Lord of Fire (33 page)

He downed the rest of his brandy for an extra dose of courage, got up, and left his room, stalking through the dim maze of hallways. In the oppressive silence of

He could not take this uncertainty, this inner confusion. He hated the vulnerability he felt. It went against everything the war had taught him about staying on his guard, shutting off his emotions. If she could not love him, there was no point in going through this. He had to know, he thought as he came to her door. If she did not want to be with him forever, he would not prolong his own suffering any further, but would send her home in the morning to
Glenwood
Park
and her precious Harry.

As he stood outside her chamber, reaching for the doorknob, he knew this moment would decide their fate. He had freely given her the key, it was in her hands either to take him in or to keep him out.

A cold sweat broke out on his brow. He closed his eyes in fear-filled anguish, his heart pounding.
God, please. I need this.
It was a desperate act, a blind clutching in the darkness for her love from out of the depths of his terrible isolation. If she did not take him in, he did not think he would ever have the courage to reach out to someone again.

Steeling himself for the worst, he grasped the doorknob and tried it—then drew in his breath as the knob turned and the unlocked door creaked open into her dark, moonlit chamber.

Alice
sat up when the door creaked, her heart racing. She had sensed or perhaps felt him standing outside her door and had been lying on her side, wide-eyed, barely daring to breathe as she waited to see what he would do. He stepped into her room, one foot over the threshold, and stood silhouetted in the doorway.

She could barely breathe, mesmerized by his luminous stare. It intimidated her. His face was stark, his eyes glittering in the moonlight with sensual hunger. She swept a glance over him, feeling the catch of desire in her belly. His black trousers molded every line of his long legs. He wore no waistcoat or jacket, no cravat. His white shirt was open at the throat, his sleeves rolled up. He was frightening, deadly, beautiful.

Slowly, she moved onto her knees, holding his stare. She saw his body trembling slightly. She could feel his need. She knew what he had come for, and she knew that if she turned him away, he would never be back. Her heart beat recklessly. Without a word, she held out her hand to him as though coaxing a wild wolf to take a gift of food.

He didn’t move.

“Come in here,” she whispered. “Come to me.”

His wary stare seemed to size her up; then, after a moment, he closed the door soundlessly behind him and prowled over to her. He stood beside her bed while she knelt before him in her night rail. He kept his hands at his sides, but by the moonlight and the faint reddish glow of the smoldering hearth fire, she saw the longing in his eyes to be touched.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to have blind faith in me when we both know I don’t deserve it,” he said tautly. “I will close the Grotto as soon as it is possible for me to do so. I can’t explain. . . . Just, don’t leave me.”

She reached up and cupped his strong jaw. He pressed his cheek into her hand, then kissed her wrist.

“Lucien,” she whispered. “I should not have pretended that my love for you was contingent upon any of those things. It’s not. I’m sorry I hurt you. I love you. And I want you.”

With a low, strangled moan, he pulled her into his arms, claiming her mouth in an explosive kiss full of primal possession. She surrendered completely, eager, recklessly eager, to give herself without looking back. She waited in breathless anticipation as he dragged the straps of her chemise down over her arms, baring her breasts.

She tilted her head back with an ardent sigh as he bent his head to her chest. Her skin was cool in the autumn night, but his mouth was scorching hot, sucking hungrily on her nipple. Dazed with passion, she stroked his glossy black hair, watching him.

His hand raked her thigh, then dipped between her legs, giving heat, delicious pressure. She pulled his shirt off of him, splaying her hands across his muscled back until he came up from her breasts, his skin flushed, his hair tousled. She could feel the pounding of his heart as she caressed his splendid chest, then traced the lines of his iron-sculpted arms, her fingers tingling. She skimmed her palm lower down his flat belly, her gaze following her hand. She paused at the waistline of his trousers and lifted her questioning glance to meet his smoldering gaze.

She waited, feeling his hands trembling as he unfastened his trousers and drawers beneath them. She pushed them a few inches down his hips; then a low groan escaped him when she slid her hand inside his loosened clothes and gently clasped his shaft, discovering for herself how he wanted to be touched. He closed his eyes in rapture as she stroked him. Her left arm was draped around his neck. In climbing lust, she kissed his ear, neck, and shoulders until he shuddered and quickly stopped her, grasping her shoulders.

“Lie down,” he ordered in a rough, panting whisper.

Trembling with desire for him, she obeyed, bracing her hands behind her as she eased onto her back. He slid her chemise up over her hips, covered her thighs in kisses, then buried his face in her mound. She tensed, arched, shivered with disbelieving ecstasy as he kissed and licked her. She felt like she was losing her mind as he slid his clever fingers in and out of her passage, coaxing her hips to take up the sensual rhythm with him. Gasping with wanton enjoyment, she came up onto her elbows and watched him adoring her body while he pleasured himself with his other hand. God help her, she could not believe she had denied herself this for so many days. If she had known—! Her heart was thundering, and she felt as though some long pent-up storm in her was going to burst.

When he withdrew his touch and lifted his head, leaving her incomplete, she thought she was going to die. She watched him in savage need as he moved to a kneeling position between her legs. He loomed over her, then came down, planting his hands on either side of her. His face was shadowed as he held her stare, slowly lowering his body down, covering hers.

