A Kiss In The Dark (28 page)

Twisting about at the same time as he lunged forward, he caught the wrists of the person who held him and flipped them onto the bed beneath him, pinning the culprit to the mattress with the weight of his body.

“Tristan, please! It’s me!”

The frantic words suddenly registered, and he fought back the haze that clouded his head to find himself staring down at a terrified Deirdre.

Sucking in a stunned breath, he reeled back, releasing her wrists, as if burned. “God, Deirdre. Are you all right?”

“Y-yes. I think so.”

She didn’t sound at all certain, and Tristan felt his face heat with shame. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, putting his back to her. “I swear I didn’t know it was you. I was—”

“Having a nightmare?” He felt the mattress shift behind him, and a second later tentative fingers trailed down his spine in a caress that had goose bumps breaking out across the surface of his flesh. “I know. It’s the reason I came in here. I heard you.”

He winced. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to disturb your rest.”

“You didn’t. I hadn’t even gone to bed.” There was a heartbeat of silence before she spoke again. “You called out Emily’s name. Were you dreaming about her?”

Damn. The last thing he wanted to do was relive the awful visions that had plagued his sleep. But something about Deirdre’s voice, so quiet and understanding, invited him to confide in her, to share his burden, and he couldn’t seem to resist.

“I was back in the alleyway in Tothill Fields,” he said gruffly, reaching up to run a shaking hand through the sweat-dampened strands of his hair. “With my mother and the bastard who murdered her. He was laughing, holding a knife to her throat and daring me to try to save her.”

He swallowed in a convulsive movement. “I wanted to run to her, to jerk the knife away from that devil and plunge it into his gut, but it was like I was paralyzed. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t move. The next thing I knew, I was looking down at her body on the ground, her lifeless eyes staring up at me.” Pausing, he bowed his head before continuing, as if the words were being torn from him. “Then her face turned into Emily’s.”

“Oh, Tristan.” To his shock, slender arms suddenly wrapped around him from behind. He went still, his lungs seizing as he felt her lay her satin-smooth cheek against the wide expanse of his back. “I’m so sorry.”

It felt so good to have her touching him, comforting him. Cautiously lifting a hand, he covered hers where it rested on his chest, and he pressed it against his racing heart.

“All I can think about when I lay down at night is her. Wondering whether she’s cold or hungry or afraid. Wondering whether Barnaby Flynt has her.” He closed his eyes against a wave of pain. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose her, Deirdre.”

“You won’t.” As she spoke, her warm breath fanned against his shoulder blade, a feather-light gust of air that had his anatomy reacting in a predictable male fashion despite the best of intentions. He was very much aware that aside from the blanket twined strategically about his hips, he was completely, utterly naked—a fact that Deirdre hadn’t yet noticed.

“You’re not alone, Tristan,” she was saying, “and we’ll find Emily together. I know we will.”

He released his breath in a shaky exhalation. She sounded so sure, and damned if a part of him didn’t believe her. Why was it that he couldn’t seem to keep this woman at a distance? Every time he succeeded in pushing her away, she somehow managed to tear down his defenses and get close to him again. All with very little effort.

After what he had revealed to her earlier, he had to admit that he felt particularly vulnerable where she was concerned. Never before had he come so close to spilling out all of his most secret fears. Once they’d returned to her town house, he’d excused himself and escaped to his chamber to brood in solitude, needing some time apart from her to get himself back under control.

But control was the last thing on his mind right now. In fact, he was beginning to think it had all but abandoned him for good.

Extricating himself from her arms, he turned to look back at her. The instant he did, he realized it was a mistake. Gazing up at him with her soft, red curls tumbling down around her shoulders and her willowy curves subtly outlined by her lacy white nightgown, she was exquisite. The picture of temptation.

He gritted his teeth against a surge of lust and hitched the covers further up on his hips, trying desperately to think of a way to get her out of his reach before it was too late.

“I appreciate your assistance, Deirdre, but I’m fine now, and I believe it’s time for you to go back to your room.”

She must have sensed something from his tone, for she stiffened, her brow lowering. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you. For heaven’s sake, Tristan, you’re practically growling at me. Now, what is it?”

That did it. Lunging to his feet, he whirled to face her, making no attempt to hide his burgeoning erection beneath the drape of the sheet.

“All right. You want to know what’s wrong? The truth is, if you stay in this room for even one minute longer, I’m afraid I’m going to have to kiss you again. And this time I can guarantee I won’t stop at a kiss.”

Her eyes rounded, her jaw dropping as she stared at the glaring evidence of his arousal. One hand fluttering to her throat, she sat as if stupefied.

The silence stretched out between them for what seemed like an eternity. When she finally spoke, her words were barely audible, but Tristan heard them as clearly as a shout. “Maybe I won’t want you to.”

He knew what she was saying. He knew, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to hope it might be true. The urge to sweep her up and lose himself in her, to forget all of his worries about Emily while he plunged into her silken body was very strong. But he had to be certain it was what she wanted, too.

Striding forward, he caught her chin in his hand and forced her to meet his eyes, willing her to be honest with him. “Are you sure, Deirdre?” he prompted huskily. “Be very, very sure.”

She let out a shuddering sigh—and slowly nodded. “I’m more sure than I’ve ever been of anything in my life.”

He wanted her too much to question her decision any further. Without giving her a chance to change her mind, he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his own.

It was like coming home, just as he’d known it would be. And to his delight, she responded after only a second’s hesitation, her sweet lips parting under his. Leisurely exploring their lush contours, he savored her honeyed flavor before giving a low, rumbling groan and thrusting his tongue forward into the warm cavern of her mouth.

