He inhaled softly, the disasters having come in stages he didn’t want to think about either. He nodded. “You choose which one.”
“The one where you knock on the door.”
His mouth turned up slightly at the corners. “Your favorite.”
“You asked,” she said, not quite able to read his tone. “Would you rather do yours?”
He shook his head. “I like that one too.”
She tipped her head faintly, her gaze on his trousers. “I can tell.”
He chuckled. “They were all my favorites. What the hell happened to us?”
She could have told him the truth-that aside from any number of adjunct disagreements he hadn’t been ready to think of marriage… not really, although they’d talked about it since they were young. “I felt like traveling,” she said, lightly instead, rising from the bed and moving toward him. “But right now, Captain, I can’t let you in,” she murmured. “It’s very late, and I’m alone in the house.”
The words were like a line from a song, forever etched in his memory and he answered as he had so many times before, “Forgive me, my lady. But I have my orders to bivouac here.”
She clutched the front of her nightgown, holding it tightly at her neck. “Surely… there… must be… some mistake.”
The hesitation in her voice was exactly the same, innocent, winsomely appealing and he felt the same surge of desire he’d always felt when he heard it “I’m afraid there’s no mistake. The campaign has moved this way and we’re in pursuit…” His voice trailed off.
She didn’t find it difficult to mimic apprehension; he was gazing at her with naked lust. “I… don’t know… what to say.”
“Forgive me. But my orders are plain.”
“If you insist on coming in… you must stay… in the parlor.”
“Of course. You needn’t fear, my lady. You’re completely safe.”
“Thank you.” A faint smiled played about her mouth and she nodded at his partial nudity. “You’re ahead of me.” She waved her hand in a small circle as though moving them along. “Would you like to dry your coat by the fire?” Her voice had reverted to her actress intonation.
“If I may…”
She turned and made a pretense of placing his coat by an imaginary fire, her breath in her throat
He came up behind her like he had so many times before; she could feel the heat of his body, the hard length of his arousal pressed into her buttocks. As she shivered at the sudden flaring heat, his erection moved and swelled against her.
“I’ve been on campaign for weeks,” he whispered, lifting her hair from the back of her neck, the coolness a signal memory from the past. “I haven’t seen a woman for so long…”
She stiffened in anticipation.
And then he bent his head and touched his mouth to the nape of her neck.
So light a kiss shouldn’t have made her so frantic, so covetous and eager. It hadn’t always. Not to this staggering degree. Please, please… now, she wanted to say. I can’t wait another second.
But he whispered, “I’m sorry, my lady. I shouldn’t have done that.”
And for a flashing moment she wasn’t sure what was now and what was then. But he’d stepped back, like he was supposed to and she turned to him. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she breathed, her agitation plain.
He took her hand and rubbed it across the front of his trousers, so she could feel the breadth and length of his desire. “You have to,” he said, not caring if this was fantasy or reality, knowing why he was here.
She jerked her hand away.
He didn’t move, although he’d quickly scanned the room. “You can’t go anywhere,” he whispered. “I won’t let you.”
Inundated by carnal longing, she drew in a sharp breath. “Because you’re-the captain.” She’d almost said My captain, but caught herself just in time.
He’d heard the minute pause, took note of the altered wording, resolved to change it back again now that he’d found her. But he uttered the expected words in order not to frighten her. “You needn’t worry, my lady. No one will know.”
“Your troopers will know.”
“Not unless I invite them in. Would you like me to?”
“No… no-no.”
He saw the uncertainty in her eyes, heard it in her breathy reply. “Are you sure? They won’t touch you.”
“You said you wouldn’t touch me.”
“I haven’t yet.” His voice turned silken. “Not really.”
Her skittish gaze glanced downward to the bulge in his crotch and her voice when she spoke, was almost inaudible. “There’s more?”
“Invite me in and I’ll show you.”
“You are in.”
“In here,” he murmured, touching her mons, slipping his fingers downward, forcing the soft linen of her gown into the moistness of her vulva. “Lift your gown,” he ordered. “I can’t feel you.” His dark eyes held hers. “And I want to.”
“No… no-I couldn’t… I can’t-my family would disown me. I’m betrothed to the local curate.”
His gaze was half-lidded; his fingers buried in her cleft were damp from her wetness. “I won’t tell the curate. He’ll never know.”
She shook her head. “He’ll know. Truly, he will.”
He stroked her gently, the fabric of her nightgown slippery under his fingers. “I’ll be gentle,” he whispered. “You could have lost your virginity riding.” He brushed her mouth lightly with his. “You ride don’t you?”
She quickly nodded, her thighs pressed tightly around his hand, her breath coming in short little pants.
“Lift your gown, my lady… for me.”
Temptation in the wilderness or in a small English hamlet or in a governess’s room under the eaves. Unable to resist, she closed her fingers on the fabric of her gown, bunched the skirt in her hands, and slowly lifted it.
“That’s a good girl,” Simon whispered, stroking the smoothness of her exposed belly. Sliding his hand downward, he nudged her thighs apart and slipped in one finger palm deep. “Ummm… you’re a very good girl. Have you let your curate feel you all wet and juicy like this-have you?”
She shook her head, not meeting his gaze.
“So I’m the first man to touch this?” He stroked her liquid flesh. “I think you could take more than one finger, couldn’t you?” he whispered, probing her slick passage.
She should say no to such cool self-possession; she shouldn’t be so shameless in her need-so insatiable. And if she weren’t aching to feel him deep inside her, she would.
He touched her cheek. “Answer me.”
His dark, seductive gaze further incited the scandalous throbbing between her legs. He was too beautiful. That was the problem. She craved him for his beauty alone. “Yes, yes… yes,” she said, her voice sounding as though it were someone else’s. Someone ignominiously in rut; someone who would have lain with him anywhere.
And when his second finger eased inside, she whimpered and squirmed, the penetration quickening her senses, adding urgency to her carnal longing.
“Am I hurting you?”
The sound of his voice drifted through her seething hysteria, but she couldn’t find the breath to speak.
Her overwrought passions were answer enough; he forced his fingers deeper. At her breathy sigh, he felt her muscles contract, felt the slick lubricant of desire flow more profusely. She was ready for sex, more than ready and without asking permission, he added a third finger. Slowly exerting pressure, he penetrated deeper, stretching the verges of her vulva until his third finger was fully submerged.
She moaned, shuddered, uncontrollable desire vibrating through her body.
He looked up. “Relax, darling…” And when she did, he jammed in a fourth finger.
She gasped, delirium washing over her in heated waves. “I don’t want to play anymore,” she panted, reaching out, stroking his erection. “I want this.”