Never a Gentleman (31 page)

And then he was kissing her. Edging off her chest a bit so she could breathe, he laid his hands on either side of her head,
and bent to take her mouth. It was a kiss for the ages, a slow mating of lips and tongues and murmurs that seemed to last
for days. Grace slanted her head to meet him more fully. She slipped her hands around his neck so she could finger the damp
silk of his curls. She relished the feeling of her body reacting to him, her breasts aching and swelling, the nipples tightening
almost painfully, especially when she rubbed them against his chest. Her heart had found a new rhythm that seemed to match
his, quick and full. Her body seemed to be melting, molding to his as if they were warm candle wax. She swore her womb contracted.

He began to nuzzle her ear, and then her throat, sending sharp chills cascading through her. She arched her neck to give him
better purchase. He cupped her breast in his hand, and her body instinctively lifted to meet him. Oh, she thought, gasping
for air at the exquisite sensations his fingers wove, this is what I’ve missed. This is what our lives would be if he returned
my love.

It was when she admitted it, finally. It had probably been inevitable from the moment she’d first tucked herself in a corner
just to watch him. He fascinated her. He amused her. He confounded her. He was such a contradiction, but at heart, he was
a man who could see greatness in the ungainly Gadzooks. He had seen Grace, and even though she knew she was the last person
he would choose to make love to, he made love to her. And he did it with passion and enthusiasm. He was a man she could love.

He was a man she
did
love.

Even as she felt his weight on her, she ached for its loss. She felt his clever hands unlacing her stays and thought she would
do anything to insure their return. She felt her body warming, opening, hungering, and she wanted to feel that all the time.
She wanted to have the right to feel it.

She wanted Diccan to feel it for her.

Then he took her breast in his mouth and she forgot about love. She could only focus on pleasure. “Oh, my,” she gasped, grabbing
his head and pulling him to her, “that’s quite… lovely.”

He smiled against her. “Glad you like it. I admit some chagrin that I didn’t realize your breasts were quite this nice.”

She found herself looking down at herself and realized that somehow he’d slipped her dress down to her waist. “Kate’s chef
insisted I needed to put on some weight,” she said stupidly, impatient at his absence. “Would you like another taste?”

He chuckled this time, his attention on the nipple he took between his fingers. Pleasure shot through her and she arched against
him, groaning. “Please, Diccan.”

Somehow that stopped him. His hair was rumpled, his
eyes languorous, his expression thoughtful as he looked down at her. “No,” said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “If we stay
down here, I’m just going to take you again, and that’s not fair.”

Grace huffed, her body already chilling as he sat up. “I don’t think I complained.”

He climbed to his feet and held out a hand. “You said you wanted everything. Now, come on.”

Still lying on the floor, she glared up at him. “You’re making me feel like a child you have to drag through the fair.”

His smile would have melted steel. “Oh, but I assure you you’ll enjoy this fair as much as I.”

And oh, she did. Accepting his assistance, she got to her feet, where he kissed her again, his hand against the back of her
head to hold her close as he leisurely explored her mouth, his arm around her waist to keep her from collapsing back to the
floor. She insisted on undressing him, using the excuse to explore his sleek, toned body with her hands and eyes and mouth.
She almost dropped to her knees to take his rod in her mouth again, but he laughed and hauled her back into his arms where
he kissed her some more; playfully, deeply, seductively, until she couldn’t stand up. He pulled her so tightly against him
she could barely breathe, and when he stepped back, somehow her clothing had joined his on the floor.

“I see you’ve washed the dye out,” he murmured.

She almost fled. He couldn’t want to see all of her. She tried to pull away, but he caught her back to him again. “Am I going
to have to tie you down?” he asked.

“You don’t want to…”

He grinned, and she felt her knees turn to mush. And
suddenly his neckcloth was in his hands and he was tying her hands together, just as he had with Minette.

“Thank heavens for neckcloths,” she snapped, pulling at the bonds, her nakedness forgotten, “or your partners would keep getting
away.”

His grin was positively salacious. Spinning her away from him, he pressed his body full length against her back, his rod throbbing
in between the globes of her bottom, his mouth right against her ear. “Oh, you don’t want to get away.”

