Emerald Garden (37 page)

“But far easier to grasp.”

Quentin felt his chest constrict.

“Your life is in a state of turmoil, my lord,” Bentley observed quietly. “But in the midst of this chaos, your heart has found the peace it seeks. Is it not time to surrender the battle and win the war?”

Without turning, Quentin nodded.

“Have a fruitful evening, my lord.”

The morning-room door clicked shut behind Bentley’s retreating figure.

“The entire staff thinks you’re abed.”

Brandi whirled about in surprise; her hair, illuminated by moonlight, glinted with sparks of burnished fire. Seeing Quentin, she smiled. “Apparently, I didn’t fool you.”

“I was on the terrace. I saw you strolling through the gardens.”

“Did you have a chance to talk with Bentley?”

“Yes. Nothing came of it.” Quentin reached out, brushing his knuckles over her cheek. “And I didn’t come out here to discuss Desmond.”

Something in his voice made Brandi’s breath catch. “Very well. Why did you come?”

“I was mulling over your childhood escapades—all those times you spied on me in the woods.”

Brandi flushed. “I was hoping you’d forgotten.”

“But I haven’t. It grieves me that your education remained incomplete. What I’d like to do now is rectify that.”

Puzzlement supplanted discomfort. “Rectify what?”

“Being that you never scrutinized beyond the initial section of woods, you witnessed naught but preliminaries. Your instruction is, thus, sadly lacking. I’d like to amend that.”

Her eyes grew wide as saucers.

Quentin held out his hand. “Will you come with me?”

“Anywhere,” Brandi whispered, placing her fingers in his.

They made their way through the woods, not slowing until they were enveloped by nature, invisible to all but the moon and the heavens. And even then Quentin led her farther, deeper into the concealing haven he sought.

Then he stopped.

Brandi drank in the natural splendor around them; her senses inundated by the grass’s fragrance, the nightingale’s soft trill, the dark cloak of trees that acted as a buffer between them and the world. “I hate all those women,” she murmured.

“Don’t hate them, Sunbeam.” Quentin wrapped his arms around her from behind. “They meant nothing.”

“I know.” Brandi turned in his arms, twining her own about his neck. “But I’m selfish. I don’t want to share this moment with anyone—not even a memory.”

“You won’t.” He brushed her lips with his, a whisper of heated promise. “I never brought anyone here.”

“But you said …”

“I lied.” His eyes glittered devilishly. “The clearing we passed a hundred yards ago was the farthest I ever escorted anyone.”

“But it’s so much more beautiful here.”

“That never mattered. Now it does.”

Without another word, he lowered his head and kissed her, a deep, drugging, endless kiss that made everything inside Brandi go liquid with longing. She opened her mouth to him, taking and giving in a need as old as time.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Oh, Sunbeam, it’s always been you.” Quentin’s arms tightened, bringing Brandi closer against him. “How could I not have known?”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

The cool grass was a welcome contrast to her feverish skin. Brandi closed her eyes as Quentin lowered her to it, reaching for him even as she sank into the exquisite softness beneath her.

Quentin’s breath rasped against her skin, his mouth urgently taking her everywhere—her neck, her shoulders, her throat. He gathered handfuls of her hair, dragging her mouth back to his, penetrating her with his tongue and devouring her with a naked urgency that neither of them questioned, both understood.

“Quentin.”

Brandi sifted her fingers through his hair, moving restlessly beneath the onslaught of his kiss.

With a hunger that could no longer be ignored or contained, Quentin crushed her deeper into the grass, his hands hungrily exploring her body through the confines of her gown. He tangled his hands in her tresses, freeing the pins and scattering them randomly about. “God, Sunbeam, do you have any idea how long—how desperately—I’ve wanted this?”

“I’ve dreamed about you,” Brandi confessed breathlessly, gliding her palms down his back, then under his coat, eliminating the first layer separating her from the warmth of his skin. “I’ve imagined us just like this: amid the trees, under the stars.”

“I was a bloody fool to fight it.” His hands shook as he unhooked the back of her gown, this time not allowing himself time to reconsider before he dragged it from her shoulders, down her arms.

“Don’t fight it.” Eyes closed, Brandi leaned back, gracefully offering him every exquisite inch of bare skin he exposed. “Quentin, it’s so right.”

His lips trailed along the edge of her chemise, inhaling her scent as he claimed the upper swell of her breasts. “The battle’s over. I’ve lost, Sunbeam.”

