River of Fire

by Mary Jo Putney

  In his eyes was the same blazing passion that had created the picture. She knew with absolute certainty that he wanted her, not casually but with fierce need.

  His desire kindled the powerful yearning she had been trying to suppress. To hell with propriety. In his eyes she was beautiful, and the time had come to loose the river of carnal fire that could sweep them both into madness and searing joy.

  Rebecca tossed her shawl over the single wooden chair. Her gown was secured by a row of spherical ivory buttons that ran down the center of the bodice. Amazed at her own temerity, she unfastened the first one, popping the small globe through its loop. "You must want to see how accurate your imagination is."

  He stiffened as she undid the next button. "My imagination is fine, Rebecca," he said tightly. "I don't need you to model."

  "No?" She smiled and released another ivory sphere. "I think that you have some of the proportions wrong." She undid another. His gaze was riveted to her fingers.

  When the last button slid from its loop, she opened the gown and pushed it down her arms with provocative slowness before letting it slide to the floor in a whisper of wool. She had always disliked complicated clothing, so underneath she wore only stockings and a shift made of fine, translucent lawn that gave teasing hints of what lay beneath.

  After stepping out of the crumpled gown, she kicked off her slippers and pulled out the pins that secured her hair. "A good artist works from nature whenever possible, Kenneth."

  His scar a bone-white slash across his cheek, he said, "If you don't put your clothing back on, the horsewhip and the trip to the altar are going to become unavoidable."

  She laughed and ran her fingers through her hair so that the curls rioted around her head and spilled wantonly to her waist. "Who said anything about horsewhips and marriage? For Lilith and the Corsair, surely desire is all that matters."

  "Those are only fantasies," he said harshly, sweat filming his face. "It's wrong, Rebecca, in ways you don't understand."

  "You're right, I don't understand." She perched on the chair and untied her garters, a process that meant raising her shift above her knees. She'd always thought her legs were nicely shaped. From the way Kenneth was staring, he must agree.

  "You don't have to protect me, my darling corsair. I know what I'm doing." She rolled off her stockings and crushed them into a ball, then lightly tossed them at Kenneth, aiming for the masculine bulge revealed by his breeches. "That being the case, give me one good reason why we should refrain from doing what we both clearly want to do."

  Reflexively he caught the stockings, his hand clenching the gauzy fabric with a force that made the tendons stand out. In his eyes she saw the struggle between the gentleman and the pirate. Yes, he wanted her, but his damned sense of honor was winning.

  Unable to bear the thought, she stood and moved toward him, her hands raised in supplication. "Please, Kenneth," she said starkly. "I want you so much."

  She caressed his face, and his composure cracked like hammered marble. He put his hands over hers, trapping them against his cheeks. She was vividly aware of the strength in his fingers and the seductive masculine rasp of whiskers under her palms. "God help me, Lilith," he said thickly. "You win."

  He drew her hands together and held them against his chest. She felt the pounding of his heart as his mouth came down over hers. With a rush of relief, she knew that there would be no turning back. They were caught in the river's inexorable current and would be carried by its fury until they shattered.

  It was a pirate's kiss. Masterful. Devouring. She leaned into him, her arms sliding around his waist as his hands went to her buttocks. His clasp scorched through the thin fabric of her shift as he pulled her hard against him. Their loins pressed together with voluptuous promise. A hot, liquid yearning began to coil deep within her.

  When he ended the kiss, she drew her breath in protest until the touch of his lips on her ear transformed her objection into a rapturous sigh. Her head fell back and she swayed within his grasp, on the verge of falling.

  "Lilith," he murmured, "with hair and soul of fire." He laid a trail of kisses from her jaw to the tender flesh of her throat, his mouth firm against her beating pulse.

  Blindly she slipped her hands inside his shirt, hungry for the feel of his bare body. His neck and shoulders were dense with muscle. She gave an impatient exclamation when the garment could be opened no further.

  Sliding her hands down his ribs, she tugged the shirt from his breeches.

