Kathryn Smith (21 page)

Good Lord, was it the thief both Wynthrope and Leander had warned her about? Her gaze darted to the gems on her vanity. Those were her favorite. There was no way she was going to give those up without a fight. She didn’t care if she had to jump out of the tub and attack him like a screaming wet banshee!

She was just about to scream when he turned. Their gazes locked, and he looked every bit as shocked to see her as she was to see him. Of course, he probably hadn’t been expecting to find her naked in a bathtub. Then again, she hadn’t been expecting him at all.

“Wynthrope? What are you doing here?”

F
rozen in the heated water of her bath, her body even more tense than it had been when she climbed in, Moira gaped at Wynthrope. He gaped back, his gaze darting to the water in the tub before rising back to hers.

Heat flooded her cheeks as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you going to answer me?”

“I—” He glanced toward the balcony doors, then back again, obviously at a loss. “I did not think you would be in the bath.”

It didn’t sound as though he thought he’d find her here at all! But that was ridiculous. “Where did you think I would be?”

“In bed.”

If she flushed any hotter, the water in the tub would boil. “If you had waited a few minutes I probably would have been. Now tell me, what the devil are you doing here?”

He seemed distracted. “I went back to the ball and was told you had already left. I wanted…to see you.”

He was definitely seeing her all right! More of her than she was comfortable showing. And yet Moira couldn’t deny that there was a part of her that was very aroused by his arrival and his strange appearance.

“Did you go back to the ball dressed like that?” She nodded at his old coat and sweater. Good heavens, she could see the hair on his chest!

He glanced down at himself. “No.”

This was such an embarrassing situation! He didn’t seem to know what to do any more than she did. Had he come because he thought she was upset with him? And why had he chosen to dress that way? Just to climb up the trellis to her room? If she didn’t know better she would suspect him of being the very thief he had warned her about.

Why dissect why he was there? He told her he wanted to see her, and she should believe him. Perhaps this was fate’s way of giving her the perfect opportunity to decide whether she should trust him with the secret of her marriage, and risk everything, or tell him to get out.

Whether it was the wine, the night, or the fact that she had taken complete leave of her senses, Moira wasn’t certain, but she was suddenly overwhelmed with courage—and want. Lowering her arms from her chest, she placed a hand on either side of the tub and rose to her feet, hot water streaming in rivulets down her cooling body.

“Fetch me that towel, will you?”

Wynthrope stared at her, his jaw as wide as his eyes. Shame made her want to cover herself, but pride made her stay just as she was. She might not have the perfect body, but it was hers, and she had never allowed any man to ever look at it before this night. She was offering him something she had never offered anyone else, whether he saw her as a prize or not, she was not going to think of herself as anything less.

He came toward her, his footfalls silent on the carpet.
There was nothing but the crackle of the fire and the roar of her pounding pulse echoing in Moira’s ears. She held her breath as he approached. He stopped before her, the only thing between them the rim of the tub just above her knees.

“The towel?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

His gaze raked over her, heating her chilled flesh and puckering her nipples. Warmth flooded between her legs as a pulse there gave a mighty throb. Dark blue eyes locked with hers. “I will be your towel.”

Shivering, Moira watched as he removed his coat, tossing it heedlessly to the floor behind him. His gloves followed. His bare hands reached for her, touching her neck like some precious treasure before sliding up to cup her jaw. His skin was dry and warm against hers, his thumbs soft as they stroked her cheeks. His gaze roamed her face.

“You are so beautiful, I cannot believe you are real.”

Moira parted her lips to reply, but never got the chance before he lowered his head to hers.

His mouth was like a brand, searing hot as it marked her forever as his own. Her head swam as he overwhelmed her senses. Her hands came up to his shoulders, clinging to his sweater to keep herself from falling. His tongue invaded her mouth, exploring and teasing her own until they both tasted of wine.

One by one, he plucked the pins from her hair. They fell to the tub, making tiny plopping noises as they hit the water. Soon he had her hair free and tumbling down around her shoulders, his fingers combing through the heavy strands, massaging the soreness from her scalp. Moira moaned, her head tilting back into his hands.

