Celine (18 page)

“Now.”

He sighed and dropped his hand. “I wanted to tell you what happened last night—when you walked into the stables.”

She stared blankly at him.

Uncomfortable at not being able to read her, he shifted his weight. “Nothing happened, Celine. Nor would it have, whether you'd walked in or not. I . . . I don't know what was wrong with me, why I did what I did. Lately, I can't figure out much of anything I do. I was angry over—” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Over something that never actually took place. I've never before been possessive of another. I . . .”

Struggling with his words, Trevor took in a heavy breath and shoved his hand through his wet hair. “I only know that after Giselle and I went to the stables, the whole idea of what we'd gone there to do—including the woman I was with—disgusted me. All I could think of was you and the time we'd spent together that morning. I'd had too much to drink, I was jealous, and I was angry, but I was calling it a night when you walked in.

“Don't you see? Nothing could have happened, because you were all I saw. Then you walked in. I knew how awful everything looked, and I felt guilty ... angry. After you left, I told Mrs. Beaudrée that I never wanted to see her again. I saw to it that she was properly escorted home.”

He hesitated, but still she said nothing, only stared at him with a turquoise gaze so deep his heart ached.

“I can't blame you at all, Celine. I . . . damn, I made a fine mess of the wonderful morning we shared, and I ruined the ball you so looked forward to all this time.”

When she still said nothing, a haunting pain tore at his gut. “Celine, please understand. I am sorry, so damn sorry.”

She brought her arm out from under the covers and slowly ran her hand through his hair, mirroring his previous movements. “It was nothing.”

His heart slammed against his chest. He closed his eyes and heaved in a deep breath.

Even with his eyes closed, he saw nothing but the vision of her lying there by the fire. And then other visions beckoned. The magical moment he'd first laid eyes on her mingled with their erotic encounter in the kitchen pantry. Tinkling laughter echoed in his memory along with a vision of her floating upon the waters the day he'd left for New Orleans.

He raised his eyelids and drank in the beauty of her face in all its sweet surrender. He watched, hypnotized, as turquoise flames deepened until they became languid, beckoning pools he fought to resist.

Self-control won out over the desire that coursed through him. His breathing labored from the strain of forbidden hungers firing his blood. Gently, he removed her hand and tucked it back under the covers.

He smiled down at her and spoke softly. “I know I'm a bit wet, but I was waiting for you to go to sleep before I disrobed. Close your eyes and get some rest, if not for yourself, then I beg you, for my sorry sake.”

Celine must have dozed. For how long she did not know, but she felt Trevor move silently away from her. Opening her eyes, she watched as he took great pains draping her clothing around the fireplace. He seemed so understanding, so caring, much as he'd been in the hayloft. Familiar, yet ... different.

Then she remembered. Another stormy night, and equally attentive ministrations. When the façades were down, when there was a real need, he would be there—compassionate and tender.

Lightning and thunder shook the small house. But Trevor was here and she was safe.

Trevor, with his back to her, disrobed. She knew she should close her eyes, but she could not. He removed his drenched shirt and draped it on the fireplace, used the bootjack to rid himself of his boots. His soaked breeches and unmentionables came last before he dried himself with the tablecloth he'd used on her.

For the first time in her life, Celine was seeing a man naked. Firelight danced across broad, muscled shoulders and flickered along smooth, hard flanks. A heated wanting pricked at her womb. Her heart tightened in her chest. Her lungs no longer accommodated proper breathing.

If this was all she could have of him—one night—she didn't want any regrets. And she wanted her memories. They were hers to take now.

He must have sensed her because he turned from the waist. “Celine.” Her name floated through the air in a bubble of troubled emotion.

She watched him, unblinking.

He turned back to the fire and groaned. “Don't look at me that way.”

The crackling of the burning logs and the steady drum of rain were his only answers.

“God help me, I don't want to take advantage of you.” His voice was filled with pained exasperation.

Still, she was silent.

He moved to the pallet. Her eyelids did not so much as flutter as she stared at him. He knelt by the makeshift bed and touched her cheek. Bending forward, he kissed her gently on the forehead, and reached to stroke her hair. He ran his fingers, ever so softly, from her ear down to her chin, over the curve of her lips, caressing them.

The way he touched her, as if he found her fragile, the way he gazed at her through heavy lids, the way his breath fell rhythmically on her bare skin, unleashed a spontaneous urge in Celine, and charged her with an electricity as powerful as the lightning outside. She slipped her arms around his neck and tried to pull him to her.

He stopped her, lifted her arms away. “Don't, Celine. I cannot help myself—”

“Trevor?”

He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Yes,
ma petite?
”

“I want you to make love to me.”

He sucked in his breath. Fierce eyes, filled with a blend of fiery intensity and painful questioning, studied her. “Do you know what you're saying?”

She touched a finger to his upper lip, traced the arc of his mouth, and nodded. “I've wanted you since the moment I saw you step from the carriage. But I haven't been true to my own feelings, not once since we've met. And tonight I desperately need you.”

With a small groan, he stretched his naked body the length of her blanketed form and relaxed his weight onto her.

Boldly, she returned to the task of tracing his lips with her fingertips, pressing into them now and again to test their sensuous fullness. She remembered how skillfully he had used them in his first attempt to seduce her.

