Crimson Rapture (45 page)

Justin
suddenly saw she truly had not known. Ignorant and innocent. The long wait for
her had not been attended by frightened apprehension or reluctance. No, this
was her fear and apprehension and reluctance staring him in the face, bare and
real and unconceived, and so much worse because of it.

"I'll
repeat myself," he said in a carefully controlled voice that he didn't
feel. "Do I have to carry you kicking and screaming to my bed?"

She
couldn't move, not a step, and she just knelt at the bedpost staring at him
stupidly.

Justin
wasted no more time and swept down upon her, lifting her into his arms. He
carried her the short distance to his bedchambers, pushed open the door, and
set her to her feet before the fire. Wordlessly, he shut the door and then went
to his bed to begin undressing.

Christina's
gaze darted around the one room in the house she had never seen, seeing
everything and seeing nothing. It was larger, larger than hers by thrice as
much and looked at once enormous and spacious and ever so masculine. The fine
furnishings—a long clothes closet and chest of drawers, sitting table and
chairs, an impressive desk, and the huge four-poster bed—all were polished and
hand carved, and everything—the heavy velvet curtains, the patchwork quilt and
the rich tapestry rugs were dark shades of blue, greens, and gold. Lamps on
either side of the bed threw soft light into the room. A fire in the wide brick
hearth danced hungrily and though she felt its heat burn on her bare legs, she
shivered uncontrollably.

He
could not bear to kiss her and yet he thought to consummate their marriage; the
thought repeated itself over and over until she imagined an ugly scene that
contrasted dramatically with memories she cherished: he would hold her down, no
kisses or touching, just— "Oh Justin, please." Her hand went to her
mouth and she started crying as she shook her head. "I can't bear
it..."

Justin
stood slowly to his feet. She could not be this desperate and distressed by the
thought of his touch that she would plead with him. Yet he was staring at her
tears, a slight trembling of her bare form beneath the shirt, the way she
hugged herself to stop from totally succumbing to an obviously enormous fear
sweeping over her.

Where
was the Christina who fell laughingly into his arms? Where was the Christina
who once whispered to him that she wanted to spend all day kissing him just to
see if it truly was an insatiable desire she felt? Where was the woman whose
unexpected passion met his own time and again? And, God, what had he ever done
to deserve such fear and loathing?

"Your...
ah, reluctance is obvious, Christina," he first said and decided suddenly
that he needed a drink. He went to a cabinet and poured brandy into a glass.
"But let me explain something. You're my wife and I will have you tonight.
Pleading, tears, not even a goddamned army could dissuade me from my intent. Is
that understood?"

Christina
swallowed and nodded, a growing numbness saving her from any more
demonstrations of the extent of her desperation. Numbness that would enable her
to go through with it.

Justin
took the brandy whole, then poured another and brought the glass to the bed. It
was set on the nightstand with an angry clink. He removed his boots and shirt
and then watched her eyes quickly find the floor as he shrugged from his
breeches. He almost laughed out loud. As virginal as if it truly were their
first time. He suddenly didn't care, didn't care about anything except
awakening her to what she had forgotten. And he would not make it easy for her.

He
tossed his breeches to a nearby chair and then sat down on the bed and leaned
against the headboard to watch her. He took a sip of brandy. "Do me the
favor of undressing yourself."

Her
eyes shot up at the cruelty of this but one glimpse at his brass stare, the
evidence of his desire, and they lowered quickly. With pained apprehension, she
glanced around for a place to hide.

"Not
a chance. Stand where you are. And, Christina," his voice mocked her,
"don't make me repeat myself."

He
watched her hands tremble as she undid the buttons of his ridiculously large
shirt. She finally freed herself from the garment but held it tight in front of
her to cover what he'd have shown.

"Drop
it."

The
shirt fell to an unnoticed heap at her feet. She crossed her arms over her self
and the red-gold hair tumbled past her hips.

Justin
drew a sharp breath. Like Botticelli's Venus. He knew then his judgment was
clouded. She could not really be this beautiful. He swallowed his brandy whole
and gave his last order. "Come here."

She
moved slowly to the bed until she stood in front of him. For a long moment she
felt his gaze studying her and she waited helplessly. She expected to be
lowered to the bed and for him to be done with her as fast as such a thing was
possible.

A
lone tear fell over her cheek, dropping onto her hair.

Justin
sat up and swung his long legs over the side of the bed so that she stood
between them. He reached for her hair and brushed it behind her back. Taking
her hands in his, he brought her arms to her side, leaving her bare and
vulnerable to his gaze.

"My
God," he whispered under his breath, "you're even more beautiful than
I remembered."

She
stopped breathing.

He
traced his hand lightly over the faint line that remained from her attack and
he remembered the whispered promise they made as lovers, "Never let me
go—'Never!" Then his hand found another line on her breast, small and even
fainter, the only remnant he could find of the fact that she had bore him his
son. Bound together forever and at least for this one night he would make her
his again.

Justin
gently brought her to the bed. His gentleness brought her eyes open with a
question but he only partially understood her confusion.

"No,
Christina," he replied as the long length of him came partially over her.
"This will not be over quickly."

She
didn't understand what was happening. He rested his weight on his elbows on
either side of her head, staring down at her. His thumbs lightly caressed her
forehead, a small gesture but intimate and, yes, loving. She held her breath
and kept her eyes closed, still braced for something worse than unpleasant.

Justin
could have lost himself then and there. His senses filled with her lavender
scent, the incredible softness of her slender form beneath him, all of which
created a maddening battle for some control. But he would have her slow and at
any cost to himself. As his hand lightly explored the contours of her face, he
lifted partially from her to savor the sight of her unclad beauty waiting for him.

