“Tell me why!” he demanded, and bent to kiss her beautiful mouth, just a gentle peck, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He craved the taste of her fiercely.
“Sarah,” he beseeched her.
Tears stung Sarah’s eyes.
His grip on her hair was just a little too tight and his embrace a little too rough, but she couldn’t voice an objection to save her life. With the mere memory of his kisses, she melted into his arms and silently begged for him to take them once more. She couldn’t give them, didn’t dare, but she yearned for the touch of his mouth on her own, gentle but insistent.
“Don’t go,” he begged her, and Sarah closed her eyes, ignoring the pull of her heart.
She didn’t want to go.
She never wanted to go.
Craving his kiss, she dared to turn her lips up to his, silently begging him to taste her mouth.
He didn’t disappoint her.
Sarah cried out at the feel of his mouth. The touch of his lips was like manna to her soul. Tilting her head, she parted her lips and dared to slide her hands up and about his neck, clinging to him.
“Peter,” she said, and whimpered softly as he deepened the kiss.
His response was a low moan deep in the back of his throat, and Sarah’s heart leapt at the raw sound of it. That he wanted her was unmistakable; she could feel his desire clearly in the hardness of his body.
She didn’t protest—couldn’t—when his hand went about her waist and he laid her back on the bed, following her down.
She couldn’t stop it.
Didn’t want to.
She hadn’t the will.
Her body convulsed, begging for a lover’s embrace as he laid his body down upon her, pressing her into the bed. And Sarah moaned with delight at the feel of him covering her so possessively.
“I need you, Sarah...”
He pressed his arousal against her, making his meaning clear, and the words spewed from Sarah’s lips. “I need you, too,” she whispered, and cried out softly as he increased the pressure of his hips. “I do...”
That was all Peter needed to hear.
He hadn’t gotten to this point in life by letting opportunities pass him by—and this was one such opportunity for which he’d rather die trying than lose.
He wanted to make her his, wholly his.
Sarah was everything he had ever wanted in a woman and more. He wasn’t going to give her up, not unless she chose to go, and he didn’t intend to let her choose without a battle.
And he wasn’t going to fight fairly.
His hands stroked the curve of her thighs, her hips, encircled her waist, reveling in every beautiful inch of her lovely body, while his mouth ravaged her lips with a hunger he could not contain.
Sweet, beautiful lips...
The taste of her dizzied him.
The scent of her intoxicated him... drove him to the brink of madness.
Like a man possessed, he traced every curve and every hollow of her body, wanting to know her. He made promises with every touch, and hoped she read them with her heart.
If she left him, he was going to make damned certain she never forgot him.
And if she stayed... he would be sure she never regretted it for an instant she breathed.
He pressed his lips against her brow, and whispered, “I think I love you, Sarah.”
Sarah’s heart jolted.
The beat of her heart thundered in her ears. Her hands trembled as she reached out to cup his face and hold it in her hands. He had spoken it so low, barely a whisper ... so she couldn’t know for sure.
Had she only imagined it?
Dare she believe it was true?
He took both her wrists in one hand and drew them away from his face, smiling down at her. Releasing her hands, he moved to one side of her and urged her over onto her stomach, then pinned her hands to the bed above her head. Sarah thought she would die when he bent to nibble on the back of her neck, tiny kisses interspersed with bites and a caress of his tongue to soothe it. Her hair was still in pins, but she didn’t care that he mussed it...
Didn’t care about anything at all...
All she cared about this instant was his breath so hot against her flesh. When he released her hands to unfasten the buttons at her back, Sarah didn’t move ... didn’t dare ... She lay frozen upon the bed, her breath coming in soft pants, her heart hammering so fiercely she thought it might burst.
I think I love you, Sarah...
The echo of his words made her heart leap yet again.
Unlike the first time in the library, his hands were gentle as they worked the buttons of her dress, and he bent to kiss her bare skin after he loosened each one, peeling back her dress slowly, sending shivers down her spine with every touch of his hot lips against her skin.
When he had her fully unbuttoned, he slid the bodice from her shoulders and drew it from beneath her. Sarah gasped at the feel of it as it slid off her arms, and beneath her. Her breasts spilled free from her corset, and then he started to work on the lower buttons at her back. One by one he unfastened them, and Sarah swallowed convulsively as he bared her.
The first time he had undressed her it had been under a cloak of shadows, but just now, he revealed her flesh to the light. Sarah held her breath at the wicked pleasure it gave her to give herself to him so fully.
“So beautiful,” he murmured at her back, and it sent quivers down Sarah’s spine. She gasped as he pulled off her dress at last, sliding it from her, and then her undergarments—so skillfully and efficiently, as though he’d removed a thousand before.
The thought gave her a twinge of jealousy.
She didn’t wish to think of him with anyone else.
And then suddenly she was wholly bared beneath his scrutiny, and was keenly aware that he was not. Without warning, he slid down to nibble at her bottom, and Sarah bit her lip as he moved lower still to taste her so wickedly.