“You asked me if I know what I am saying, and the answer is yes. But if you were to ask me if I know what I am doing, in all honesty, I would have to answer no. I haven't the faintest idea what I am about to get myself into. But I am perplexed enough to quit fighting this ... this feeling I have for you is very much like a sickness. I know of only one way to be healed.”

A deep shudder rippled through him. His breath quickened against her skin. He drew very still for a long while, absorbed in studying her.

Whatever he was thinking created an energy that emanated from him in throbbing concentric waves. He grew incredibly hot against her skin.

Long, tapered fingers laced themselves through hers. Slowly, he withdrew her hand from his lips. His mouth, lush, warm, and soft, found hers.

A moan escaped his lips. Thick lashes closed over eyes shimmering dark with an incandescent flame. His riveting kiss plunged deep into her being. She inhaled his scent, the animal heat of him, and her heart nearly burst.

His hand left hers, came to rest along her cheek, teasing the corner of her mouth while his lips still covered hers.

Such a slight movement was this, but what incredible delight it brought.

He made to pull the blankets back. She clutched at the covers, surprised by his intentions, suddenly frightened at the enormity of what she was about to do. “I . . . Trevor—”

He frowned. “You weren't married long, were you?”

She shook her head.

“How many times did your husband make love to you?” His voice was tender, but throaty.

She cast her eyes downward.

Gently, he nudged her chin up with his fist, holding her closer in a gesture of security. “I think you know, don't you?” He blew a soft kiss in her ear.

“Four times, I think. Perhaps five.”

“And did he ever kiss you the way I do?” Slowly, he pressed his full, sensuous lips against her muffled answer.

“No.”

She gasped when his hand slipped under the covers and he caressed her leg before moving to the soft inside of her thigh. His fingers traced along her sensitive flesh and cupped between her thighs.

“And did he ever touch you the way I have ... the way I will?”

“No,” she moaned and tried to pull his hand away, but he persisted until his fingers came to rest on her dampness.

He paused, not invading her, but gently moving his fingers in small, hot circles, capturing the velvet of her until her legs vibrated with exquisite currents of pleasure.

She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out, shut her eyes tightly against her crumbling emotions. She wanted to pull away, to move closer, to reject him, to never let him go.

A cry from deep within her private world let loose. She buried her fingers in his hair and called out his name. Her hips moved against his hand, her body quivered in his hold, longing for some unknown, singular release.

“You were both virgins?” His hand came back up and around her hip, squeezing and caressing her with a gentle rhythm that matched the pulsating currents galvanizing her being. His quickened breath fell hot upon her mouth.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“He never even saw his bride naked, did he?”

“No . . . no.” Her hips flexed involuntarily.

Sliding his teeth over her bottom lip, he sucked its fullness into his mouth and gently slid his tongue back and forth, teasing her. Delicious sensations ran through her in places she'd never known existed. Soon, he was sure to drive her mad.

“Ah, so much better this way. Don't you see,
ma petite?
No pain, only pleasure such as you have never known.” He buried his head into her neck again and murmured and kissed her, trailing his tongue around in circles, blowing gently against her skin.

He let the blanket fall back on her chest and stretched out against the bundled length of her, then pulled her close. “Relax,
ma petite,
like in the loft.” He swept his mouth over her forehead and wrapped his other arm around her, massaging the back of her neck until her tension slackened. “I want to touch every part of you. I want to taste you. I want to make you understand how utterly beautiful you are to me.”

She nearly wept at his words and didn't resist when he gently loosened the covers from around her and slid in beside her, enfolding her against him. When his hot nakedness rocked against her, when his hard arousal pressed against her stomach, all thought dissipated.

Another wave of passion gripped her. His hand slid down the arc of her back and over the swell of her hip before his mouth came down upon hers once more, drugging her with his aching tenderness.

She tasted his honey sweetness as his tongue traced her parted lips, then plunged between them. He pulled her tighter against him, his hand rocking her hips gently into his. Her nails slid the length of his back, and up again to tangle in his hair. She heard her own sighs and moans mingle with his husky murmurings.

His mouth trailed down her neck, to her breast, as his hand slid along her skin, coming up under the swollen mound, cupping its roundness into his mouth. His lips closed around the tip. He sucked quick and hard.

“Oh!” she gasped, as mindless sensations screamed through her. She was now all but powerless against his skill.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then opened his own slightly, as if to inhale her essence. He breathed deeply, erratically now.

Lifting his head, he gazed into her eyes, taking in the torrid emotions churning up from the depths of her soul. Soft laughter rumbled through his chest. “Didn't I tell you that just beneath your surface lies a passion you cannot control?”

He kissed the tip of her nose, then closed his teeth over her chin, nipping playfully, surprising her with the explosive arousal his act provoked.

“I know what you are feeling, Celine, because I am caught up as well. There is lust and fire and a gnawing hunger so bad inside you, it has to be fed, or you will be driven mad.” His tender lips and hot breath swept over her face, barely grazing her skin as his throaty voice formed the potent words that left her senses both reeling and strangely flourishing.

She didn't answer him, but drew a hand up to feel the beat of his heart, burrowed her fingers through a cluster of dark curls, kneaded the muscles on his chest.

A deep desire to know what he felt when he touched her urged her onward, and the nails of her thumb and forefinger closed over his hardened nipple, duplicating what he'd done to her with his teeth. She let go and ran her hand down his back, pulled his hips to hers. A shudder flickered through his flanks and stomach, twitching at his male arousal. His quick, ragged intake of breath betrayed him.