Her body flared to life with the barest whisper of his breath against the shell of her ear, with the remembered feel of him
pressing against her. This time, though, was better. This time he chose to be here; he surrounded her with himself, and she
felt unbearably cherished.

“What now?” she whispered, breathless and unnerved.

“You must tell me,” he murmured. Lifting her small breasts into his hands, he began to knead them, teasing the taut nipples
with his thumbs until she wanted to wail with impatience.

“Tell you what?” she asked, her voice thin. “I’m tied up here.”

His head still just next to hers, he kissed her exquisitely sensitive ear, licking her shell and then blowing on it until
she couldn’t breathe at all. Her entire body was on fire, freezing, chills chasing one after another all the way to her core,
beyond to her legs, her feet, her toes.

“Do you want me to be polite?” he asked, his voice a deep rumble against her back, “or do you want to know how a mare feels
in heat?”

Another flash, this of lightning, jagged and blinding. She didn’t want polite. She wanted to know he couldn’t help himself.
She wanted to make him lose control again.

“Take me,” she moaned, letting her head fall back.

He took hold of her hands and tied them to the bedpost. He nestled right up against her, so she could feel the entire length
of his erection against her bottom. She was trembling now, pulling in air in gasps, her entire body thrumming with anticipation.

Then he did something she’d never expected. He wrapped a blindfold around her eyes. She jerked back. “You didn’t do this before.”

“I know. But aren’t you feeling adventurous?”

She felt as if she stood balanced on a sharp precipice. She was naked, vulnerable, submissive. He was behind her, not touching
her, close enough, though, that she could feel the heat radiate off his skin. She was thick with arousal, taut with uncertainty.
It was her choice. Did she trust him?

“Yes,” she said, relaxing into her bonds. “I am feeling adventurous.”

“Spread your legs.”

She shook with excitement. She spread her legs and felt the air tease her wet core. She saw blackness and thought how easily
she could hear the rasp of his breath, the slide of his feet on the floor.

“Bend over.”

She bent over.

“Ah, beautiful,” he murmured. “I can see the the pink of your netherlips, and they’re already wet. Tell me you want this.”

She found herself even more aroused by his words. More uncertain. More fragile. He hadn’t even touched her and she felt as
if she’d splinter into shards of glass. The air swirled gently around her. She could hear nothing now but her own breathing.
Her own heart. But she smelled him, sharp sex
and dusky night. Secrets and satisfaction. Suddenly she felt the pressure of one callused finger against her.

“Tell me.”

She gasped, the touch burning her; she arched, seeking a deeper touch, a sharper contact. Just that one, tiny friction from
his finger was igniting a firestorm in her.

“I want this,” she said, trying not to groan. “I want you.”

He reached around with his other hand and caught her nipple. He rolled it, stretched it, and she moaned. “Now?” he murmured.
“Do you want it now?”

“Yes,” she hissed, furious with waiting, with not knowing.

For a second his hands disappeared. She pulled against her bonds trying to get to him. She couldn’t even hear him. She held
her breath, desperately seeking proof of him in the darkness. God, she was so close to just whimpering, and she refused to
show such need.

Then she felt his hands on her hips, no more. She jumped when he ran his tongue right there at the little dimple at the bottom
of her spine. She felt his breath cool the place he licked, and she shuddered. She heard the rumble of his chuckle.

“Damn you,” she rasped. “Will you just fuck me?”

And he did. Driving in so hard she gasped, unsure how she could take all of him, feeling impaled, invaded, pummeled. He held
her with steely hands and he thrust into her, a stallion claiming his mare. He slowed, pulling almost all the way out until
she bit her lip to keep from protesting, then drove in again.

This time he lasted longer. This time he murmured words of encouragement, words of endearment as he marked
her, as he destroyed her concept of who she was. Her body was consumed with sensation; sharp, hot, swirling, a pleasure–pain
she had never even known could exist. She panted like a runner. She reared back to meet him until they were pounding at each
other, no sound in the room but the slick slide of his cock, the slap of skin against skin, their frenzied breathing. And
then he found her nubbin, and he took it between his two fingers. It was the spark that lit the explosion.

