At least now with Blythe and Devlin in residence, Eleanor's reputation might yet be salvaged. Brahm had already dropped a few subtle remarks to the servants— and anyone else who would listen— about Eleanor's generosity in nursing him, and how it was very good of her to stay and risk her reputation when Devlin and Blythe's arrival had been so delayed. Whether it would do any good was beyond him, but he was certain that a woman like Eleanor would have no trouble finding herself a husband regardless of reputation.
A husband. The mere thought soured his stomach. No other man should be her husband but he. But he wasn't the right choice for her. He told himself that, even though her continued presence in his house, her support, and every gaze told him otherwise.
He was beginning to suspect that she might love him— and that hurt most of all. He would surely die if that was the case. If she loved him, it would make letting her go all the harder.
And he would let her go, because he was beginning to suspect that he loved her as well.
North and Octavia took their leave shortly after dinner. Octavia was tired, and North was anxious to get her home to rest. Wynthrope and Moira followed, and it wasn't long before Blythe was yawning as well.
"We are on country hours," the Junoesque redhead quipped as she took her husband by one large hand. "Please excuse us."
Grinning, Devlin rose to his full height of six and one-half feet and followed her from the room like a puppy. Sleep was obviously the last thing on his brother's mind.
That left Brahm and Eleanor alone in the drawing room. A fire crackled in the hearth to ward off the rainy evening's chill. The crackling warmth lulled Brahm into a sense of contentment, even though he had every reason to feel ill at ease.
She was starting to look too damn tempting in her low-cut blue gown. Her breasts lifted against the neckline with every breath. The ivory swells beckoned, made his fingers itch to touch them, his mouth water to taste them. He wanted her legs wrapped around his back, her husky voice crying out her love for him over and over as he plunged within her.
He wanted to drain himself into her. He wanted to kiss her and love her and demand that she marry him.
"I should go to bed as well," he announced, rising to his feet so quickly that his lame leg almost didn't support him. Fortunately he had his cane.
"Don't go." Eleanor rose as well, her face filled with anxiety. How could he explain to her that to stay would drive him insane? That he couldn't look at her without wanting her? He was so weak where she was concerned. She was more tempting, more sweet than any wine or spirit could ever be.
"I have to." But he only made it one step before she intercepted him, placing herself between him and the door.
"We need to talk," she informed him.
Standing this close, Brahm could smell her perfume. Her scent, heightened by the warmth of her flesh, filled him, made his head swim. She was spicy yet sweet, subtle yet bold. And every fretful breath made him ache to bury his face in her warm cleavage.
"If I stay," he warned her in a low voice, "talking will be the last thing we do."
She gasped, a welcoming, arousing sound. He had not made one improper advance toward her during this entire week. To be honest, he had been too sick for the first few days, but now his health had returned, and with it, his hunger for her.
Her gaze met his, wide and oh so inviting. "We can talk later."
For a second he thought she meant that he could go, but then she moved forward, closing the scant distance between them until her breasts were flush against his chest. Her hips brushed against his upper thighs. Lowering his head, Brahm breathed the sweet fragrance of her hair deep into his lungs. She shivered, and he hadn't even touched her.
She wanted him. Wanted him enough to instigate this encounter. Were he a strong man he might resist, but he was not strong.
He pressed his lips to the gentle indent of her temple. Her skin was petal soft and warm against his mouth. He did not stop there. His moved his lips lower, groaning in satisfaction when she tilted her head, offering her throat to him. He kissed the warm, delicate flesh there, breathing in her scent as though she was air itself.
She jumped when he tossed his cane to the floor, and her breathing quickened as he brought his hands to the supple arch of her back. Brahm did not lift his head, but instead, continued to nuzzle her neck. He gave in to the urge to run his tongue along her salty sweetness as he slid his palms around to splay her ribs. His fingers moved of their own volition as her hands clutched at his arms, squeezing his biceps. A wave of gratification washed over him as he cupped the gentle mounds of her breasts in his hands. Her breath hitched, warm and moist against his ear. He shuddered.
Her neck was not enough. Lifting his head, he gazed down at her. Wide blue eyes stared at him, dazed with desire. They were in such terrible danger, the two of them. He should let her go, order her to run to her room and lock the door, but there was no lock in this house that he didn't have the key for. She would not be safe from him while this need ran through his veins.
This
would not be denied by either of them.
Pink crept up her chest, washing over her neck. Brahm followed the flush with his thumbs, bring them up beneath the jut of her chin. His fingers splayed across her jaw and throat as he committed to memory every minute detail of her exquisite face.
She didn't move as she ought to have, didn't run or fight him as his mouth claimed hers. A low growl rumbled in his throat. She was so soft, so sweet and yielding. Her lips parted without resistance as he probed with his impatient tongue. She tasted of wine, sharp and tangy. The growl became a groan. Yes, the wine was sweet and tempting, but Eleanor was sweeter, headier, and far more dangerous to his well-being.
Her fingers gripped the lapels of his jacket, her knuckles pressing against the wool. The tension in her body reverberated through his. Could she feel the pounding of his heart against her breast? He could feel hers, the frantic rhythm that made him think of the way their bodies moved together.
God help him, this wasn't supposed to happen, but it was happening. His hands slid down and around to cup her buttocks, pulling her hard against him so she could feel just how badly he wanted her, burned for her. She pressed back, arching her hips so that the soft V between her legs met the hardness between his. Slowly she rubbed against him, making every nerve in his body tingle with the urge to possess her.
