up on his forearms, murmuring wordless sounds of comfort. He kissed her gently on the forehead and ran his fingers up her scalp and through her tumbled curls, arranging them on the pillow. Slowly the pain subsided, replaced with a growing sense of wonder at the throbbing fullness within her.
She felt an incredible urgency radiating from where Colin met her core.
His lips traced a path from her forehead down her nose, then settled tenderly on her mouth. His tongue plunged inside as his hips began a slow rhythm below.
Amy's blood rushed faster and faster. She was climbing higher and higher, to the top of a tower. Only this time there was no dragon, no fire, except when she suddenly reached the top and burst into the flame of a million glowing stars. They shot from her core like the most dazzling fireworks, throughout her straining body, to the tips of her fingers and toes, glowing streaks of sensation that raced through her veins in long, flickering bursts of pleasure beyond her wildest imaginings.
She felt Colin pulsing within her, the warm flood of his release. He collapsed against her, his chest hot and slick against hers, his back straining as he gulped for air. Her hands were everywhere, trying to feel him all at once as her breath came in long, shuddering sighs.
"I didn't know," she gasped in wonder. "I didn't know."
He struggled up on his elbows. "How could you know?"
His smile, proud, contented, and erotic all at the same time, made her pulse flutter anew. Taking her with him, he rolled over and hugged her tight against his chest. She smiled back at him until his own smile faded.
"It was wrong," he said strong and clear, and then, in a whisper so low she had to strain to hear it, "but I won't say I'm sorry."
"No. No apologies." Her senses were still whirling, and she felt strangely quivery, as though a mere attempt at standing would cause her knees to buckle. But the aftermath of dizziness was a small price to pay for that heady sweetness of buildup and release, the incredible wonder of sharing her body with Colin's.
She struggled to find words. "It was…do you remember the fireworks, that long ago night of the coronation procession?"
"Yes…" She could see him pondering her question; a small frown appeared between his brows.
He didn't understand.
"Oh, it was like that, Colin—it was just like that. Great fiery streaks…"
His face cleared and he said gently, "I know."
"Can we do it again?" she asked enthusiastically.
He laughed then, a great booming laugh that nearly bounced her off his chest. She dropped her head to his shoulder, her face burning. Did he think her wanton? After all, she'd practically seduced him and followed it up by asking for more.
"No, love, I think not. Even were I able, I imagine you're too sore to attempt any such thing for a day or two."
She relaxed a little. Though she didn't quite understand everything he meant, he didn't sound disapproving.
Besides, he'd called her love again.
And, even sure as she was that he meant nothing by it, hearing it was enough to cause all her worries to flee her mind.
Cursing silently at himself, Colin stroked Amy's hair. Love, he'd called her. Bloody hell.
What had he been thinking?
He hadn't, obviously. He hadn't been thinking at all. The endearment had escaped his lips thoughtlessly.
He'd never been "in love," and though no one else made him feel like this slip of a girl, that didn't mean he loved her. He hardly knew her, despite their weeks of acquaintance. Besides, love wasn't part of his plan.
Love was dangerous. It made one too vulnerable, too open to the pain of loss and betrayal.
Luckily, she hadn't seemed to notice, let alone react to, his slip of the tongue. Still, he must be more careful in the future.
She snuggled closer, and he breathed her clean, sweet scent, tinged with rose oil from her bath at Cainewood that morning. Rose oil and something else…the heady musk of their encounter.
His heart clenched at the still-fresh memory of her quivering in his arms. Her quick breath, her pounding heart, her passionate cries. All for him. She hadn't been grieving or trying to escape—she'd wanted him. Blood coursed through his veins at the thought of it—at the thought of them together.
But deep inside he knew it was naught but a fluke. A unique combination of fear, curiosity, and attraction had driven Amy into his arms this one precious time. She wasn't the sort of woman who would accept life as a man's mistress, beloved or not.
