Love Is Nuts (3 Tales) (5 page)

So he’d heard – not that Byron had ever read it himself. His own shex education had been learned in the streets. And on the floor…in bed…on pool tables…

“It’s all right if you know I’m a virgin though.”

She was?

“Barring the cucumbers, of course. But they don’t count.”

He agreed with her on that one. Vegetables were no replacement for the real deal.

“The virginity part is supposed to be obvious.” She fluttered her lashes. “But you have to forget all the rest or it’ll screw up the game.”

Byron’s game was screwed already.

Sophia pressed in, sighing, leaning against him as though her legs were too weak to hold her – which was probably the truth at the moment. He stifled a groan. Her lips were too close; she felt too good in his arms – felt like a million bucks. But she was so much more than money.

He’d intended to take her tonight, tipsy or sober – been ready to charm the pants off her. Literally. But not now, not like this. The innocent angel was even more innocent than he’d thought. And he wasn’t
that
much of a devil. He did have a little bit of conscience, a few romantic notions of his own. A girl’s first time with a man ought to be something special, something she’d never forget. But with the state Sophia was in, he’d be lucky if she even remembered his name in the morning.

There was nothing to do but let her sleep it off and try again tomorrow. This wasn’t defeat, just delay. He still wanted to marry her – now more than ever. It wasn’t often you got a chance at a beautiful mother lode who’d never been mined.
Tomorrow
he’d tunnel in deep and strike gold.

Tonight he’d take a cold shower.

Sophia laid her head on his shoulder and started playing with his tie, hooking fingers over the knot and inching it downward, loosening it…

Make that a real cold shower. Real soon.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” she murmured.

No, actually, and he doubted she did either; she was in no shape to know what she was saying. Byron didn’t believe in love much at all. Love was a fairytale illusion, and he’d lost his illusions early in life.

Lust
was another matter. Lust was a heat wave rising around them. Lust sizzled the air and made his voice raspy.

“Sophia, I think you need to go to bed.” Before he ravished her right here in the hallway.

“Finally! I thought you’d never ask!”

With startling strength and agility, she tightened her grip on his tie and pulled him to the door of his room.

“Where’s your key? Here?” She dug a hand into his pants’ pocket.

Groan.
Did she have any idea what that pocket was next to? Through thin fabric, her fingers grazed a growing bulge. An electric charge shot through him.

“There’s something in here. My, what a big key you have.” She giggled like Little Red Riding Hood.

And she was turning him into a big bad wolf.

Byron yanked his besieged willpower up by its bootstraps.

“Sophia, stop that. We can’t—”

“Of course we can.” Her hand reappeared clutching the room key like a trophy. Quickly, she unlocked the door and pushed it open, still hanging on to his tie with her other hand. A sharp tug jerked him over the threshold, and the door slammed shut. “Oh, look, a heart-shaped bed!”

In rapid order, she hauled him toward it, spun him about, and shoved against his chest. He toppled backward onto satin sheets. Sophia landed on top, straddling him.

When had he lost control of the situation?

And did he really want to get it back?

“You may seduce me now,” she said with theatrical primness.

Then promptly passed out.

Merde.

Gently, he rolled her off himself onto her back, and propped up on an elbow, staring down at her. Not Little Red Riding Hood after all, but Sleeping Beauty.

Could he wake her with a kiss?

Did he dare try?

God knew he wanted to. He’d never wanted anything so badly, so much. In all his past struggles, years of hunger and fighting for scraps, he’d never been
this
hungry, never felt such a blistering need. He’d wanted her at first sight, and the desire had been building like a volcano ever since. He was ready to erupt.

He just couldn’t figure why.

It wasn’t her money. Well, it had been, but only until he’d actually met her. After that, something else became the prime attraction. Beauty? No, that couldn’t be it either. He’d had gorgeous girls before – sunnyside-up and over-easy – but none so intriguing as Sophia. A bewitching enigma. A wanton angel. Sweet heat.

She did look like a fairytale princess lying there, and that might be the problem.

Blame his mother. When food was scarce and the house dark and cold because the power had been cut off again, she’d bundle him onto her lap and spin magical yarns, filling his mind and soul if she couldn’t fill his belly. She’d died of pneumonia when he was still a kid; died of poverty, really. Byron didn’t often think about her – bittersweet wasn’t his flavor – but he remembered her now and those fairytales full of brave deeds and romance. She’d given him that much at least. He may have felt hungry back then, but he’d never felt unloved while she’d lived.

Okay, okay! So he
did
believe in love! He believed in
romance
. He couldn’t escape it. His mother had
named
him after a famous romantic writer, for godssake. Right from the start, he’d never had a chance.

“Mmm…” Sophia stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open, and a hazy blue stare met his, then cleared, like sunlight breaking through clouds. She smiled. “Lord Byron.”

His mother’s favorite poet.

Byron’s throat constricted. Pain stabbed him in the chest, sharp but sweet, an arrow piercing his heart – Cupid must have shot it. He felt his gaze going misty tender and an answering smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“My mother would have loved you,” he whispered.

“Really?” Her eyes widened, then half closed in angelic provocation. Sultry innocence. “And what about you?”

God help him…

The pain struck sharper. Deeper. Those bedroom eyes pierced him to the core, swamped him with sweetness. Warm blue pools to jump into and drown…

Byron took the plunge.