He lowered them both to the floor. The descent was far less graceful than he would have liked, the landing even less so, but Brahm didn't care. He fell onto his back on the rug. Eleanor sprawled on top of him, her skirt riding up around her knees, her thighs parted beneath the silk to embrace his. Her heat permeated the wool of his trousers, and his cock throbbed in response.
Their gazes locked. Her eyes were bright with need; her lips were red and moist. Her breasts, shoved over her gown and flattened against his chest, were dangerously close to slipping out of her bodice. She arched her back, shoving her pelvis down onto his, and her neckline deepened, revealing the soft baby pink crescents of her aureolas to his hungry gaze.
Mindless, Brahm raised a hand to that neckline as his other hand cupped her bottom, forcing her down on him as he lifted up. One demanding tug and her breasts were free. One impatient grab and her skirts were yanked up over her thighs, his hand eager to caress the flesh beneath.
Eleanor did not try to stop him, even though he was being rough. The smooth cheeks of her bottom rose against his hand, then fell again as she writhed against him, her panting breaths hot and sweet to his ears. Her back remained arched, thrusting her breasts toward his face. Her gaze was dark and hooded, and there was no mistaking what she wanted. He wanted it too.
His mouth captured one of her nipples, his tongue swirling against the puckered peak. She was hard and tight, and she shoved her torso against his mouth as her lower body undulated against his. He was so hard for her, harder than he had ever been before. He ached with the need to plunge into her. It terrified him, this need to have her, and yet it felt so natural, so right. He was powerless against it.
Brahm rolled them so that he lay on top of her. Bracing himself on one arm, he lowered the other so that his hand could slide beneath the bunched fabric of her skirts, eager to claim the delicate heat waiting there. His mouth returned to her breast, his tongue laving her pebbled, blood-hot flesh.
His hands found the ties of her garters as his teeth grazed the hard sweetness of her nipple. Eleanor moaned, bending to his caress. The thigh beneath his hand flexed as she dug her heels into the carpet, parting and tilting her hips in welcome. Her hands were in his hair, pulling at the strands, pushing at his skull as he sucked her. The more intense his attentions, the more fierce her tugs and whimpers became until she cried out in pleasure-pain.
The valley of her thighs radiated humid heat. Beneath her skirts, his fingers left the frilly lace of her garter to climb upward, finding the eager dampness on her soft inner thigh. His body leaped at the discovery, his cock aching to sink itself into the searing moisture his fingers now parted and stroked. Easily he parted her, his fingers drenched by her juices. He found the hooded hardness he wanted and stroked it lightly, teasing her with his touch.
Eleanor's thighs fell apart. Her skirts were up around her waist now, and she didn't seem to care. Her hips moved under his hand, shoving herself upward against his fingers. Under his thumb, the tiny crest of flesh grew tauter and slicker with every caress.
Releasing her breast from his mouth, he pulled back, lifting himself above her. He continued to stroke her, his gaze moving from her breasts, wet with his saliva, up to the beautiful flush of her face, and then down to where his hand and her body were joined. Glistening pink flesh beckoned. Her scent filled his nostrils, enticing him closer. Shifting his body, Brahm moved downward, until his head was level with her hips.
"What are you doing?" Her voice was low and slightly anxious.
Raising his eyes, Brahm met her gaze over her rumpled skirts. She looked so wanton lying there with her breasts free, the taut nipples distended and flushed. "Something I have wanted to do for quite some time."
Lowering his head, he nuzzled his mouth against her damp curls. Her hips jumped at the contact, and he smiled. He parted the succulent lips with his fingers, easing his tongue into the waiting folds.
Eleanor moaned as he licked the little nub that was so hard and slick beneath his tongue. Her thighs clenched at his shoulders as Brahm dined on her like an exotic dish that he could not get enough of. She shoved herself against him, soaking his face with her essence, her cries urging him onward even though he could scarce draw breath.
In his trousers he pulsed with need, and the urge to grind himself against the carpet until he found release was tempting, but he resisted. Instead he concentrated all his need and desire on Eleanor. He thrust his tongue inside her, licked her honeyed flesh until she was writhing and panting beneath him. Finally her thighs clamped hard on his arms and her cries of release filled the room as she shuddered around him.
He lifted his head and drew a deep breath, inhaling her fragrance once more before wiping the dampness away with her chemise. He sat up, turning himself ever so slightly away from her in an effort to cool the fire raging through his body. His head spun, intoxicated on her juices.
His body didn't want to cool, and the only thing that could quench this heat was the wetness between Eleanor's splayed thighs. Closing his eyes, Brahm prayed for strength. If he made love to her as he wanted to, he would expect it to mean that she had changed her mind about marrying him. He would leap to all kinds of conclusions— conclusions that might very well result in his heart being broken again.
"Brahm?"
He jerked his head around to meet her stare. She looked so fragile, lying there on the floor, like a discarded rag doll.
He smiled. "Yes?"
"Aren't you going to…" She made a gesture with her hand near her abdomen.
God, she was so naive still, so sweet and innocent despite her delicious sensual nature. He shook his head. "No."
She looked so shocked. "Why?" There was no denying the want— or the disappointment in her tone.
"I forgot myself," he replied, his voice harsh in his own ears as he drew her skirts down over her thighs. "In the future, we should take care that this kind of situation doesn't arise again." He wanted to take the words back as soon as he said them. He wanted to gather her into his arms and hold her forever and beg her not to go. He wanted to promise her everything that would make her stay. And God help him, he wanted to be the kind of man who could keep every promise.
"Yes," she whispered, averting her gaze as she sat up. Her hands shook as she righted her bodice. "I suppose we should."
Brahm swallowed. "I cannot be this close to you and not react to you, Eleanor."
Her gaze was unashamed as it met his. "I know. Neither can I."