  She had just touched the taut warmth of his torso when his mouth closed over her breast. Lapping through the light fabric of her shift, he teased her nipple, circling it with his tongue before tugging with his teeth. She stiffened, paralyzed with an excitement that blazed throughout her body.

  Paralysis dissolved in a fever that demanded release. She grasped the front opening of his shirt in both hands and ripped. The linen sundered all the way to the hem with a sharp tearing sound. She yanked the ruined garment down his arms and over his wrists, saying with satisfaction, "I've wanted to do that since the first time I saw you, my corsair."

  His bare chest was magnificent. He shivered as she kneaded the hard planes of muscle, feeling the bones beneath the flesh, the dark sleek hair, the way his body narrowed to taut waist and lean hips. He would have made a superb model for a Greek sculptor seeking to portray an Olympic athlete, or a god.

  She pressed her lips to the hollow above his collarbone. Saltiness tingled on her tongue as she licked and nipped downward to the flat velvety disk of his nipple. She kissed it as he had kissed hers, flicking with her tongue and teasing with her teeth.

  He buried his hands in the heavy spill of her hair, his fingers opening and closing helplessly. "My God, Rebecca," he breathed, "you make me mad."

  She laughed with delight and straightened, nuzzling her face into the angle between his throat and shoulder. His scent was musky and wickedly male.

  Then she sucked in her breath as he caught handfuls of her shift and pulled the garment over her head. Her arms were lifted straight up, the material dragging over her elbows and wrists. She emerged from the lace-trimmed flounces acutely aware of her nakedness. For an instant she wanted to cover herself, to conceal her human imperfections.

  But his gray eyes were glowing like winter stars.

  "You are even lovelier than in my imagination," he said huskily as he cupped her breasts, his large hands molding the supple flesh and his thumbs stroking her nipples into taut peaks. He slowly massaged downward, learning every curve and hollow in a deeply sensual caress. Hot pulses raced through every fiber of her being. She was melting, eager to flow into whatever form would please him the most.

  He scooped her up in his arms, then hesitated when she caught her breath in surprise. "You're so light," he said uneasily. "Delicate."

  "But not the least bit fragile." Before his conscience could get the better of him, she drew his head down for another kiss, running her hands feverishly over any part of him she could reach. She was sharply conscious of the contact between her unclothed body and his bare chest, the way his powerful arms tightened under her naked back and legs as their kiss deepened. The liquid yearning inside her coiled tighter, ever tighter.

  The half dozen steps to the narrow servant's bed in the corner were a zigzag path that ended when he laid her on the blanket that covered the sagging straw mattress. The scratchiness of the coarse wool on her back and thighs was one more sensation in a world that was all sensation. "I want to see the rest of you," she said tensely. "Please."

  Fumbling a little in his haste, he unbuttoned his breeches and tugged them off. Then he peeled off his drawers, revealing himself fully to her gaze. She stared at his muscular thighs and rampant virility and thought of Greek gods again. Suppressing a nervous doubt about whether her body could accommodate him, she scanned slowly over his marvelous torso.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over her. The craggy planes of his face were softened by candle glow, the scar almost
invisible. She raised her hands and skimmed them over his shoulders and down his arms, enchanted by the way his broad frame filled her vision. She blinked against the sting of tears.

  Seeing them, he asked softly, "Second thoughts?"

  She shook her head, her hazel eyes luminous. "It's only that you are beautiful," she said softly. "So beautiful."

  Kenneth had thought of himself in many ways, but never as beautiful. It seemed almost criminal to want to inflict his hulking male body on Rebecca's slim, delicate form. "I thought you had impeccable aesthetic judgment," he murmured. "It is you who are beautiful."

  She gave him Lilith's smoldering smile. Though he was proud of his painting, he could never equal the enticing reality of her. "You are made for love," he whispered. "A feast for eyes and hands and mouth."

  He lifted a handful of her hair and rubbed his cheek with the lustrous mass. "Extravagant hair spun of a thousand shades of red and bronze and gold."

