Irresistible (25 page)

"I'm a soldier, puss, and this is a war we're fighting. I have to go. But you've no need to upset yourself over me. I'm remarkably hard to kill."

She had to deliberately take a steadying breath before she could speak.

"So you'll put me on a boat at dawn and then you'll ride away. Just like that."

His eyes narrowed, and he lifted her hand, pressing it against his cheek. She felt the warmth of his skin and the prickly abrasion of his unshaven cheeks with every fiber of her being.

"It will cause me some regret, I must admit."

He kissed her palm, warm lips moving against soft skin, then abruptly stood up. He would have released her hand, but her fingers tightened, clung.

"Hugh…"

"It's still some five hours till dawn. You should get what sleep you can."

"I don't want to sleep." She said it swiftly, instinctively, but even as the words left her mouth she knew they were true.

She looked up at him, looming above her now, the candlelight casting shifting shadows over the chiseled planes and angles of his face, seeking out the red highlights in his black hair, emphasizing the hard masculinity of his mouth and chin. His eyes were narrowed and dark as he looked down at her, and his thumb stroked almost unconsciously over the fingers he still held. Her gaze traveled down the whole long length of him, over the broad shoulders and wide chest, the strong arms, the narrow waist and hips, the powerful thighs. Just looking at him took her breath away. Remembering how it had felt to lie in his arms, her heart skipped a beat. The thought of how his hands had felt on her breasts caused her body to quake somewhere deep inside. When her gaze touched his mouth, curved now by a twisting smile, and she remembered how he had kissed her, her bones seemed to melt. Shaken, she tore her eyes away— and accidentally met his gaze. His eyes were black as onyx now, but in their depths she thought she saw tiny leaping flames a thousand times hotter than the candle they should have been reflecting. Her knees began to tremble. She registered the sensation with amazement.

Never in her whole life, she realized, had she felt the way she felt with Hugh.

The wantonness that had so shamed her, the wantonness that she could not quite stamp out no matter how hard she tried, the wantonness that was apparently an integral part of her nature, had reared its head again, and her heart quickened along with her body as she faced the truth.

She could not go home to England, to the sisters she loved, to her barren life with David, without ever having lain with Hugh.

Taking a deep breath, she mustered all the courage she could find, and grabbed for the one thing she had suddenly realized she wanted above all else.

"It's wrong, I know," she said steadily, her eyes holding his. "But— if we need not part till dawn, I would ask you to stay with me tonight."

Chapter 20

His fingers tightened on hers. The tiny twin flames in his eyes flared, then were as quickly hidden by his lowered lids as he looked down at their joined hands.

"If you're wanting to while the night away with pleasant conversation, I'm not able to do that, I'm afraid." His voice was courteous but distant. He looked at her again, and the flash of heat was gone. His expression was coolly remote.

She took a deep, steadying breath and willed herself to stay the course. His resistance was unexpected; she'd thought all she would have to do was give the slightest indication of willingness and he would tumble into bed with her so quickly she wouldn't have a chance to take a deep breath, much less change her mind. But here was the opportunity for second thoughts— all she had to do was follow his lead in pretending that they both didn't know very well what she'd really been asking for— and she realized that she didn't want to change her mind. This was what she wanted— he was what she wanted— and she would fight for him if she had to. He was giving her no encouragement at all— other than that brief flare of passion she was sure she had seen in his eyes. But she knew— she
knew
— he felt the connection between them as strongly as she did. Something was holding him back. What? Honor? Chivalry? The thought of the man she had not long since considered a black-hearted scoundrel being deterred by either should have been humorous, except she had since learned that the villainous rogue was, at heart, very much a gentleman. Too much a gentleman to bed her? He had shown no discernible reluctance when he had kissed and caressed her on the
Nadine
. Of course, then he had been operating under the presumption that she was very likely a trollop and a spy. Now he was accepting her for the lady of quality she was, and it might be that which was giving him pause. To her, it didn't matter. For once in her life, she knew what she wanted, and she meant to do her best to get it.