She accepted him with eagerness, her tongue meeting and twining with his in a sensual dance that started his blood pounding in his temples. By the time he finally forced himself to pull away long enough to draw in a much-needed lungful of air, his senses were reeling with the power of his desire for her.

Why had he been so determined to fight this? he wondered dimly, resting his forehead against hers for a brief moment. It all seemed so inconsequential now. To hell with society and his blasted aunt. And to hell with his feelings regarding her late husband. He had to have her or go bloody mad!

Deirdre felt adrift in a sea of never-before-experienced sensations. As Tristan turned his head to graze a soft kiss against the curve of her cheek, then moved on to nibble tantalizingly at the lobe of her ear, she forgot all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing this. He was sure to hate her once he discovered the secrets she’d been keeping from him—not the least of which was the truth about her marriage to Nigel—but if she could only have this one night with him, she was going to grab it with both hands. At least once in her life, she wanted to know what it would feel like to make love to a man she—

She pushed the thought away before she had a chance to finish it.

With one last brush of his mouth to her temple, Tristan suddenly drew back from her and stepped away from the bed. Letting out a cry of protest, she reached for him in supplication, afraid he’d changed his mind and didn’t want her after all. But he forestalled her words with the light touch of a finger to her lips.

Then, never taking his eyes from her face, he let the sheet that had been covering him drop to the floor in a heap.

A soft gasp escaped her as she let her avid gaze trail over his naked form. He was perfect, like some museum statue of a Greek god come to life. Firelight flickered over the rippling musculature of his chest and shoulders, the brawny strength of his arms, bathing him in an almost otherworldly glow. However, she couldn’t quite bring herself to look for too long at the part of him that jutted from the nest of curls at the juncture of his solid thighs. The sight of it made her feel decidedly light-headed.

Apparently pleased by her dazed reaction, a lazy smile flitted at the corners of his mouth as he moved back toward her with his usual fluid grace, his strides purposeful. Catching her about the waist, he lifted her from the bed and pulled her to him, fitting them together until there was not an inch of space between them.

Deirdre’s breath escaped her in a rush at the feel of his hard, strong body aligned so perfectly with hers. It was as if they had been made for each other, two halves of a whole that had been made one.

Swept up in the passion of the moment, her eyes fluttered shut as Tristan’s hand fisted in her long fall of auburn hair, gently tugging her head back to allow him better access to the creamy skin of her throat and the pulse that beat there. She felt the scrape of his teeth against the spot, then the moist flicker of his tongue, and she couldn’t contain a slight shiver of reaction.

“Dear God, Deirdre,” he rasped against her skin. “I’ve dreamed of this from the moment we met.”

The only response she could manage was a ragged moan. Clutching at his biceps for support as he continued to blaze a trail of fiery kisses along the indentation of her collarbone, she was lost in a state of blissful arousal, aware only of the pleasure he was making her feel. She didn’t even notice when his nimble fingers went to work on the buttons of her nightgown.

Until he shoved it from her shoulders and it slid down over her hips to land in a froth of cambric and lace about her ankles, leaving her clad in nothing but her chemise.

Her heart jolted and she made a restive movement, her sudden vulnerability cutting through the euphoria of Tristan’s touch. But before she could do more than offer a token protest, he took her lips again in a devastating exchange that swept aside any thoughts she might have had of possibly calling a halt to his lovemaking.

Palming the rounded sphere of her bottom, he pressed his hips against hers, making it impossible for her to ignore the hard ridge of his manhood. It nestled snugly against her feminine portal, setting off a rush of dampness between her legs and an unexpected throbbing at her very core.

“Do you feel that, Deirdre?” he murmured between kisses, outlining her lips with the tip of his tongue. “That’s where I want to be. Deep, so deep inside you that I’ll never find my way out.”

She whimpered as he slid his hands up her rib cage until his thumbs just brushed the undersides of her breasts. At the same time, he lowered his head to feast on their high, ripe curves where they mounded just above the low neckline of her chemise. Her nipples peaked in response, stabbing against the filmy material, and when he reached up to peel the straps of the undergarment down her arms, baring her to the waist, she didn’t try to stop him.

Through half-shut eyes, she watched him as he raised his head and studied her with an intense gaze. He was quiet for so long that she started to grow anxious. Was something wrong? Did she not please him?

Just when she was ready to tug free from his hold and cover herself in mortification, he spoke in a voice that was less than steady. “Lord, I knew you would be beautiful, but I never dreamed just how beautiful.”

Bending over her, he drew the pink tip of one breast into the scorching heat of his mouth.

“Ahhh.” Pure ecstasy shot through her veins, and she arched her back, gripping the back of his head with fingers twined in the inky black strands of his hair. Moving from one pale globe to the other, he used his lips and tongue to suckle and lave each until they were swollen and aching.

Then, in one smooth motion, he stripped her chemise the rest of the way off and swept her up into his arms to lay her on the bed. He followed her down, bracing himself with his elbows on either side of her.

She’d never felt so exposed in her life.

Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating the room for a minute, making it almost as bright as day. As Tristan stared down at the woman beneath him, he saw the hesitation in those green eyes, and it made his heart catch.

Reaching up, he brushed a stray wisp of hair back behind her ear before tracing his finger over the sprinkling of freckles on the bridge of her nose. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her, but he had to admit he couldn’t understand her show of uncertainty. She was a knowledgeable widow, after all. What did she have to be frightened of?

“Are you all right, darling?” he asked. “Do you want me to stop?”

In answer, the tension vanished from her expression and she reached up to splay her open palm against his chest. “No. Please. I’m fine.”