A Woman Scorned (37 page)

“Shush, Jonet,” he whispered gently, holding her gaze as he encircled her waist and lifted her heavy hair over her shoulder. More gently this time, Cole pulled her tight against him and pressed his damp erection against the softness of her belly. Opening his mouth against her throat, Cole allowed himself the luxury of drinking in the warm smell of her skin.

In his arms, she still quivered with feminine anticipation, her hands coming up to spear eagerly through the thickness of his hair. “
Please
,
Cole!
” she begged. “Just don’t stop.”

Cole slid his lips around the curve of her jaw and up to find the dampness of her temple. “I won’t,” he said softly. “I just want to take you to bed, darling. Let me love you properly. Not like this.”

Finally, Jonet pulled away to look up at him, her tongue slicking a layer of moisture across her full bottom lip, and his breath caught hard in his throat. Between them, his erection bucked hard against her belly. Sweet heaven, the woman was going to drive him insane.

“Then come with me,” she said, and pulled him toward her bed.

Jonet was perched on the edge of desperation. She rolled to one side of the bed and dragged Cole’s big body with her. He reached for her then and pulled her close, placing one warm, heavy hand over her breast in a sweetly possessive gesture. “Oh!” she said softly, mouthing the word as her greedy fingers sought him again. Cole’s erection was thick and smooth, and as she stroked him up and down, a pearl of moisture appeared at the tip. She watched it, mesmerized, as a fog of sensuality clouded her brain.

Suddenly, Cole was halfway on top of her, tearing her hand from his shaft and bracing on one elbow to stare down at her. Eyes open wide, he kissed her again, lingering more tenderly this time. Then, very deliberately, he took her hand and pulled it to the moist curls between her legs. Guiding her fingertips into her secret place, he languidly began to rub them back and forth, guiding her with his hand until she began to arouse herself.

Then his hand left hers, and Cole sat back on his haunches and watched. Expectantly, she looked up at him. “Oh,
Jesus
, Jonet,” he said hoarsely. “Just don’t stop. Please.”

Emboldened by his urgency, she did as he asked, becoming quickly lost in the sensation of self-arousal, and helpless to do anything save gasp for breath. Cole watched her every motion, his eyes wide in the lamplight, the muscles of his sinewy throat working up and down as his breathing became rapid and shallow. Quickly, Jonet’s own dew slicked her fingers, and then her palm, until she was arching off the bed and crying out for him.

Mercifully, Cole straddled her then, his thighs bulging, his gaze hot and focused. Shoving her thighs wider apart, he looked deep into her eyes and grasped himself with one hand. Jonet twisted restlessly atop the covers. Her skin was on fire. Was he
never
going to give her what she needed? “For God’s sake, Cole—!” she finally managed to gasp. “
Just do it!
”

Cole spread the palm of his hand flat against her mound, and with his long, elegant fingers, spread her wide to take him. With his other hand, he guided himself to her opening, and thrust partway in. A moment later, the mindless fog cleared sharply.
Merciful heaven
,
but he was a big man!
Jonet sucked in her breath on a gasp, but it was far too late. Cole braced himself high, then rocked back his hips and drove deep. One stroke. All the way.

Jonet did scream then, a little cry of pain and pleasure, but Cole seemed not to hear. His arms drew taut, their muscles bulging as his spine arched. He threw back his head to reveal the grim set of his jaw and eyes that were squeezed shut. Cole shuddered once, drew in a deep breath through nostrils flared wide, and then stroked her deep again. And again. It had been a long time, but the perfect strokes and knifing pleasure quickly overcame any discomfort. Instinct grabbed hold of Jonet, and her hips tilted up to take Cole deeper still. He settled into her, his rhythm strong and deep and infinitely comforting.

For a time, nothing broke the stillness of the room save for Cole’s harsh, rhythmic exhalations and the gentle creaking of the bed. Across the strong bones of his brow, a damp sheen appeared, and Jonet hungrily inhaled the scent of his soap and his sweat. Urgently, Jonet lifted one leg to wrap it high around his waist, moving with him as he drove into her. It wasn’t enough. She craved more, needed to curl around him, crawl inside him. Like a cat, she twisted and snaked until her belly brushed his and her fingers clutched his buttocks, the nails digging into his flesh. And still, Cole pounded himself into her in that perfect, timeless cadence, his expression tight with control, his hair framing his face in a shimmering curtain of gold. At last, Jonet gave herself over to it, reveling in the long, heated strokes of his body inside hers, her breath coming out on a sigh.