The fingers in her hair slid down her back to her waist. Her feet lifted from the bottom of the tub and over the side, dripping on the carpet as he gathered her against him. The wool of his sweater was soft yet scratchy against her breasts
and stomach. Her nipples ached at the contact, bringing a soft gasp to her lips, which he swallowed with his own.

Moira clung to him as he carried her to the bed, the full length of her flush against him. Gingerly he placed her on the counterpane, the mattress sinking as he lowered himself beside her. His gaze was earnest and dark with desire as he looked down at her.

“Are you certain this is what you want?”

Moira’s heart clenched at the tenderness in his tone. She slid her fingers down his chest to tug his sweater from the waist of his trousers. Her hands slid beneath, hungry to feel the warm satin of his skin. “You are what I want.”

He kissed her again, tenderly, reverently. His tongue teased hers with the promise of being devoured, but never followed through. The pads of his fingers were slightly rough as they slid down her chest to circle a nipple. Her breasts pulled and tightened at his touch, wanting more. When his fingers pinched the aching peak, Moira whimpered against his mouth. If all of lovemaking felt this good, she was never going to survive it.

His mouth left hers, trailing along her jaw and throat and down her chest, building the knot of anticipation in her stomach with every soft kiss. Finally the wet heat of his mouth closed over her nipple, replacing his fingers. Moira moaned in pleasure, arching toward him.

Wynthrope’s hand slid down past her ribs, down her belly to the aching valley between her thighs. Her body jumped as his fingers parted the curls there, teasing the cleft between. Moira tightened her grip on his shoulders, but made no move to stop him. They were delicious, these feelings and sensations he was arousing within her, more intense than anything she had ever felt before, even that night in her parlor.

One of his fingers parted her, knowing instinctively where to touch her to make her gasp and writhe. Sparks of
pleasure flared in her belly, rolling into one tight, pulsating ache that demanded to be assuaged even as it delighted in tormenting her.

Moira pushed his sweater upward with insistent hands, stroking the heated flesh beneath. His skin was smooth against her palms, the hair on his chest springy as she drove her fingers through it. His nipples were tiny pebbles tightening at her touch, and when she slid her hands down to the waist of his trousers, his stomach trembled.

His teeth nipped at her breast, drawing a cry from her. Lifting his head from her swollen, glistening flesh, he gazed down at her, his ruthless fingers still stroking the wetness between her legs.

“Do you want me to take my clothes off?” His voice was low and butterscotch smooth.

Moira nodded, unable to speak. She wanted him naked. Wanted to feel every succulent inch of his skin against hers.

Wynthrope rose up on his knees on the bed, his gaze brazenly fastened to hers as he grabbed the hem of his sweater with both hands and pulled it upward. Fascinated, Moira watched with greedy eyes as the smooth flesh of his stomach and the skin pulled tautly across his ribs was revealed. The black wool slipped over his head and was tossed to the floor.

He was beautiful and golden from the knobby bones of his shoulders to the delicate indent of his navel. He wasn’t a bulky man, but the muscles of his arms and chest were well defined, as though sculpted by a master.

With his arms at his sides, his gaze burned into hers. “Shall I continue?”

Again Moira nodded. Her mouth was dry, all the moisture in her body seemingly pooling in one place much lower than her face.

His hands went to the falls of his trousers, his fingers
working with deliberate, slow deftness. He slipped one leg over the side of the bed and lifted himself off the mattress so that he stood beside the bed as he peeled the dark fabric down his legs. Moira watched as he straightened, her gaze traveling up from the muscled curves of his calves and thighs to his narrow hips and the jutting flesh just below his abdomen.

Even though she had felt it that night in her library, and caught a glimpse of it afterward, she hadn’t seen it fully erect. Long and thick with a ruddy, bulbous head, it probably should have been somewhat intimidating, but Moira found it fascinating.

And she wanted it. Wanted it inside her with a ferocity that threatened to consume her. She wanted him inside her, as a part of her. Never before had she ever wanted to have one person claim her, take her over as she wanted this man to possess her.

“Do I pass inspection?” His tone was teasing, but his voice was lower than normal, even a little rough. Moira shivered.

“You are beautiful,” she told him, repeating his earlier praise of her as she held out her arms to him. “Come here.”