She clawed desperately at the bedclothes.
God, but he was a wicked man!
And Lord help her, she loved all that he was doing to her.
She reveled in every touch of his hands... every caress of his mouth upon her body...
“Turn around,” he whispered, and Sarah’s heart lurched a little at the command.
The notion of lying there fully exposed to him both terrified and thrilled her at once. She did as she was told, couldn’t seem to help herself. With merely the sound of his voice, he did things to her... to her mind, body, and soul.
Her heart beat fiercely as she turned around and her breath caught at the hunger evident in his eyes. Cool air caressed her breasts, while his eyes, like smoldering blue flames, bore down on her, inspecting her, warming her as no fire ever could.
A slow smile turned his lips as he reached down and began to undo the buttons of his trousers.
Her heart jolted a little harder, and she held her breath as she watched him bare himself to her, not daring even to blink.
Peeling open his trousers, he pulled them down, shrugged out of them as she watched, and then his drawers followed, until he stood before her as naked as Adam.
God, but he was a beautiful man—his body perfectly formed, from his wide shoulders to his chest and narrow waist.
He fell to his knees, and Sarah thought she would die with the anticipation of his touch. She knew, from the things he had done to her the first time, what he intended, and her body quivered at the mere thought.
Heat began to coil deep within her, a delicious thread that ignited at the promise of his kisses.
It was wicked, what he craved... wicked, what she wanted.
Peering down between her bared breasts, she watched him open his mouth, felt his lips upon her, and her head fell backward in surrender as he made love to her with his mouth.
Sarah had never dreamed she could crave his touch so deeply... Somewhere at her core, she ached for him to fill her, touch her deep into her very womb!
She loved him—God, but she loved
him!
Forgive me, Mary, she thought, and if she spoke the plea aloud, Peter ruthlessly ignored it.
Thank God! Because if he dared to stop now... if he walked away this instant, Sarah thought she would weep.
She needed him to fill her... needed him to make love to her... needed him to need her...
She needed him to love her.
Chapter 28
He hadn’t meant to say it.
The words had slipped from his tongue, but entirely too easily, and damn it all, he didn’t wish to recall them!
He did love her.
And he wanted more than life to please her.
More than anything, he wanted that.
For the first time in his life, this wasn’t about his own pleasure. It was about hers.
He wanted to sink into her, feel her wrapped about him, hold her face in his hands and kiss her lips until she moaned sweetly into his mouth. He wanted to taste the sweet elixir of her passion... wanted to feel her body tremble beneath him.
He wanted to pleasure her until she cried out his name.
More than anything, he wanted to hear her whisper I love you, though he knew it was more than he could ask.
He would be content just to hear her cry out in pleasure.
He reveled in the taste of her, lost himself in the throes of her passion, and tore himself away only when the throb of his own body grew insistent and painful. He drew himself up then, looking down at her as she lay on the bed.
Her eyes had been closed, but she opened them now and peered up at him. They were glazed with desire. Her skin was flushed deep rose, her lips bruised from his kisses. And he had the sudden primeval thought that he would kill any man who dared touch her this way.
He bent forward, pinned her between his arms, and took her mouth with a ferocity he hadn’t realized he could possess.
Sarah closed her eyes, reveling in the taste of him. He pressed her once more into the bed, and her body cried out in impatience. She shuddered at the feel of him so hard against her softness and shifted her hips to seek him. She didn’t wait for him to enter her, didn’t care that it seemed bold. Reaching with total abandon, she gripped his buttocks in her hands and thrust forward, drawing him so deeply into her that she felt him surge to the hilt. He cried out and the sound of it set Sarah’s body on fire.
He began to move, and it was the most delicious sensation she had ever imagined.
“Peter,” she cried out softly, but she couldn’t think any longer.
His arms encircled her, embracing her, while his lips and tongue caressed her face, her lips, her eyes, her nose...
She wanted to be with him always...
Wanted him never to stop.
She dared to open her heart.
“I love you, Sarah,” he whispered once more, and her body exploded with pleasure. Sarah had never known such bliss existed. He cried out as she shuddered beneath him, and he lunged forward just once more. “I love you,” he whispered, and found his own release, filling her, trembling as he held her.
Sarah clung to him, and never wanted to let go.
She clutched his head to her and dared to whisper against his ear.
“I love you, too.”
And she smiled as he sighed against her throat.
Sarah hardly slept all night.
Impossible to sleep with all that she had yet to contemplate.
She and Peter had not left his room even for the evening meal. They’d made love yet again, and then had crawled under the covers to sleep. But lying next to him, Sarah could scarcely even close her eyes.
He made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t ever known—every breath, every heartbeat magnified, every pore of her skin yearning for his touch.
It was impossible to deny this feeling that overwhelmed her.
Sarah thought she would die if she couldn’t wake in his arms every morning for the rest of her life.
And yet... Mary had once felt the very same... and for this very man.
How could Sarah awake each morn and look into his eyes, and know that she had disapproved of him for her cousin—and in the strongest manner possible?