  He laid the shining strands across her shoulder, enjoying the contrast of hair and skin. "A pale, exquisite redhead's complexion that shows a faint tracery of veins." Then he smoothed his palms down her arms. "Flawless breasts. Not too large, not too small, crowned with dusky rosebuds." He bent his head and suckled her left nipple. It hardened instantly under his tongue. Her eyes closed and her breath roughened, causing her breasts to rise and fall.

  When he had paid them due homage, he traced the circle of her navel with his tongue. His hand slipped between her knees so he could caress the satiny flesh of her inner thighs. She vibrated with response, her hips rocking against the blanket, her small hands fisted.

  The feathery curls between her legs were a darker auburn than her glorious hair. He rested his palm on the gentle swell of her mound, marveling that the swift drumming of her blood was for him. Then he stretched out on his side next to her, holding her close with one arm while his other hand stroked through the moist, clinging strands to the luscious moisture of the folds hidden below.

  She groaned wordlessly, writhing as he probed deeper and deeper into intimate heat. Before he could bring her to fulfillment, she reached out blindly, fumbling down his body until she found the hard, heated length of his shaft. Her hand curled around him and her thumb caressed the unbearably sensitive head.

  Ravishing friction, intolerably sweet. He arched convulsively. Oh, God, God, not yet.

  Mindless with urgency, he pulled away from her clasp and lifted his body over hers. His arms trembled as they braced his weight. He positioned himself, feeling her liquid readiness as his fingers prepared her for his entry. Then he drove into the blessed heat that would heal his madness.

  There was an instant of sharp resistance, and he felt her stiffen. He damned himself for forgetting how small she was. His whole frame shaking with effort, he held still so she could adjust to him. He kissed her, using mouth and tongue to soothe away her tension.

  She relaxed and her kiss became avid, as if she were trying to draw his essence into her. He began to move, first only fractions of an inch. Gradually he thrust harder, moving ever deeper and faster.

  She twisted her head against the blanket, her breath coming in desperate gulps and her palms making circles on the small of his back. "Please, Kenneth, please..." she panted.

  On the verge of shattering, he slid his hand between them until he touched her sensitive female nub. She gave a hoarse animal cry. Her hands curled into claws that bit into his buttocks, and her pelvis ground against him with frantic need.

  Her climax triggered his own release. He groaned, driving into her again and again as harrowing pleasure flooded through him. A river of fire, more intense than anything he had ever known. And as the flames ebbed, he realized with wonder and despair that they had irrevocably seared his very soul.

  Chapter 21

  The bed was narrow, but there was room enough when Kenneth shifted to his side and cradled her against him. Rebecca's limbs trembled as if she had been fractured and reassembled into a different being. She hid her face against his sweat-slicked shoulder, knowing she would never have enough of his closeness. Or, God help her, of the pleasure that had pierced her hard-won reserve before warmly enfolding her heart.

  Outside it was raining. There was something wonderfully intimate about lying warm and safe in Kenneth's arms only a few feet below the drumming raindrops. She dozed a little, coming awake when he raised himself on one elbow and kissed her temple.

  Her eyes opened and she studied his face, thinking that the craggy planes were more appealing than Apollo's perfect features could ever be.

  Seeing that she was awake, he gently brushed the hair from her damp brow. "I should burn my painting. No oil or canvas can ever do justice to you."

  "Don't you dare," she said with a lazy smile. "It's a fine painting. Just don't show it to anyone. Especially not my father." She shouldn't have said that, because a shadow darkened his eyes. Wanting to restore the tender mood, she continued, "There's a bottle of wine and two glasses on the tray I brought."

  "An excellent idea." He levered himself up, then stopped, staring downward. She followed his gaze and saw that there was blood on both of them.

  His head whipped up, and he stared at her with what was almost horror. "My God, you were a virgin. That's why it was difficult at first."

  Her gaze slid away from him. "So I was."

  He caught her chin and turned her face to him. His voice tight with barely controlled emotion, he said, "What about the elopement and the poet? All of your talk about being ruined?"

