Dark of the Moon (29 page)

When his hand found her breast, closed gently over it with only the thin cloth of the loose nightgown between his flesh and hers, she clung to him more tightly, trembling, while his hand fondled her, seeking out and stroking the quivering nipples until they thrust urgently against the confining gown, aching to be free.

"Caitlyn . . ."He lifted his hand from her breasts. Her eyes opened to meet his, and she could see the battle that raged inside him. Her misguided warrior still sought to fight the urges of his own body and soul. . . .

"I love you," she whispered. His eyes clouded, and his mouth descended on hers again, hungry and yearning. His hand found the buttons at the neck of her nightgown, undid them with unsteady fingers, and slid inside. Caitlyn's heart speeded up until she thought the pounding of it would beat her to death from within. His fingers slid down over her collarbone, over the first swelling curves of her breast to close over the whole, cupping and squeezing and fondling until she was squirming on his lap, delirious with need, on fire for more and still not knowing exactly what more was.

"Let's have this off you, then." He was standing up with her, putting her down so that her bare feet touched the cold planks of the floor. For an instant he steadied her against him while her swimming senses sought to orient themselves. Vaguely she was aware of him bending to catch the edge of her gown. Then he was lifting it, pulling it over her head and throwing it aside to land in a crumpled white heap scarcely visible amidst the shadows that shifted along the floor. She was left to stand revealed before him, gloriously naked and trembling, while his eyes moved over her, an expression in their strange light depths that weakened her knees and shook her heart.

Her hair fell over her shoulder to tumble below her waist, partially veiling her from him. He lifted an unsteady hand to tuck the errant strands behind her ears, smoothing the silken tresses so that they flowed down her back. Still he stared, transfixed by the sight of her, long-limbed and slender, pale as the moonbeams that probed the ceiling, as elusively lovely as the night itself. Her masses of raven hair exactly matched the silky triangle between her thighs. Her high, firm breasts with their pink puckered nipples gleamed in the darkness. Her eyes gleamed too, soft and mysterious and liquid with love as they searched his face. He stared at her, and she turned her head, pressing her lips to his hand where it rested against her ear. He trembled, reaching for her, pulling her close. Her eyes fluttered shut and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

His breathing was fast and shallow as he lowered her to the bed, coming down hard on top of her, their feet still touching the floor. His much greater weight sank her deep into the mattress, her thighs parting of their own accord as the cradle of his hips wedged between them, the wool of his breeches abrasive against her softness as he pressed himself to her. The sensation made her head spin. She caught her breath in a little gasp, and he pressed himself against her again. She could feel the heat and hardness of him, swollen taut and straining against his breeches, rubbing against that part of her that was open and vulnerable and aching for him. She cried out, moving wildly beneath him, her breasts lifting to thrust mindlessly against his linen-covered chest. He was still fully dressed, and it drove her wild. She wanted him naked, as naked as she. Her hands tangled in his shirt front, yanked. The shirt popped open with the sound of flying buttons. She stroked his chest, ran her fingers over the muscles, touched the flat nipples.

"Oh, Jesus, this goes too fast." His mutter was thick and tormented as he bent his head to her sobbing mouth, kissing her with a wild, shaking passion while his hand slid between their bodies to fumble with the buttons on his breeches. At last he was free, pressing hotly against her. Caitlyn cried out, the sound muffled by his mouth, her back arching and her nails clawing at his chest as he probed at her softness, found the hot liquid center of her that throbbed and burned and ached for his possession. With a sudden, uncontrolled thrust he breached the opening, entering a scant inch or so before catching himself and holding back. She could feel the trembling in his arms as he fought to exert control.

"Connor . . ." His name was not more than a breath whispered into his mouth. Her hands clenched on his shoulders; her body moved urgently beneath his.

"I don't—I don't want to hurt you." The words were so hoarse they were scarcely intelligible. Then, as if the thought were father to the deed, he groaned and thrust, hitting her maidenhead and thrusting again, convulsively.