“No,” she whispered, tugging impatiently at his waistcoat. “You’ve won. We’ve both won.”

Gently, Quentin pushed her hands away. “Sweetheart, wait. I’m trying to go slowly. But if you touch me …”

“I don’t care.” She gazed up at him, her dark eyes filled with a bottomless wealth of emotion. “Quentin, I’m too afraid to go slowly.”

“Afraid? Why?”

“Because,” she admitted, a tiny wisp of sound, “if we go slowly, you might pull away.”

“Never.” Engulfed by tenderness, he covered her lips with his. “Never,” he repeated, breathing the words into her open mouth, taking nipping tastes of her lower lip. “I could no sooner pull away than I could wrest the stars from the sky.” Slowly, his tongue sank into her mouth, caressing every tingling surface before his hand tightened on her nape, urged her closer. “Brandi …” He melded their tongues, deepened the intimacy, then stopped, withdrawing until Brandi whimpered a protest. And still he held back—waiting, heightening the tension—refusing to comply with her unspoken plea.

A timeless moment passed before his tongue eased back inside, filling her mouth with his taste, his presence, beginning a rhythm of plunge and retreat in a blatant prelude of what was yet to be—an erotic imitation of what he wanted to do to her body.

Flames singed through her, inside and out.

With a rapturous moan, Brandi succumbed to Quentin’s spell, her eyes drifting shut, her hands clutching at him, beckoning him closer. Willingly, wonderingly, she melted into the sensual haze that blazed hotter with every beat of her heart.

Her gown and chemise were at her waist. She had no idea how they got there, nor did she care. All she knew was Quentin’s mouth, Quentin’s hands, Quentin’s breath on her skin as he whispered her name.

“Ah, Sunbeam, Sunbeam—where have I been?” He cupped her breasts, his tongue drawing each nipple into a damp, responsive peak. “You’re more beautiful than any fantasy a man could dream.”

“So long as I’m your fantasy.”

His smoldering gaze met hers. “My fantasy and my reality.” Without looking away, Quentin shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat, reaching up to yank his shirt buttons free.

“Let me.” Without awaiting an answer, Brandi slid her hands under his, and together they fought each button free of its casing.

“Now—feel the fire,” Quentin managed. He flung his shirt aside and purposefully lowered his upper torso to hers. “Feel me, Sunbeam.”

“Oh … God.” Brandi’s breath refused to dislodge from her throat. Sinking deeper into the grass, she gloried in this initial joining of their bodies, painstakingly aware of every nuance—every filament of sensation in her being.

Her nipples contracted, the hair-roughened surface of Quentin’s chest almost unbearably arousing as it seduced her with light, feathery strokes. His harsh exclamation of pleasure nearly undid her, and when she felt his body tremble against her, she thought for sure she’d died and gone to heaven.

“You … I can’t … I’ve never …” Quentin shook his head wildly, unable to convey the intensity of physical pleasure that was coursing through his veins.

Brandi knew.

She wrapped her arms about his back, her hands exploring the powerful planes and contours, reveling as his muscles knotted beneath her caress. “Quentin.” With feline grace, she arched upward, unconsciously crushing her breasts to his chest, her lower body to his.

“Christ …” Quentin’s breath expelled in a hiss. With a will of their own, his hands moved down to grip her bottom, lifting her harder against his erection, which throbbed painfully beneath the confines of his breeches. Intentionally, he pushed deeper into her softness, circling his hips, letting her feel a sample of the searing magic that awaited them—and, in the process, driving himself closer to the edge.

He’d never intended to let it go this far. Tonight was to be but a turning point, the first step toward their future.

“Not like this,” he rasped, forcing himself to still. “Not … yet.”

“Don’t.” Brandi refuted Quentin’s words, dizzy with passion, barely able to speak. “Please, Quentin. You’ve denied us too long already.”

He raised up on his elbows, his heated gaze raking Brandi’s half-naked beauty, warring emotions wrenching at his soul.

“Please …” she breathed, mimicking his earlier motion by circling her hips against his. “I can’t bear the ache. Help me.” Her dazed eyes searched his. “Quentin,” she confessed in a heated whisper, “I don’t know what to do.”