Running his fingers through the ebony curls that tumbled over his chest, he sighed, recalling the first time he'd seen her, how he'd yearned to see her hair unbound, itched to play with it just like this. Brushing a few stray strands off her forehead, he lifted his head to place a reverent kiss there.
She was sleeping, her breathing even and untroubled. The sight prompted a gentle smile.
He eased her off himself and onto her side, curling his body around hers protectively. His plan to leave her once she fell asleep was abandoned, forgotten.
He hoped it would still be snowing hard in the morning.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Amy peered into the mirror, surprised when her old face stared back. After last night, shouldn't something have changed?
Self-conscious, she glanced about to make sure she was alone, then dropped the sheet she was wrapped in and cast a critical eye on her body…nothing had changed there. Colin had brought her breakfast in bed this morning, then refused her offer of help again before disappearing into his study.
She sighed. Nothing had changed there, either.
She quickly bathed from the washstand, taking a mental inventory as she rinsed away all evidence of last night. In spite of a nagging feeling that something should be different, she felt exactly the same. Her only souvenir seemed to be a slight but persistent soreness between her legs.
A delicious soreness….a soreness that began to tingle, radiating throughout her body. Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered exactly how Colin had touched her last night, every little thing he had done to make her feel so wonderful. She felt her face heat, though no one was there to see it. Shaking herself, she dug under the bedclothes for her chemise.
The sheets were stained. God in heaven, she couldn't just leave them like that. She slipped the chemise over her head and looked around for where bedclothes might be stored. The chamber held no cupboard, only the chest at the foot of the bed. She lifted its heavy wooden lid, and Colin's scent wafted out.
She breathed deeply, a smile teasing at her lips. Inside, his clothes were neatly folded. The suits were darker colors than were currently in fashion—hunter green, deep blue, rich brown—the fabrics fine, the decorations simple and tasteful.
One was black velvet with glinting gold braid…was it the same one he'd worn for the coronation procession? His shirts were very white, sewn of gossamer cambric that felt smooth and expensive beneath her fingertips. She shook one out and held it up to herself, giggling when it fell well below her knees.
Carefully she folded and replaced it, then delved beneath lace-edged crava
ts, tall boot stockings, and more handkerchiefs than a man could possibly use in a lifetime. To her vast relief, she found extra sheets in the bottom. And atop them, a small leather-bound book.
Gold lettering on the red cover identified it as Hesperides, or The Works Both Human and Divine of Robert Herrick, Esq. Inside, the front page was inscribed in beautiful, flowing script.
"March 1649. Poetry, for my son the dreamer. Your loving Mother."
Colin, a dreamer? Amy's lips curved at the thought.
She opened the book to a random page. "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time." Well, the title wasn't fitting after last night—she blushed to think it—but…
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Times is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.
Words to live by, were they not? Smiling, she replaced the book and changed the sheets, folding the stained ones and leaving them atop the chest. Anxious to explore the castle, she hurried to finish dressing.
A survey of the ground floor revealed nothing of interest. Narrow slits through the curtain wall let in little light, rendering the unrestored chambers dank and dark. What was left of the furniture was draped in cloth, encrusted with layers of dust sufficient to discourage her from peeking underneath.
She paused at the closed door to Colin's study, picturing him inside hacking away at his ledgers. She hoped he was suffering mightily, although in truth she had no idea whether he had an aptitude for such work. There was a lot she didn't know about him, she admitted to herself.
And a lot she did know.
Weak-kneed at that thought, she leaned against the door, half-embarrassed, half-brazen for thinking such things. It was shocking and wicked and wonderful, all at the same time.
Squaring her shoulders, she made her way to the entry, where the beautifully restored oak staircase renewed her hopes of finding something more intriguing upstairs. As she trudged slowly up, her muscles ached in places she hadn't known she had. She wasn't sure whether those muscles protested at being forced to ride a horse or from unaccustomed exertion in Colin's bed…but she blushed again as her sore body bade her to recall the latter.