  She wrenched her chin loose. "Ruination can be social without being physical. Frederick was willing to wait until we were legally married. By the time we reached Leeds, I knew that running away with him had been a terrible mistake. He wasn't in love with me, he was in love with the idea of himself as a dashing lover. And my future prospects, of course." She gave a shaky laugh. "The worst of it was discovering that he was boring. I realized I couldn't possibly spend the rest of my life with him, so I caught a mail coach back to London. But by then I had been gone for several nights, so my reputation was wrecked."

  Kenneth took a deep breath. "Did your parents know that you hadn't lain with him?"

  "It didn't seem relevant since I was ruined anyhow."

  "Hell and damnation." He rested his forehead on her shoulder, his rough exhalation warming her breast. "You said you knew what you were doing, but you didn't. You couldn't."

  For the space of a dozen heartbeats, there was silence. Then he lifted his head, his expression as grim as if he had just been condemned to the firing squad. "If it weren't for the fact that it would be a terrible mistake to marry, I would say that our betrothal has just gone from pretense to reality."

  At a disadvantage flat on her back, she pushed up to a sitting position. "Having been raised among decadent artists, I have trouble taking virginity seriously. It really shouldn't matter."

  He raised his brows expressively as he climbed from the bed and went to get the towel that hung on the small washstand. "Trust me, Rebecca. It matters."

  After a brisk clean-up, he wrapped the blanket around her, casually pulled on his breeches and shirt, and poured them both wine. Then he sat beside her and leaned against the wall, his expression deeply troubled. "I deserve to be shot. I knew it was wrong to lie with you, and I did it anyhow."

  She gave him an uncertain smile. "Since I almost assaulted you, it would have required an ungentlemanly amount of force to prevent it from happening."

  He stared into his glass. "At my age, I should be able to control myself even when attacked by a ravishing female."

  Ravishing? She liked the sound of that. "I'm glad you couldn't control yourself, and I'm vastly pleased with the results. I quite fancy myself as Lilith."

  He smiled a little, but shook his head. "I'll grant that you aren't a naive girl just out of the schoolroom. But I was so mad with wanting you that I took no precautions against pregnancy. If you conceived..." His voice trailed off.

  "That's unlikely a
fter only one time, isn't it? And I shouldn't mind having a baby." She pulled the blanket more closely around her. "If my father couldn't bear the scandal, I can set up a household in some provincial city. Claim I'm a widow, perhaps. After all, I'm financially independent."

  His hand clenched so hard around the goblet that she thought the stem might snap. "Do you seriously believe I would allow you to do that? It would be my child, too. It's one thing when circumstances force a mother to raise a child alone. It is quite another to have a baby for your own selfish reasons and deliberately deprive it of a father. If you have conceived, you are stuck with me for a husband." He took a deep breath. "And if that happens, God help us both."

  She bit her lip and began finger-combing her hair to remove the snarls. She had been horribly selfish, thinking of her own wishes rather than the best interests of a child. She had also been criminally cavalier about Kenneth's feelings. Having seen the sensitivity and honor beneath his pirate exterior, she should have known he could not be casual about making love with her.

  Had she unconsciously hoped to coerce him into marriage? No, she still had grave doubts about taking a mate. But she had been wild with desire, and that had made her reckless. She had forgotten that the consequences might bear more heavily on Kenneth than on her. Now his sense of duty might force him to marry a woman he didn't want. She would not have treated an enemy as badly as she had behaved with the best man she had ever known.

  Wallowing in guilt wouldn't help. She tossed her hair back and said with measured calm, "I probably haven't conceived and we're worrying about nothing." She felt a knot form in her stomach. Knowing she shouldn't ask, she continued, "But if I did, why is the prospect of marrying me so dreadful? I know you don't love me the way you would a wife, but you seem to care a little. Is there someone else? If not, surely we would be able to rub along tolerably well. I swear I wouldn't plague you."

  He swore under his breath and put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. "It isn't that I don't care for you, Rebecca, or that there is anyone else," he said quietly. "The problem with marriage is..."