A look of excruciating tenderness crossed Quentin’s face, and all else was instantly eclipsed by the untainted beauty of Brandi’s sensual awakening. “I know, sweetheart. I know.” He kissed her with bone-melting thoroughness, suddenly very certain of where this must lead, what would forever designate this night as the bridge between past and future.

With shaking hands, Quentin reached for the hem of her gown, dragging it up over her calves, her knees, to the top of her thighs. His fingers slid beneath the fine muslin, stroking the silk of her stockings, the warm softness of her inner thighs, shifting higher and higher with each caress.

“Quentin, I’m going to die,” Brandi vowed fiercely.

“Yes, I know, Sunbeam.” He watched stark passion tighten her features, memorized every glorious detail of this never-to-be-equaled moment. “But not in the way you mean.” Quentin kissed his way down to her breasts, his lips surrounding one taut nipple and tugging it between his lips. “The death I have in mind is caused by pleasure.”

Brandi cried out, biting her lips to stifle the sound.

“Don’t,” Quentin ordered. “I want to hear every breathtaking little cry.” His tongue swirled over her nipple’s rosy peak, bathing it in fire.

“Which is worse.” Brandi gasped. “Dying of emptiness or of a pleasure too acute to bear?”

Quentin smiled against her breast, ignoring the screaming hunger that clawed at his loins. “There’s no contest, my little hoyden.” He shifted to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attention as the first, his thumb following in the wake of his mouth, tracing teasing circles around first one breast, then its mate. “Let me show you. Let me give you this.”

“I …” Brandi struggled for words, needing … needing, and not knowing how to ease the ache.

“Open for me.” Quentin urged her legs farther apart. “Let me touch you.”

“I’ll die.”

“You won’t. Trust me.” He kissed the frantic pulse at her neck, her flushed cheeks, her parted lips. “Open for me, Sunbeam,” he murmured into her mouth. “Now. Give me all of you.”

In a rush, Brandi complied, letting her legs go slack, quivers of anticipation making them quake uncontrollably.

“Yes—like that.” Quentin himself was shaking so badly he could scarcely speak. “Brandi … Christ.” His fingers opened her, claimed her, found her damp and soft and trembling in heated welcome.

A harsh sound ripped from his chest, and, at that moment, Quentin knew that passion as he had known it was forever changed. Vaguely, he heard Brandi’s reckless sob, felt her nails score his back. But all he could think of, focus on, was the hot, wet, tight feel of her. His finger slipped inside her, testing her readiness, discovering the miracle of her response. Her inner muscles clung to him, luring him deeper, beckoning him to take more, to take all.

“I …” Brandi licked her lips, gone suddenly dry. “Quentin, I don’t know what’s happening … I …” Inadvertently, she moved against his hand.

“What’s happening is heaven,” he proclaimed, his thumb finding and caressing the tight bud that cried out for his touch. “More than heaven.”

“Quentin …” Her body was responding on its own and, bewildered, she clung to him, frightened by her own utter helplessness. Reflexively, she undulated against him—once, twice—her eyes open and wide with shock.

“Don’t be afraid,” Quentin somehow managed to assure her. “Just give in to it, Sunbeam. This is the way it was meant to be with us.” He slid another finger inside her, stretching her ever so gently, then withdrew a heartbeat at a time, only to push back inside her in one swift, inexorable motion, repeating the action again and again, stretching her a bit more each time, all the while his thumb circling, urging her deeper into the bottomless inferno of sexual oblivion.

It was too much.

“Oh … God.” Brandi arched like a bowstring, and Quentin would never forget the look of consummate wonder on her face before she toppled over the edge, dissolving into exquisite spasms of release that clenched his fingers so erotically he would have plunged over the edge himself, were he not so immersed in her pleasure.

No climax—not even his own—had ever been this perfect.

“Quentin.” Brandi breathed his name on a reverent, broken sigh, floating back to earth in shivering degrees, staring incredulously into his eyes.

“The only thing more exquisite than what just happened is you,” he murmured. He kissed her again, claiming her even now, his fingers continuing to caress her even as they withdrew.

Abruptly, Brandi realized he intended to stop. “You said all or nothing,” she whispered, reaching for him. “I want it all.”

“So do I.” He eased away from her, silencing her protests as he rearranged her disheveled clothing. “But only you can provide the answer as to whether or not we shall have it.”

“I?” She pushed his restraining hands away, gripping the breadth of his bare shoulders. “But I’ve already given you my answer.”