The moment of contact, his muscled weight atop her, was heaven. His chest was damp with a light sheen of sweat against her bare breasts. His face was wet as he sought her mouth and kissed her; she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. He stroked her once again between her legs until she was utterly drunk on his touch. His drawers clung around his lean, hard hips. As she felt him push them down lower, her very mind throbbed with ecstasy, intoxicating her senses. Bare and sleek, he eased between her thighs; instinctually, she enfolded him between her legs. She felt the smooth head of his erection caress her pulsating flesh, becoming instantly slicked with her body’s dew. Kissing her in soul-deep passion, Lucien caressed her cheek and her hair, cradling her head under his large, gentle hand. For a moment, he paused, gazing down at her in dark longing, his soul laid bare in his glittering eyes—no pretenses, no masks left between them. The silence was almost holy with their love.

Held powerless in his enchanter’s stare, she whispered his name, her voice hoarse with need, ran her hands down his satin-smooth back and clutched his lean buttocks, pulling him to her in wild demand. With a low moan, he gave her what she wanted, slowly mounting her.

His kiss was so deep, so overwhelming, she could not even gasp as he paused, then ruptured the fragile barrier of her virginity with one quick thrust. Her shocked cry of pain was muffled by his mouth. His every muscle strained around her with his effort to be still until her pain had passed. He did not let her go or even stop kissing her, his hands stroking her face, petting her hair, his silence begging her and ordering her to wait and to be strong until her body accepted him. Gradually, he let her come up for air, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones.

“Relax,” he coaxed her in a ragged whisper. “Relax for me, sweeting. Don’t be afraid. It won’t hurt if you relax.” He kissed her again and again. “You are so beautiful, my love. There is nothing to fear. You are mine now. Forever. Everything I have is yours. My body, my heart, my name.”

“Lucien, my dark angel.” She cupped his face between her hands and stared into his eyes. “I want your secrets.”

He stared at her for a moment, then lowered his lashes and shook his head slightly. “No, you don’t,” he murmured, then bent his head and kissed her.

For a moment, he merely played, sporting with her senses, lightly skimming her cheeks and her nose with his lips. When he returned to her mouth, she parted her lips hungrily for him, her tongue meeting his in the sweetest of welcomes. Her fevered body trembled beneath him.

The firelight shimmered along their joined silhouettes as he bent his head and reverently kissed her shoulders and her chest, murmuring love words that made her rigid body soften. He stroked her hair, her arms, her sides, and her belly, showering her with light, exquisite kisses, his beguiling lips tickling and soft as they nuzzled her skin. Slowly, his gentleness eased her until she felt her body yield of its own volition, taking him in by several more inches.

“Oh, God,” she moaned softly, wrapping her arms around him, shocked to discover her pleasure anew, transformed now into something deep and rich and nourishing.
“Lucien.”

“Yes,” he whispered, “now you know.”

Lucien gazed down at her, lost in his worship of her. He felt redeemed in her surrender. Her ivory skin was flushed, her lashes dusting her high-boned cheeks as she lay languidly enjoying his slow, patient strokes. Her strawberry-blond hair flowed, long and luxurious, over her pillow like silk spun from sunbeams. He loved her hair. He loved every inch of her.

Threading his fingers through hers, he drew her hands above her head, filling her mouth with a fiery kiss as he pressed in hotly between her legs. She moaned with pleasure and freed her hands from his light hold, caressing him. Her body was slim and elegant beneath him, her beautiful artist’s hands trailing up and down over his taut arms. She ran her fingers through his hair. He checked his savage passion repeatedly and focused on attending to her every desire. He watched her firm, young breasts joggle with his rhythmic strokes as his body rocked gently between her white thighs.

Her hands moved down his sides and clutched his hips in rising insistence; he saw a fleeting grimace flit over her delicate features and smiled darkly, realizing she was ready for more. He reached down and brushed her clitoris ever so lightly with his thumb. She moaned and lifted her hips, able, at last, to fit him completely inside of her. He stayed like that for a moment, not moving, relishing the unbearable pleasure of her tightness with his eyes closed. His breathing was ragged with his effort to hold himself in check. He came down onto his elbows, cradling her against him.

She wound her arms around his neck and whispered softly in his ear, “I love you.”

He gazed down at her in amazement. “Oh, sweeting,” he forced out abruptly, “I love you, too.”

She curled upward and kissed him. He lost all awareness of time as they made love, moving together, losing themselves in each other. He consumed her kiss while he pleasured her with quickening strokes, his hands running all over her sweet body. His heart pounding wildly, he squeezed her nipple none too gently, catching her gasp on his tongue. He took her harder, rising on his hands above her, plunging into her body, his control slipping into oblivion. She was moaning, writhing beneath him, clutching his buttocks and pulling him in to meet every greedy lift of her hips.

“Lucien, oh, God, yes, it’s so—oh, please,” she whimpered, her face radiant with bliss.

“That’s right, angel, come for me,” he panted half incoherently, watching her, utterly enslaved by her innocent throes of passion.

Straining and heaving until the bed shook and the drafty, firelit room resounded with their groans and tender cries, they climaxed together. He felt her passage contract around his manhood, squeezing him with blinding pleasure. He shuddered with profound release, feeling as though he flung his entire soul into hers. She went limp with sated pleasure as he held her close to his heart, stroking her hair, waiting for his pulse to slow back to normal.

He withdrew gingerly from her body, then gathered her once more into his arms. They lay entwined for a very long time, silent, staring at each other. She caressed his face and chest while he memorized every line of her face, twirling a lock of her golden hair around his finger.