She cried out, eyes flying open, caught by surprise by the pain she had not expected as he broke through the barrier to embed himself deep inside her. Sweat beaded his brow, dripped from his jaw. His eyes when he opened them at her cry were hot and glazed. He saw her pain, saw her teeth sink deep into her lower lip, and shuddered before he clutched her close again, his eyes closing as he arched over her.

"I'm sorry. Sorry," he whispered against her neck. But he did not stop, could not stop, thrusting into her again and again with a hungry violence that was everything she had ever suspected the darker side of a man's passion might be. With any other man, she would have been terrified, horrified, repulsed, and disgusted. She would have fought, screaming and clawing, to be free of this pain that threatened to rend her in two. But this was Connor, her love.

He would never harm her willingly. This savage act was what men did to women all over the world, from the be- ginning of time. He had warned her against it, tried to protect her from it. It was the price she had to pay for belonging to him, and she was willing to pay that price. For his pleasure, she would endure pain. Twining her arms around his neck, she shut her eyes, gritted her teeth, and held him while he sweated and pumped and groaned. By the time he was through, spending himself with a wild cry before collapsing, panting, on top of her, the pain had subsided to a dull ache, and she was able to perceive that she would be able to endure this man-woman thing again. For Connor.

Only for Connor.

He lay atop her for long moments afterward while she stroked the sweat-damp back of his neck beneath his hair. Finally he lifted his head to look at her. She met that look and smiled at him rather tremulously. He groaned again, shutting his eyes as if the sight of her pained him.

Then he withdrew and rolled off her, taking her with him so that she was cuddled against his side, her head on his shoulder, her arm resting on his hard waist just above the opened breeches.

"I should be shot," he said through his teeth, his eyes still shut. His arm tightened around her. Looking up at that lean, dark face, Caitlyn saw his eyes open to slant a look down at her.

"I'm sorry, so damned sorry. I just couldn't stop, or exert any control at all. I never meant to hurt you."

"It . . .it wasn't that bad. Really." He looked so angry that she had to reassure him. Timidly she stroked his chest. The hairs felt rough beneath her fingertips, the skin itself warm and moist. His jaw clenched.

"It wasn't that bad," he echoed with a grim laugh. Sitting up, he leaned over her, shirt gaping open, to drop a kiss on her mouth. "My own, I have bedded dozens, no, scores of women in my life. And not one of them has ever said to me afterward, 'It wasn't that bad.' "

"Well, you see, I love you, so that likely makes a difference." She said this so seriously that he could only stare down at her for a dumbfounded moment. Then he laughed again, the sound as grim as before.

"What will it take to make you believe that making love is usually very pleasurable, I wonder? For the woman as well as the man. God forgive me, I should never have taken you at all, but since I did I should have used more care. I've been wanting you so much, for so long. ...

I forgot you're scarcely more than a child. I can only blame the whiskey—and you. You went to my head as much as the spirits did. But I should have gone slow, should have prepared you.

The next time, I promise you, it won't hurt. You'll like it. 'Twill get better and better, until you're begging me to make love to you at every opportunity and I'm fighting you off night and day till I'm worn to a bone."

She looked up at him with doubt plain in her eyes, clearly unconvinced.

"I promise," he said. She eyed him. He studied her for a moment, then got to his feet.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting undressed."

"Oh." She sounded as uneasy as she felt.

He suited the action to the words, shrugging out of the shirt she had all but destroyed and sliding out of his breeches. Sitting up and wrapping the uppermost quilt around herself, Caitlyn watched with some trepidation and more interest as he sat down on the chair in the corner of the room to roll off his stockings. Though the shifting darkness obscured much detail, she could see that he was magnificently made. Broad shoulders and muscular arms tapered down into a wide chest roughened by a V of dark, curling hair before tapering still more into narrow hips and a muscle-ridged abdomen. Her eyes skimmed over the next part of him, the man part, to move down the long, powerful legs. She was not yet ready to fully see what had caused her pain. He was standing again, naked now, moving toward her. A stray moonbeam glinted off his eyes. He was watching her watch him, and the knowledge made her blush.

"Up with you."

She looked up at him wide-eyed as he held out a hand to her, clearly meaning her to get off the bed. Seeing that he was waiting patiently for her to comply, she scrambled to her feet, still clutching the quilt. Suddenly, inexplicably, she felt horribly shy. But he didn't look at her, busying himself with smoothing the bed and turning down the covers with easy efficiency.