But getting what she wanted required courage of a sort that she had never before had to ascertain she possessed. The courage to state plainly what she was asking him for and thereby suffer certain embarrassment and even, possibly, rejection. Her stomach knotted. Her heart quaked. But she took her courage in both hands and looked him squarely in the eyes.

"You know very well that conversation's not what I want." If her tone was a little blunt for seduction, well, making such a statement was difficult for her. Never before in her life had she been the one to make the running after a man; always, always, men had fallen at her feet at her least glance.

His lips twisted into the slightest of wry smiles. "Angel eyes, I'm not sure
you
know what you want."

"I do. I do." She wet her suddenly dry lips and said it right out, boldly: "I want you to lie with me. I want to— to…"

Despite her determination, words failed her at the end, and she blushed.

He looked her over for a moment in silence. His jaw tightened, and a tiny muscle began to jump at the corner of his mouth. She saw those as signs of resistance, and felt her cheeks grow hotter. He seemed to be on the verge of saying no. Her blood drummed in her ears and her stomach sank as she watched him. He seemed to be steeling himself against her. Then suddenly the flame in his eyes returned, only now it burned so hot and so bright that there was no mistaking it for anything but what it was. Still he hesitated, making no move to come any closer, or to draw her to him. His fingers were rigid as they held hers in a grip that she suspected would be unbreakable if she tested it, but she wasn't testing it. She didn't want him to let her go. Not now. Not ever.

"You don't even know the words."

There was the slightest edge to his voice. She could feel the tension in his hand, see the rigidity in his stance. His eyes were blazing steadily at her now. Whatever was keeping him from her, it was not lack of desire, she could tell. Men had been looking at her like that for most of her life, and she knew what those leaping eyes meant.

But this was the first time in her life she had ever truly desired someone back.

"Intimate congress," she said. "I want to engage in intimate congress with you."

It was a throaty whisper, because her throat had almost closed up from the embarrassment of being so explicit, and slightly defiant in tone.

He made a sound that was part laugh and part groan. "God, you are so young and so sweet you break my heart."

The heat in his eyes scorched her face, and his fingers tightened almost painfully on hers. Yet still he looked oddly irresolute, standing there with his eyes burning her everywhere they touched and his body as still as if he'd been turned to stone.

"Claire…" There was a world of warning in the way he said her name. Claire's gaze met his and clung as he continued, his voice now husky and very low. "Puss, think well. I would crawl over a sea of hot coals on my hands and knees to climb into bed with you, as I suspect you're very well aware. But you— tomorrow night, you'll be safe at home in England with your husband and family. I don't want you to do something in the heat of the moment that you're going to regret, maybe for the rest of your life."

She rose to her knees, her hand clinging to his, uncaring as the modesty-giving quilts fell away. Awkward on the too soft mattress, hampered by the trailing end of her nightdress, which got caught up beneath her knees, she moved toward him. He caught her other hand to steady her, then held both her hands in a tight grip that, she thought, deliberately kept a modicum of space between them. They were still some few inches apart when she stopped. She was kneeling before him clad only in the loose white nightdress, her black hair streaming like a whisper-soft cloak over her shoulders and down her back, her eyes fixed on his with a whole world of longing in them.

"My only regret," she said softly, "would be if all we had was this one night and we didn't do this, and then I went the rest of my life without ever wanting to be with anyone as I want to be with you."

His breath caught, and his eyes as they moved over her face blazed so hot that they seemed to sear her skin. His hands flexed as if in involuntary reflex, and then his fingers twined with hers. Claire felt the warmth and strength of those hands, the slight abrasiveness at the tips of the long fingers imprisoning hers, and imagined them touching her. At the images that conjured up, she felt a shivery anticipation that at any other time would have made her hang her head in shame.

But not tonight. Not with Hugh.

"Now that," he said, his voice grown faintly unsteady, "would be a shame."