She
felt devoured by his gaze, his gaze alone, and it was all she could do not to
cover herself from him. It was becoming clear that he didn't intend the
scenario she imagined but what he was intending seemed even worse. He would
awaken her; he would stretch his lovemaking and force her open and vulnerable
to him, just as he made her stand before him like that. He knew she could not
resist his touch, not ever, not even knowing his hatred toward her. He would
take possession of her—mind, body, and, soul—only to casually, cruelly discard
her when he was through.

She
could not let him do that.

With
a knowing smile, Justin watched the beckoning lips thin to a hard line, the
sudden look of determination set on the delicate features. He had expected it.
"You would try to resist me, Christina?" he asked as his hand slowly
followed his gaze.

She
bit her lip and opened her eyes to see his expression of gentle mocking. She
couldn't bear it. She closed her eyes again and turned away but he stopped her
movement.

"I
thought I explained it all once or twice before," he whispered against her
ear as he came over her. His lips lightly brushed over the contours of her
face, along the long line of her neck. She shivered, squirming slightly as
though in discomfort. "You can't resist me. I won't let you." His
fingers lightly traced over her lips, teasingly, waiting for them to open.
"I'll never let you."

Her
lips parted with a small pained gasp and then he kissed her. It was as the
first. Gentle and tender, his lips barely brushing hers, but after one taste of
her sweetness, he wanted more. The kiss deepened, then lingered teasingly, then
deepened again. And like the first, it was her undoing.

One
kiss became another and another.

The
taste of her! He could not get enough, and as his lips left hers to travel
along her neck and back again, he began working her body as a sculptor works
clay. Gentle but not, caressing, exploring, slowly taking his time to prove his
point. She cried out softly, succumbing to a sea of sensations his hands and
lips brought her. He forced the whole of her body to race toward that promise
of ecstasy, a promise she knew was but a momentary prize before certain defeat.

What
thoughts she had of resisting were banished. He allowed her no thoughts. He
pursued his pleasure with seemingly the sole purpose of possession. Complete
possession. Whether an hour or two or none passed, she could not think to know.
She only knew when she could not bear this exquisite peak of agony a moment
longer, when she felt the first tremors of ecstasy and her arms pulled him to
her as she called out his name.

His
wait was over and he answered her cry, joining her to him in the timeless way
of a man and a woman. The first feel of her nearly ended him but still he
stretched his love, nearly dying a hundred times as he watched and felt the
intensity of her response, his own in turn, and finally her ecstasy that at
first seemed unwilling to stop. Then and only then did he lose himself to her,
the intensity of it leaving him momentarily weak and dazed and stunned.

Justin
rolled over, not for a minute willing to let her go. He brought her with him.

Just
as shaken, if not more so, Christina buried herself in him. He could not hate
her and make love to her like that! It was not possible she knew. She could
feel his love, feel it, and even if he did not forgive her now, he would do so
soon. He had to, for his heart would force him.

The
force of her love swept through her and left her shaking softly with tears. She
fought for words to beg him to forgive her; words that would explain
everything; words that would declare the truth—that she couldn't go on like
this any longer, she loved him and desperately so!

Suddenly
Justin tensed and shifted as though shocked, and she instantly reacted with
fear.

No,
he could not do that to her!

He
lifted her face to him. Tears and fear. Before and after. He just stared as the
reality swept through him in a wave of anguish.

When
was he going to get it through his head?

With
wide anxious eyes, Christina watched as he swung out of bed and quickly pulled
on his breeches. The warmth left with him and she was suddenly shaking. He
turned back to her and, without a word, he lifted her into his arms, through
the hall, and into her bedroom, setting her onto her own bed. She stared in
disbelief, as still without a word he turned to leave.

He
stopped with his hand on the door handle. "I'll not bother you again,
Christina," he vowed softly.

She
was desperate, more desperate than she had ever been or ever would be.
"Justin!" she cried through tears, "how... how could you do this
to me?"

He
looked back. She sat on the bed, her knees tucked under her and her hands
clasped as though with desperate prayer. The long hair, tousled and wild
looking, covered her nakedness and her eyes were wide and misty, and filled
with all the pain he brought. She never looked so beautiful.

A
hundred different replies came to his mind but they could all be reduced to the
unfortunate fact that he loved her. Loved her so desperately at times—

He
did not finish the thought. He turned away and shut the door. She collapsed to
the bed and with all the tears her young heart could afford.

* * * * *

Christina
sat on the window seat in the nursery with her legs up and staring blankly on
to the front lawns. The day after the storm showed small signs of winter's
final rest, though she noticed none. By all accounts the winter had been
unusually mild for Boston and already it was warming by degrees. No morning
frost covered the expansive green lawns. The sun shone through scattered
clouds, reflecting back the sky and trees and lawn in puddles; everywhere there
were puddles.

She
was remembering idly how, as a young girl, and without the luxury of a looking
glass, she used to stare into puddles after a rain and wonder if she was pretty
or no. Her father caught her at it one day and harshly cautioned her against
any such exercises in vanity. She never did it again.

Her
father... Strange how the older she got the more he changed in her mind's eye.
Ever since Justin. She wondered if any man could stand alongside Justin and be
favorably compared. Probably not.

Little
Justin's ball rolled to her and she absent-mindedly rolled it back. Justin
laughed with delight and did it again. So the game began. Five minutes later he
was bored and turned his attention back to his blocks. Christina returned to
the window.