“
Ah
,
Jonet
,” Cole whispered, finally opening his eyes, his gaze piercingly clear. “I always feared that you were the stuff of which dreams are made.”

He stroked her again, a little higher this time, and the fusion of motion and words unleashed something wild inside; something she thought had long since stilled. It was more than that glistening edge of pleasure that always tantalized; it was a deep and abiding joy, a singing of her soul. Jonet arched high against him again, and again. And then one last time, her spine drawn tight as she urged herself hard against the thickness of him. When she came, it was in an explosion of rapture and light. She clung to him for dear life as all about her the world splintered, leaving her only vaguely aware of Cole’s incipient climax.

In that moment, nothing, but nothing else mattered to Jonet. All that had happened, all the pain and horror that had gone before, simply ceased to exist, and there was nothing but Cole Amherst, his head again thrown back, the corded tendons of his neck straining, and his hips working feverishly as he pulsed and drove and spilled himself into her womb. Cole stroked her deeply one last time, then fell forward, taking his weight onto his elbows and staring down into her face. And then, his eyes dropped shut and he kissed her lips, gently, almost reverently, his mouth soft and pliant, his lips half parted.

“Ah, Jonet,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe. “I do love . . .” He stopped and swallowed hard. “I do love how you feel beneath me.” Gently, he rolled away, taking her with him and burrowing deep into the covers. With one arm, he encircled her and drew her snugly against him. They lay there in silence, simply staring at one another through eyes that were slumberous and sated, until the beauty of his face simply became too much to bear, and Jonet was forced to shift her gaze away from him. She stared up into the bed hangings, seeing nothing.

Oh, what a fool she was! Jonet had irrationally hoped that if Cole bedded her once, her fascination with the man would cease. He’d still been hard and throbbing inside her when she had begun to realize what a mistake that had been. The thought that a man—particularly this man—could bring her such peace and joy seemed suddenly frightening. She had wanted him with something akin to madness, yes. But surely she could not
need
him that much?

Most certainly, Cole did not need her. Oh, she had given him great pleasure, Jonet was not naïve enough to think otherwise. But surely the intensity of what they had just shared was . . . almost
ordinary
to some people? People who felt a true passion for one another?

Jonet did not know. But she knew that this was her fault; she had pushed Cole into a situation he had honorably sought to avoid, and now she would be punished for her greed in the worst sort of way. By continuing to want what she could not have. Making love with him had assuaged nothing; it had merely taken the edge off her lust. And as she stared down at the hard wall of his chest, watching as his breathing deepened into the rhythm of sleep, Jonet realized that it would be a short-lived relief.

Throwing one arm across her eyes despairingly, she rolled a little away from him and onto her back, as if the distance might help. It was only then that she realized that Cole was not asleep. His hand snaked out to pull her back. “Please don’t leave me,” he murmured, his drowsy voice edged with desperation. Jonet wanted suddenly to cry.

Cole immediately sensed the sudden tension in Jonet’s body; it was a blade of bittersweet pain slashing through his languorous warmth and masculine satisfaction. Perhaps his request had been too familiar, too demanding? Perhaps
he
was the one who was expected to leave? He had given her what she had begged for—and left her well pleasured in the bargain, he proudly acknowledged. But perhaps Jonet was now done with him. Slowly, he levered up onto one elbow to stare down into her face.

She did not look as if she was done. She looked . . .
lost
. Lightly, Cole smoothed one hand across the silken skin of her belly. Inside, she had been as tight as a virgin, and though she had carried two children, her figure showed no sign of it. His breath catching at the thought, Cole wondered what it would be like to feel his child stir inside her. He knew he should not think such things, but tonight he’d had a taste of her, and his emotions still ran too wild and feverish to control.

