Conspiring with a Rogue (18 page)

What?

What the devil was he supposed to be saying?

“I want you,” she whispered. Her hands twined firmly into his hair, her mouth coming over his, hot and demanding. He opened his mouth and welcomed her, ready to plunder every part of her. Her taste struck him to the core. She was honey and strawberries, just like Whitney.

His heart tripled its beat, leaving him gasping for air. A suspicion rose, so unfathomable he was sure he must be losing his grip on sanity. Wishful hoping was what he was experiencing.

“You want me?” His voice came out ragged, rough, confused, confounded.
Damn.
He untangled her stroking fingers and gripped her shoulders. “Say my name, and I’m yours.”

Flecks of gold and green danced in her widening amber gaze. He remembered those flecks. He’d stared into the eyes a thousand times. It could not be a coincidence.
It could not.

Should he laugh or cry? Had he driven himself mad? He trailed one hand down to her breast and cupped the soft, warm flesh. She moaned, and every instinct in him triggered to awareness. He stroked her already hard bud. Each pass over her taut skin made him harder until pleasure mingled with pain. She moaned again, a sound he recognized at once.

Still, disbelief made him cautious.

“
Say my name,” he demanded gruffly. He
had
to hear her voice again.

She met his gaze, her face flushed with desire, her eyes slumberous. “What shall I call you?” Her question was breathless.

“
Drake. Nothing but Drake.” He kissed her hard, sweeping in and claiming her again, wanting to know he was wrong, praying fervently he was right. He trailed kisses down her neck.

“
Drake,” she moaned. And again.
“Drake.”

His heart tripped and picked itself up once again.

The voice was unmistakable.

How many nights had he dreamed of holding her in his arms, taking her, making her his?

He swooped his arms under her legs and held her pressed against his chest.

“
Oh, my,” she gasped. She’d forgotten to use her accent.
Silly woman
. He wasn’t crazy after all. Questions pounded through his mind, invaded by emotions. He strode to the bed, each step closer a dance along a fine line of desire and anger, relief and disbelief. None of it mattered for the moment.

He tossed her on the bed, none too gently, but not so hard as to hurt her.

She wanted to play games, did she? He shed his clothes swiftly and loomed over her before she could even right her headdress which had tipped perilously to one side.

“
Ah, Jezebel.” He dipped his head and took her rosy bud in his mouth. He’d dreamed of this moment too many times to remember. She bucked underneath him, but he refused to let up, to offer quarter. He lavished attention on one nipple, then the other, his body molten fire by the time he came up for air.

She panted beneath him, squirming to get closer. That she wanted him as much as he wanted her was like a salve to the wound she had created.

“
You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever touched,” he said, meaning every word. A smile graced her rosy lips.

He splayed his hands over her thighs and spread them wide.

She bucked and tried to rear back, fear widening her eyes. “What…what are you doing?”

He smiled as he danced his fingers down to the warmth and heart of what made her a woman.

“
I’m going to entertain you with every wicked pleasure I’ve ever learned.”

“
Oh, my,” she murmured, roses flaming on her cheeks.

With care, he touched the silken hair that covered her secret place. Her knees came together, but he stilled her movement with his hands before trailing back between her thighs and slowly circling a finger over her nub, until she writhed on the bed, her head tossing back and forth.

He moved his fingers faster, wanting her to beg for release, for him to enter her. Desire threatened to take his thoughts, but he held to one.

She would speak the truth before he took her and marked her as his.

Her eyes flew open, and her hands closed on his arms. “Please,” she whimpered.

God, he had never needed or wanted as he did at this moment.

He had to have her.

Now.

Surely, one truth would be good enough until later.

He came between her thighs, sliding just inside her warm, moist body, the pleasure making his heart take off at a thundering pace.

“
Please,” she cried again, desperation tingeing her words.

Her innocence stopped further entry. The cry of relief escaped him before he could stop it.

He needed.

He wanted.

Sweat dripped down his forehead.

Her nails dug into his arms. “You must…you
must
take me.”

“
I will, my love.” He would take her. He would claim her. And he would never let her go again. She had come back for him.

“
Now. Please.”

Yes, now. If he waited another minute, he would explode. “Admit it,” he said raggedly.

“
Admit what?” she returned just as raggedly.

“
Admit you’re Whitney.”

Whitney struggled to take a deep breath and calm her quaking nerves. Drake’s hard body pressed against her, within her, stole her senses and her strength. Had he truly just asked her to admit who she was? Not possible. She was an excellent actress.
Aren’t I?

His gaze bore into her, pleading, demanding. She absolutely, under no circumstances, could admit her true identity.

“
Whitney, please,” he begged, pressing his hips against her in a wicked fashion that sent a million sparks to her core.

She could not respond. She had to stay strong and mute. But her hips―no, her entire body burned. She would die soon if she did not move just the tiniest— “Ah!” She thrust her hips against his pelvis, eliciting a growl from him in response.

Her nails dug into his slick flesh. So much for being mute and not moving—treacherous body. She rocked herself again, pleasure and aching need pouring through her veins. She throbbed everywhere. If he would not complete the act, she would. She wrapped her legs tightly around his body and surged her hips up toward him, but his hands halted any forward movement.