“I, um…I think I love you, too.”

“Good.” Her voice went husky. “Then
I
think you’d better kiss me.”

And she passed out again.

No!
Not
this time.

He leaned over her and landed a kiss on her lips that would have done Prince Charming proud. Instantly reviving, she lassoed his neck with her arms, pulling him flat on top of her.

“I was just testing your resolve,” she murmured against his mouth.

Oh, he was
resolved
all right. He was unbridled passion on a stick. In moments, Byron turned the kiss into a steamroller
resolution
of lovemaking, a blazing extravaganza of epic romance. He was Mt. Vesuvius, and Sophia was “The Last Days of Pompeii.” He exploded all over her, covering her with lava-hot licks and caresses.

“Yes…
oooh yes
,” she moaned – Miss Melodrama, but on her the guise looked good. “Burn me…”

He was doing his best.

Clothes scattered on the floor.

Sheets tangled.

Flesh sweated, and the air steamed.

He used every trick he knew – and devised some new ones along the way. He might not be a famous poet, but he was creative. If she’d read the
Kama Sutra
, she probably expected a lot. He wanted to impress her.

He took her breath away.

Then he took her virginity.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Almost giving himself a rupture holding back so he wouldn’t hurt her.

“Byron, for godssake, just shove it in!”

“Sophia, I’m trying to do this
romantically
.”

“Screw romance! I want sex!”

She got it.

So did he.

Gasp!
Fiery tremors rocked his world as Sophia squeezed him in a silken vise. How had a virgin built up that set of muscles anyway?

Oh, right, she’d been practicing with cucumbers.

He was so in trouble.

“Vatsyayana calls this hold ‘The Pair of Tongs,’” she panted out. “What do you think?”

Who could think? Byron could barely see through the smoke. Flames engulfed him.

“Vatsy what?” he rasped.

“Not what. Who. Vatsyayana wrote the
Kama Sutra
.” She squeezed him again. Harder. “Like it?”

“
Uhhh
,” he groaned.

“I’ll assume that means yes. There’s also ‘The Top,’ ‘The Swing,’ ‘The Blow of a Bull’—”

“Sophia, Vatsyayana may have written the book, but he didn’t invent the subject. I know what I’m doing, baby.” He nipped her lower lip, hoping to hush her.

“Oh! Did you know the
Kama Sutra
lists biting as a sensual art? Vatsyayana devoted a whole chapter to it. One on scratching, too.”

Her nails raked down his back.

His breathing went ragged.

“Byron, I’ve waited forever for this. I want to try
everything
!”

Tonight?

He was a dead man.

What a way to go.

With infinite care he slid out and pushed in again…and again…setting a creamy smooth rhythm. If she expected multiple encores, he’d better start pacing himself now.

“We will, baby, I promise. We have the rest of our lives to work on it.”

“We do?”

“We will if you’ll marry me,” he said, never breaking stride.

The words were out before he knew what he was saying, but once he heard them, Byron realized how excellent the idea sounded – and amazingly, money was the furthest thing from his mind.

Or maybe not so amazing.

“Was that a proposal?” Merciless as a trained torturer, Sophia put the “tongs” to him, halting the action on an inward stroke.

Byron gave a guttural grunt. “
Uhh
...”

“I’ll assume that means yes.”

Her fingers tangled in his hair, lifting his head to meet her eyes – smoldering blue embers.

“You do realize we hardly know each other, right? We met barely an hour ago. Even in the classics it never happens this fast,” she pointed out, challenging him, dueling with rapier reason.

She’d picked a hell of a time to go practical on him.

“It does in
classic
fairytales,” he parried. “In stories like
Sleeping Beauty
one look, one kiss is all it takes.”

“Touché.” A delicious sliver of a grin curled her lips. “Read a lot of fairytales, have you?”

“I’m living one right now,” he said on a hoarse breath. Prince Charming had never had it so good, and neither had Byron. She felt like pure magic, felt like a dream. He hoped he’d never wake up.

“Sophia, I
do
realize this is sudden, but I’m not a patient man. When I see what I want, I go after it.”

“And you think you want to marry me?”

“I
know
so.”

“This soon?”

“The sooner the better.”

And the hell with the money! There was treasure enough just in her smile. Which suddenly broadened.

“Okay, works for me!” The smile waxed wicked. “I’m not very patient either.”

Um, yeah, he’d noticed that. “It’s something we have in common.”

“Mmm” – her eyes narrowed to smoky slits – “and we’ll discover more common ground after we’re married. We’ll build it if we have to.”

“Can you think of a better way to get acquainted?”

“No.” Laughter bubbled out with the word. “I love your sense of humor.”

He hadn’t been joking, actually. But he’d take all the love he could get. Even more, he wanted to give it – all the love he’d received from his idealistic fragile mother – it all poured out of him now. He finally understood the truth of the matter, what his problem had been. To him, at too early an age, love had become synonymous with loss. To protect himself, he’d planted a barrier of thorns around his heart, just like the thorns that had guarded Sleeping Beauty’s castle. And just like the prince in that story, he’d had to battle his way through the bramble – spurred on by a prize too good to lose.

Sophia.

“I love
you
,” he answered her.

-------

“Likewise,” she said – but only because
Take me, I’m yours!
might have sounded a bit superfluous under the circumstances.