She didn’t have to ask him twice. He crawled onto the bed so that he hovered above her, and this time when he lowered his head to her, he didn’t stop at her breasts, even though he paused long enough to taunt her nipples into aching, distended peaks once more.

His mouth scorched a path down the valley of her ribs, past her waist to the juncture of her thighs. Was he going to do what she thought he was? Yes, he was! Moira’s hips jerked as his mouth and tongue explored her in the same manner as his fingers had before. Hot, wet and firm, his tongue was like rough velvet against her sensitive flesh, teasing her even more acutely than his fingers had. She surged against him like waves to shore, not caring if her behavior was wanton or not. She knew only that what he was doing
felt incredibly good, and that writhing against his tongue came instinctively.

Holding her thighs splayed wide, Wynthrope lapped at her with his tongue, the fine stubble on his jaw abrading her in the most arousing fashion. Moira’s fingers clutched at his hair, pushing his head lower as her hips lifted and fell. The spiraling pressure within her grew, mounting to an intensity that was quickly becoming too much. If it didn’t break soon, she was certain she would go mad.

His mouth left her, despite her groan of frustration. Like Poseidon rising from the ocean, he loomed above her, his hips sliding between her legs, the hard length of him pushing insistently at the entrance to her body. Time seemed to halt as he poised there. He was waiting for permission from her, Moira knew it. No matter that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, he wasn’t going to do anything she did not want.

The knowledge would have made her weep were it not for the other, much stronger emotions raging through her right now.

This was it. This was where he gave her what she craved. She lifted her hips to accommodate him as he shoved, plunging the full length of him inside her.

Moira gasped. It was though he had pinched her inside.

Wynthrope froze. She could feel him pulsating within her. The expression on his face was one of awful realization, and for a moment Moira feared he might withdraw from her body. She locked her legs around him to keep him with her. She was not going to let him go, not now.

He stared down at her, his arms trembling on either side of her head. He didn’t try to hide the confusion in his gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how,” she replied, which was true, though not the whole truth. “We can talk about it later, please don’t leave me.”

“Leave you?” His voice was harsh as he reared up on his knees. Lifting her hips with his hands, he gingerly positioned her so that her bottom rested on his thighs, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Are you all right?” he demanded.

Moira nodded. “Please don’t stop.”

He muttered something that might have been an oath, but somehow Moira thought he was more upset at himself than at her. One of his hands came around to her abdomen, sliding down to the mound of her sex. Gently, his thumb parted her as his fingers had earlier, searching out and finding that tiny part of her that gave so much pleasure. He stroked her, rekindling the fire that had banked within her, until her hips began to move despite the burning where his body joined hers.

He moved inside her with deep, gentle thrusts, withdrawing only a fraction before moving inward again. It kept the friction between them, and the discomfort of his possession to a minimum, and allowed Moira to concentrate on the pleasure his hand was giving her. Gripping his flanks with her calves, she arched upward, pushing her pelvis against both his body and hand until the tension became unbearable and then finally broke, convulsing her body as a gale of pleasure swept through her.

Dimly, she was aware of Wynthrope quickening his thrusts, the pleasure of her release masking the soreness his movements brought. Then he was gone, spilling his seed onto the sheet beneath her as he fell onto his forearms above her.

She supposed she should be thankful he had enough control to withdraw, and she was, but she was also strangely disappointed as well. There was something so intimate about the idea of having him come inside her. It was as though he would have been leaving her something of himself, something she could possess as he possessed her. Realistically
she knew that something could very well lead to a child, something she as a single woman was not to wish for, but it still seemed
wrong
.

He rolled onto his back beside her, both of them staring at the ceiling in silence as their bodies cooled and the tension between them faded from the physical to something deeper.

Tears prickled the backs of Moira’s eyes. Was he angry at her? Was this the part where he withdrew from her completely? Would she find out tomorrow morning that she had been wrong about him? No. He wasn’t like that. He had told her he wasn’t like those other men who had made sport of her. This wasn’t just about his promise to seduce her. There was more between them than that.

His hand moved, closing over hers with a gentle squeeze that made her heart leap and her eyes burn.