But Jonet was too thin, really, to bear a child. Just now, it would not be good for her. The stress of the last several months had taken a toll on her body as well as her mind. Yes, it would be far better to wait until Jonet was well, and then to hope for . . .
Merciful God—what was he thinking?

It was as if she could read his thoughts. Languidly, she rolled her head to one side and stared at him through eyes that seemed deceptively heavy and sated. “What would you do, Cole, if I were to become with child?” she asked softly, her lush lips forming the words he could not bear to hear. “Would you, I wonder, do what you always do? Would you do the right thing?”

Still stroking her belly, Cole’s hand froze. “Jonet, I thought you said—”

“I did. I won’t.” Her gaze left his as, lazily, she let her fingertips trail through the dusting of hair that ran from his chest to his belly, and then lower, until his traitorous manhood stirred to her touch. “But you are ever the gentleman, Cole,” she continued. “Would you be a gentleman for me, Cole?”

Cole had the strangest impression that her languor was feigned; that somehow, Jonet cared more about his answer than she wished to admit. Nonetheless, it could not—
would not
—alter his response. He reached down to snare her hand in midstroke, drawing it to his mouth to lightly kiss her knuckles. He could not bear to look at her.

“Jonet,” he said quietly. “I cannot believe we are having this discussion. You are speaking of marriage. I could not possibly marry you, and you would never be so foolish as to marry someone like me.” Gently, he dropped her hand and slid his fingers into the dark mass of her hair, to push it away from her high, aristocratic forehead. He wanted to bend his head and slide his lips across the curve of her jaw, down her throat, and lower still. He wanted to make love to her again—but this time with his mouth and with his hands, openly giving her what little he did have to offer. In short, he wanted to do whatever it might take to somehow alleviate any pain that his plain words might have caused.

But Jonet did not appear to be in any pain. Her face was smooth and emotionless. Illogically, he felt a stab of disappointment. “Of course you are right,” she said evenly. “But you are a delightful lover. Thank you for sharing a part of the evening with me.” She turned her head on the pillow, her lips curving into one of her wicked, mischievous smiles. “And for giving in to a lady’s whims with moderate grace. Can you find all your clothes, do you think?”

Her dismissal could not have been more gentle, nor more cutting. Was that what he had been?
A lady
’
s whim?
Well?
Well—?
What the devil had he expected? Reluctantly, Cole pulled his fingers from the tangle of her hair, rolled to the edge of the bed, and began to dress in silence.

He kept waiting for her to reach out and touch him. He kept hoping that she would retract the words she had so coolly spoken, and plead with him to return to her bed and hold her in his arms until dawn. That, to Cole’s way of thinking, had been an inherent part of their bargain, the most integral part of
making love
. Anything less was just
having sex,
and there was a big damned difference to him. But Jonet said nothing, and Cole was once again left feeling bitter and a little used.

Well. It seemed that they had simply had sex after all.

He could hardly complain. It wasn’t as if Jonet had taken him by force.
Ha—!
He’d been hot, hard, and ready to shove up her skirts since the first day he’d met her. Indeed, he hadn’t even liked her—and he’d
still
wanted her. But now, Cole had discovered that, most of the time, he liked her tremendously. That he loved her always. And that what he now wanted to do was to make love to her until the day they nailed his coffin shut.

But he had been a fool to come here. He had always known that it would be a mistake to touch her. Her reputation as a
femme fatale
was justly earned. And in his wild anger and uncontrollable passion, he had completely forgotten about Delacourt. He had lain with a woman who, by rights if not by God’s ordination, belonged to another man. He had forgotten, too, about Stuart and Robert. Just as he had ignored his own family duty, he had ignored his duty to Jonet’s children. The disappointment and despair began to twist in his stomach, sickening him.

If Jonet’s sin was arrogance, his was surely selfishness. He had wanted her, and so he had simply taken her, sparing no thought for the consequences. That she had offered herself—indeed, pushed herself upon him—made not one whit of difference. And now, her question haunted him. What if she
did
become with child? It had been irresponsible of him to simply take her word that she would not. What would he do? Implicit in her question had been the suggestion that she would wish to wed him. But undoubtedly that remark had been casually made, born of that sweet, drowsy sense of intimacy that inevitably lingers in the aftermath of good sex.