Grace’s body seized. Inside her, light splintered into fireworks and waterfalls and cannon fire. She heard herself keening,
a high, wild sound of exultation that filled the room. She heard Diccan’s breathless laughter and felt his seed pulse into
her, his hands clenching her so tightly she knew she’d be bruised in the morning. She felt him bend close over her, as if
he couldn’t bear to separate his skin from hers. He was shaking, and she was once again swept by the feeling of pure power
that she, Grace Fairchild, could bring Diccan Hilliard almost to his knees.

She came within inches of telling him that she loved him; that this would be a moment she would cherish for the rest of her
life. She almost betrayed an unbearable truth. That in that moment, she would do anything for the chance of having this again.

But worse was to come, for after such primal, explosive lovemaking, Diccan untied her, tossed away the blindfold, and carried
her to the luxurious four-poster bed where he made thorough love to her again, this time with gentleness and tenderness and
a smile that could capture the heart of a stone.

It captured hers, the bits that hadn’t already succumbed. And when she fell asleep, still in his arms, she knew she
had made a grave error. She had wanted him too much to protect her heart. She had pretended it didn’t matter that only one
of them had meant the love they’d shared.

She could pretend no longer. Which was why, in the end, she would have to leave him.

S
he might not have left after all if Diccan hadn’t made love to her again. They had awakened deep in the night, still wrapped
around each other, and sleepily, easily, slipped into the touches and murmurs and kisses that bespoke intimacy. They made
love like friends. Diccan taught her how to ride him, easily lifting her so she could impale herself on him, as if it were
something she should be used to.

Even in the last of the firelight he must have seen her blushing, because he grinned up at her. “Come now, my Grace, you can’t
still be shy.”

She couldn’t quite raise her head, her excuse, the fascination of seeing her hair pool amid the ridges of his belly. “I’d
rather not be on display,” she muttered. “Scrawny women don’t like it.”

He actually shook her. “Grace. Stop it. You aren’t scrawny, damn it. You’re a horsewoman. Didn’t it ever occur to you that
you’re lean because you’ve spent your life in the saddle?”

She looked up, surprised. Oddly, he seemed just as startled.
“Good Heavens,” he said with a huge grin. “It never occurred to me! I actually
have
married a warrior queen.”

She snorted, but she sat a bit straighter, finally able to relax enough to enjoy the amazing fullness of him inside her. “Does
that mean I have your obedience, sir?”

He chuckled, moving enough to remind her who was impaling whom. “I’m yours to command.”

They laughed and played and teased their way to climax, to sleep, to comfort. And as she lay in his arms, replete and easy,
he stroked her hair. “Isn’t your friend getting married soon?”

“Olivia? Yes. I was hoping to go.”

He nodded against her. “Excellent idea. I’ll see if I can get some time off.”

They didn’t say any more, just drifted back off to sleep, tumbled together like puppies beneath the sheet. When Grace woke
the next morning, she felt oddly lethargic and warm, as if she were lying out in a noonday sun. It was still early; she could
tell from the pink light against her closed lids. She was alone, but she could still smell Diccan on her skin, the wonderful
contrast of citrus and smoke. A tang of brandy, the sharp bite of sweat. Earthy, real scents, familiar to her from her years
with the army.

But there was one scent she had never really known: the scent of lovemaking, as if the sea had washed over her and left a
residue of salt. An energizing, life-affirming scent. She inhaled the compelling bouquet and rolled onto her back, stretching
her arms over her head. How could anything feel more wonderful than a well-loved body? How could any memory be better than
a man’s smile as he made you his? How could a woman want for more than that strange, wonderful, overwhelming intimacy that
united bodies and
cemented souls? It was as if Diccan had painted a black-and-white world with bright, primal colors and invited Grace to bathe
in it with him.

It occurred to her then that what she had hoped for had actually happened. Her hours with Diccan were the most intimate she’d
ever known with another human. Until Diccan had wrapped his arms around her, she had never known how cherished one could feel.
Oh, Breege and Harps cared for her, but it was the gruff affection of shoulder claps and cheek busses. Her father hadn’t known
how to do even that. And her lads had known to keep a respectful distance from the general’s daughter. Now, finally, she knew
that she could close her eyes in someone’s arms and feel completely safe.