Then he gave up his unwinnable fight. Claire knew the moment he did, because his mouth twisted as if in defeat and his eyes flashed at her like black diamonds. Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest as she watched his head bend toward hers, slowly, as if he would give her one last chance to call a halt if she would. But she would not. This was what she had wanted, dreamed of, for years. To have the question answered: What was it that her body longed for? What did she yearn for instinctively without really knowing what it was? The thought that Hugh had the answers was tantalizing, tempting her beyond what she could bear. The fire that had leaped at her from his eyes had entered her blood, and now she was burning too, aflame with need. The wantonness that she had done battle with for years took up arms again, and this time she didn't even try to fight it.

Her head tilted up in heady anticipation. Her lips softened and parted before his ever touched them. When at last they did she quivered and closed her eyes, loving the firm warmth of his lips, the way his mouth moved gently on hers, the sweet invasion of his tongue. He tasted of wine, and she guessed that the men had been drinking while she was upstairs. It was a soft kiss, a lover's kiss, and the wonder of it made her ache. But she wanted more, much more, so much that she felt almost greedy with need. He lifted his head, looking down into her eyes with an expression that combined desire and tenderness in a way that made her head spin.

"I want you more than I have ever wanted a woman in my life," he said. For all the passion that darkened his face, his expression was also faintly— was it rueful?

"So take me." She managed the tiniest of smiles. The ruefulness vanished, and he looked down at her almost gravely. Then he bent his head again as if in answer and took her mouth.

This time, the kiss was not nearly so gentle. His mouth slanted over hers, hard and demanding, and she loved the fierceness of his kiss. The rasp of his unshaven chin against her soft skin made her toes curl. Claire swayed against him, making a little sound like a moan deep in her throat as his tongue slid between her lips. His mouth was hot and wet and demanding. His tongue touched hers, stroked it, coaxed it to come out and play. She responded mindlessly as he taught her more about the fine art of kissing, and the result was all she could have wished for. She put her tongue in his mouth, and felt her loins tighten. She touched his teeth, the roof of his mouth, his tongue, just as he was doing to hers, and felt the tightening turn into a quake. She stroked his tongue with hers, and the quaking intensified until her insides were reduced to pure jelly and she had to free her mouth from his to breathe. But the temptation of his long hard mouth hovering just inches above her own was too much to be borne, and within seconds she was kissing him again, greedily, pressing her mouth to his and eagerly employing the lessons he had taught her.

During the course of that kiss, she rediscovered that his chest was firm with muscle and radiated heat, and that when she pressed close against it her breasts seemed to tingle and swell. His thighs were solid and powerful against the curving slenderness of hers. Above them, pressing into her stomach, she felt a bulging hardness. As she identified it as the tangible evidence of his desire for her, her throat went dry.

She felt almost dizzy with the sheer pleasure generated by the contact of their bodies. When he let go of her hands to wrap his arms around her waist, then pulled her closer yet so that she was plastered right up against his body from her knees to her breasts, the sensation was so intense that she almost forgot to breathe. She could feel the warmth of him, the steely strength of his muscles, the steady beat of his heart, and each, separately and together, made her head spin. Sliding her arms around his shoulders, intoxicated with the sheer sensuous pleasure of running her hands along their well-muscled width and then touching the silk of his hair and the warm satin of the back of his neck, she locked her hands behind his neck and kissed him back with abandon.

When he lifted his head at last, she opened her eyes. His face was close, so close, and he was breathing as if there were not enough air in the whole world to fill his lungs. His eyes were heavy-lidded and hot as he met her gaze.

"Your kissing has improved out of all recognition."

The huskiness of his voice did not match his crooked smile. He was trying again for a certain lightness, she thought. But the intensity of the emotion that shimmered between them would not be denied.

"My tutor is very good." She, too, replied lightly, but her eyes stayed fixed on his, and her lips, parted and tremulous, gave her tone the lie.