It was because of him that she and Mary had not spoken ever again.
No, she amended to herself... it was because of her.
It had been her own insecurities that had driven them apart. She had been terrified of losing her best friend—so terrified that she had pushed her away.
What sense did that make?
And now was she doing it again?
Was she so afraid of losing someone else in her life that she wasn’t even willing to let him in?
Was she simply using her guilt as a shield to keep him at bay?
She had so much to think about.
Peering over at Peter, she saw he was still asleep, his expression peaceful in slumber, and she wanted to touch her hand to his cheek, but didn’t dare.
Carefully extricating herself from his embrace, she slipped out of bed and quickly dressed, pondering the man she had grown to love.
He never seemed to bat a lash at her fits of fury. He faced her with calm resolve, and knowing him now, she wondered that anyone could ever think him capable of harming another human being. It only took a single look at him and Christopher together to know for certain that deep down he was a gentle man, even if at first glance he seemed intimidating. She had never once heard him raise his voice to his son.
Needing time alone to think, she stole away from the room as quietly as she was able, closing the door gently behind her.
Chapter 29
Peter awoke with a smile on his face.
Reaching out groggily, he clasped Sarah about the waist, vaguely aware that the shape didn’t quite fit, but too sleepy to open his eyes. He dragged her closer and kissed her on the nose.
“Yuck!” Christopher cried out, and Peter’s eyes flew wide to find his son struggling to be free of his embrace. He swiped his face with his little hands. Peter released him and he sat on the bed. “Yucky!” he exclaimed once more.
Peter chuckled, though his gaze at once scanned the room, searching for Sarah. He frowned when he didn’t find her there.
“Morning, sport.”
“Mornin’, Daddy.”
He wondered how long she’d been away, and where she’d gone.
“What are you doing here, Christopher?” he asked his son.
“The boogeyman was in my room again last night!”
His son’s imagination was quite vivid and quite normal. But that was all it was, his imagination, and Peter had yet to be able to convince him of that fact.
“Not him again?”
“Yup!” Christopher said, nodding.
“Christopher,” Peter began.
“I swear it was, Daddy!”
Peter glowered at his son’s emphatic tone. He certainly wasn’t about to call Christopher a liar, but neither did he think it was entirely healthy for the child to continue to believe such things. Ever since he’d been able to talk and relate his fears, he’d been claiming visits from the boogeyman. Peter had wondered at first whether it was some memory from infancy, because Christopher had always had the most remarkable aptitude for remembering things—more than anyone he knew. Sometime later, however, he’d discovered that Christopher had overheard the servants talking about his mother’s death. He hadn’t been happy to learn that his son knew every gruesome detail of his mother’s tragic end. It only stood to reason, then, that his subconscious would create this boogeyman for him to fear.
Christopher was getting better, however. In the beginning he would wet his bed rather than rise and go to the bathroom, because he’d been too terrified to let the boogeyman know he was awake. Peter probably hadn’t handled it the best way possible, but he hadn’t been certain how else to do it. He certainly hadn’t wished his son to be afraid of every shadow, so he’d forced Christopher to go to bed each night in his own bed, telling him that if he should chance to waken, that he could run to Peter in the night,
or call for help and Peter would come. Christopher’s room was in shouting distance, and there was nothing wrong with his son’s lungs.
In the beginning Christopher had come running to his bed every night. Lately, however, he slept more soundly, and it was only on occasion now that Peter awoke to find him curled up beside him.
Not that it was a disappointment this morn, but he certainly had expected to awaken to a far different embrace.
Where had she gone?
And did he dare ask his son?
He decided it was best not to.
“I was so scared, Daddy! But I din’t even cry!” Christopher continued excitedly. “He came to my bed and I din’t cry!”
It was at times like this that it wasn’t so difficult to believe his son a child. His little old man was just a little boy, after all, and despite his disappointment over Christopher’s continued nightly visitor, he smiled at that thought.
“What happened? Did you scare him away?” Peter asked jovially, reaching out to pat his son’s head.
“Yup!” he replied excitedly. “I did, Daddy!”
“Thatta boy,” Peter cheered him on, dropping his hand to his son’s shoulder. “And did he run away?”
“Nope,” Christopher replied, shaking his head. “He just cried.”
Peter laughed at the sober expression on his son’s face. “You made him cry, did you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how did you manage to do that?” Peter asked him.
Christopher’s little face screwed. “Well, I dunno, but I think it was ‘cause I told him he smelled like Aunt Ruth.”
Peter tried hard not to chuckle. His shoulders shook, but he restrained his laughter. “You did?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And then he started to cry?”
“Uh-huh!”
“Maybe he won’t come back now,” Peter suggested. “I’m certain he doesn’t like that you think he smells like Aunt Ruth.”
“Maybe,” Christopher agreed, nodding. “But maybe if he does,” he added excitedly, “then I will just beat him up this time!”
Three Redeemable Rogues Page 73