“
No.” He shook his head. “Not until you admit who you are.”

She could not do that. She could not give him proof.
Can I?
Her mind was a muddled mess. If she could just…She wiggled a bit and―
ah.
The pleasure hurt so good. One more wiggle. Her insides contracted and clenched. She gasped, smiling as his sharp intake of breath mingled with hers.

She gripped his arms to pull him to her. She had him just where she wanted him. He’d take her now, even if she blurted she was Wentworth. She was in control. “Take me,” she demanded.

“With pleasure,” he said, a wicked smile stretching across his lips.

Her breath came in a ragged gulp of expectation.

But then he slid out of her.

The loss of his heat, of the way he fired her blood from the inside out, left her cold and in desperate pain. All the blood in her body was between her legs, pulsing and needing him. “
Please.”
She no longer felt in control. She felt desperate.

He lowered his head to her breast and suckled, slow and then hard, and then harder.

She could not stop her head from thrashing back and forth, nor could she think what to say.

“Say your name.” His husky voice washed over her before he moved away from her body, thrust her legs wide and set his tongue to her—dear blessed God! She arched up at the unexpected contact.

“Whitney,” she moaned, not caring about the consequences, only caring about fulfillment.

His mouth left her. His body moved between her legs. Warm fingers grasped her buttocks, lifted her hips, and he drove inside of her.

“
Whitney!”
she screamed for good measure, her need for him a ravenous greed.

He yanked off her headdress and flung it away. He withdrew almost to his tip, and then he came into her in one long, hard thrust. She cried out—
or was that him
?

He moved, and she moved with him, surging forward as he slid in and out of her. His hands slipped under her back, and he rolled backward and lifted her on top of him. She straddled him as he moved her up and down his length, each stroke sending jolts of tingling sensations from her insides, up her abdomen to every part of her body. This was better than anything she had imagined.

She braced her hands on his ches and then ran her fingertips over his slick skin. The power of the muscles underneath her fingertips shocked her. His scent of musk surrounded her. She wanted all of him for as long as this moment would last. Their gazes met in a silent acknowledgment of what was to come.

His thrusts grew faster, building a pressure inside of her that would surely kill her. Her own body moved frenziedly, grinding against him in relentless need. God. She
needed
.

But what did she need? “I…I don’t know,” she cried.

“I do.” He rolled her onto her back and slid slowly in and out, until his sharp breaths matched his fast thrusts. The friction drove her wild with need.

How did he know exactly how to undo her? He was the most brilliant man alive. She pressed her mouth to his, tasting whiskey and sweat. Her entire body shuddered, then burst from within as his arms locked around her and he drove into her one last time with a deep, guttural cry.

He collapsed on top of her, his heavy weight pressing down on her, making it almost impossible to breathe. His hot, steady breath caressed her neck and hissed in her ear. She did not mind a bit. She ran her fingers through his thick hair and down the hot skin of his back. Taking a deep breath, she faced the knowledge that she would never have this moment with him again. Her body still tingled with pleasure, but her worries pressed in like a dull headache, growing stronger with each breath until her head felt as if it would explode from all her frantic thoughts. She buried her face against Drake’s warm skin, but contemplations pounded through her, refusing to go away.

This might have been their wedding night.

The future could have held so many possibilities.

To think this had all been set into motion because of Mrs. Blightson’s vindictive nature. The woman had not been happy to just destroy Whitney in the
ton
by spreading Whitney’s tragic past. She wanted to destroy Whitney completely. Well, she’d done it. There would never be happiness without Drake. She didn’t care that she was an outcast, a leper, unacceptable and disallowed to almost all
ton
homes. But she did care that her past would destroy the man she loved.

Drake wanted no debts to anyone, and now the debt of his happiness, his future, was hers to bear for him. Hot tears slid down her cheeks, rolled down her neck and settled in her hair. She sniffed, and he lifted his head up, his gaze probing her soul where she could never let him see. He bent his head and pressed his warm lips to hers. She let him, because she could not resist tasting him one last time.

He brushed her tears away. “I love you.”

Stupid man. He was going to make her cry harder. She inhaled deeply to stop the threatening tears. “You’re crushing me,” she managed after a moment.

A look of disbelief passed over his face before he rolled off of her. He sat beside her, scowling down at her. “Did you hear what I said?”

She swallowed her fear. “I heard you. Your declaration is very sweet, but not necessary.” Self-loathing twisted through her, but she forced herself to continue to hold his gaze.

“What the hell do you mean, not necessary?” He rolled off the bed and stood.

She sat up and wrapped her arms tightly around herself to ward off the nausea rolling through her. She prayed this would be done quickly, for his sake and hers. God, he had not changed a bit. He still paced like the devil when agitated. She followed his prowling movements. This was her only chance to memorize exactly the way he looked naked, and she was taking it.

He stopped, jerked his hand through his hair and faced her. Her body was a treacherous fiend to want him now, when the only way to truly save him would be to destroy any lingering love he held for her.

Drake stalked toward her and stopped at the foot of the bed. He dropped down to his knees, his eyes void of anger. “I love you. I deserve answers. Where have you been? By what we have just done, I assume you are back for
me
. That you love me
too
. That you intend to explain
everything
.”