Outside, the rain had begun to come down in earnest, the droplets making a rhythmic patter against the roof. The fire in his room had gone out hours before, and it was cold as well as dark.

Caitlyn curled her bare toes against the chill of the floor, wondering uneasily if his actions were her cue to take herself back to her own room. Never having been with a man before, she was not exactly certain what one did afterward.

"Climb in." Plumping the last pillow, he turned to her, his eyes sharp as they moved over her face. Caitlyn looked from him to the cozily turned-down bed uncertainly.

"Do we ... go to sleep together now?"

He actually smiled.

"I thought we'd talk a bit first, if you have no objections."

"N-no." She still sounded doubtful, but he was naked and had to be freezing, and after all, as he himself had said, he'd done this many times before and had to know all the ins and outs by now. But he didn't look the least bit sleepy, he actually looked far more alert than he had when he'd first come home, and as for her, well, she didn't think she'd sleep at all this night. There was too much to think about, too much to weigh and consider. Still, he was waiting patiently for her to do as he'd asked, so she did. When she was settled on her back, lying rather stiffly with her head on the pillow, he reached down to tug gently at the quilt in which she was still wrapped.

"I don't think you'll need this."

For a moment Caitlyn instinctively clutched the quilt close, looking up at him with the tiniest trace of wariness in her eyes, but the slight smile on that handsome, beloved face soothed her fear. After all, he was naked too, and this was Connor, whom she would trust with her life, or her body. Besides, they had finished the man-woman thing for the night, and she knew that never in any other way would he cause her hurt. So she allowed him to pull the quilt from her without protest. The instant it left her, however, she was tucking her feet down under the bed covers and pulling them over herself, not quite ready to lie naked under his inspection.

Then he was climbing into bed beside her, his long, hard length sliding down next to her nakedness. His weight made a hollow in the center of the bed, toward which she inexorably rolled. Before they were settled comfortably, her head was on his shoulder and his arm was wrapped around her. His fingers toyed with her hair, stroking and smoothing it over her bare shoulders, which were just visible above the piled bed covers.

"Are you warm and comfortable now?" He had turned his head so that he could look at her.

She nodded. If truth were told, she was so cozy and comfortable cuddled next to his warm bare skin that she could have stayed as she was forever. She found she quite liked this part of the man-woman thing, and thought it would be much easier to endure the next time since she knew this period of wonderful closeness would follow.

"Do you hurt anywhere?"

Caitlyn thought about that. The place between her legs was a bit sore, but she did not really hurt. She shook her head.

"You're not frightened of me?"

As that question penetrated, she came up on an elbow to look at him in surprise.

"Of course not."

"I just wondered."

"Well, I'm not. I know you would never hurt me deliberately, so you can just quit feeling so guilty. Believe me, I quite understand about the man-woman thing. I know that men get an inordinate amount of enjoyment out of it, and I'm quite prepared to put up with it to please you."

"Thank you," he said gravely, then made a sound as if he were choking. Frowning down at him, Caitlyn saw that he was struggling not to laugh.

"And just what's so funny?" she demanded, indignant. He grinned then, broadly, and tweaked her nose while she drew back with a frown.

"Nothing at all, my own. You are so sweet and so absurd you make me feel like the biggest rogue unhung. If anyone else had done what I just did to you, I'd be putting a bullet in his brain about now. Since I'd realty prefer not to do away with myself, I'll do the next best thing: I'll make an honest woman of you."

"What?" Caitlyn blinked at him, not quite certain she'd heard him correctly. She sat up suddenly, clutching the quilts to her so that she was covered to the armpits and he was bared to the hips.

"How do you feel about being a Countess?" His smile was crooked and charming as he folded his hands to rest them behind his head. She had a vague impression of flexing male muscles and dark body hair, but she was far more interested in his words than his appearance at the moment. He grinned up at her, his eyes gleaming as they moved over her face. He seemed very carefree suddenly, and happy, as if a burden he'd carried for a long time had been lifted from his shoulders.