Runaway (11 page)

Once again she discovered that he had a talent and a flair for removing women’s clothing. Her laces were all freed by a deft touch from his fingers. Her back remained to him, and she suddenly walked away, eyeing the wine bottle herself. She stood at the table and poured out a second glass and swallowed it quickly. It was tasting better and better. She lifted the bottle again, but discovered that he was behind her, plucking the bottle from her fingers. “I want you to take the edge off, my love. Not go catapulting over it!”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Yes!”

He turned her in his arms again, black eyes meeting hers as he lifted her chin. He stared at her a moment, then his mouth lowered to hers. Warm, sweeping, liquid, his lips formed to hers while his tongue pressed the barrier, filling her. His arms wrapped around her, encompassing her tightly so that she felt him with the length of her body, the steely strength, the hardness of his chest and thighs, the startling bulk of his arousal. She might have stiffened, might have bolted, except for the sheer seduction of his kiss. His lips were mercurial fire, forming to hers, the fullness of his tongue invading and stroking, sweeping the liquid heat into her mouth, and through her body. A sweetness pervaded her system along with a ragged pounding that turned out to be that of her heart. She had played at love before. She had never imagined that it could be like this. Feeling a touch. Feeling it
invade her. Feeling the mercury slip and sweep and spiral into her. He played and played at her mouth. Coaxing, ravaging, seducing. She could scarcely stand, yet his arms held her. His mouth lifted from hers at last and his black eyes tore into hers. “Too awful?” he whispered.

She shook her head, swallowing hard, and then she was ashamed of herself that she could so quickly be so taken with a stranger, even if it was a stranger who had married her. It was also incredibly irritating to realize that she was nicely amusing him.

He laughed suddenly, knuckles stroking her cheek. “It’s only going to be all right if you suffer somehow, do your duty?”

“Don’t make fun of me!” she lashed back quickly, her eyes rising to shoot blue flames into his. But she discovered that he was studying her intently once again, seeking the answers that she could not give him.

“Then again,” he murmured, his arms still strong around her, black eyes speculative, “you could know exactly what you’re doing. The night may hold no surprises at all.”

She inhaled on a gasp, her temper rising swiftly with her nervousness. Her fingers bit back against the arms holding her so tightly. “I told you in the middle of your stupid poker game that I was no man’s whore.”

“And I didn’t accuse you of being so now,” he interrupted harshly. “You’ve quite a temper, madam.”

She tossed back her hair, well aware that a good part of her anger was nervousness, and unable to control it anyway. “If you married me for my docility—”

“Not a chance,” he promised, unaware that she was setting any pressure against him at all. “I married you for your hair.”

“My hair!” She gasped, somehow dismayed. What had
she been expecting?
She’d married a stranger, a powerful, handsome stranger who had rescued her from a worse fate!

She pushed hard against him, freeing herself at last, and spinning around the other side of the desk to accost him. “I could have just chopped off the length of it!” she told him. “Tied it in a ribbon! I—”

“It wouldn’t have been the same,” he said, still amused, not at all dismayed that she seemed to be running. “It needs to be attached to your head, and then go cascading around the two of us. I married you for your hair and much more. But your hair was the first thing I noticed about you. It attracted my attention. Until I saw more.” He grinned suddenly. “In the room,” he said very softly.

She flushed furiously, tongue tied for the moment. He walked around the desk to her side of it, arms crossed over his chest. He sat on the edge of the desk, watching her. “Now, my love, as to my earlier statement, there was no accusation there. Unless you’re a really fantastic actress? Ah, that’s right, no questions. Well, it seems you have come from some gentle life, with some decent income. But you’re running away, so you might have been running from a husband.”

“And I told you I wasn’t married—before,” she stated, adding the last a little breathlessly.

“My dear girl, one doesn’t have to be married to engage in intimacies.”

“Well, I haven’t engaged in anything!” she breathed out miserably, wishing that he hadn’t pinned her so. Her gaze fell again. She really had no right to be angry—she was the one who didn’t want to answer questions, and she supposed that meant he might draw his own conclusions.

He slipped from the edge of the desk. She almost screamed when he caught her arms, pulling her against
him again. “The water is growing cold,” he said very softly, his whisper warm and evocative as he spoke, his lips just inches from her own. That breath of air suddenly sent a jagged heat shooting through her once again. He was an experienced lover, she realized. Talented, and … experienced.

Her eyes fell from his. “So is the food!” she murmured.

“But it will wait. I, alas, will not!” He set her atop the desk suddenly, slipping her shoes from her feet. A sweeping crimson swept over her with the surge of warmth that seared her as his fingers deftly crawled her thighs to find her stockings. Then she was set upon her feet again, heart still pounding, mind still reeling. He turned her swiftly in his arms, and she was aware once more of his incredible ease with women’s fashions as ties and hooks were deftly undone. She felt him at her back while her gown, petticoats, pantalettes, and corset fell to the floor. She was painfully, achingly aware of him at her naked back, but the unease did not last for long. A gasp escaped her when she was picked up and set into the tub, her fingers catching hold of the rim as if she would drown within it.

He caught hold of the long cascades of her hair, twisting them in his fingers to keep the mass from falling into the water. The dampness seemed to trickle up her shoulders. Then she felt him, knelt or hunched down behind her, the warmth of his breath at her nape, sweeping her earlobe, touching her throat. His lips pressed against her shoulder. Instinctively she hugged her knees to her chest, shivering despite the steaming heat of the water and that of his light caress. His lips moved, touching her lower on her shoulder, center, against her nape, against her throat. The stroke of his finger moved downward along her arm. In all of her life she’d never known sensations
so acute, so intense, touching one place but ripping through the length of her. Sensations so hot, so gripping, so erotic.…

She’d never even really imagined
erotic
before, and here it was, this touch.

She had to fight it, she thought vaguely. She might get lost within it.

He lifted her chin, turning her head just slightly. His lips found hers once again. His fingers stroked and held her cheek. His tongue delved into the depths of her mouth once again, provocative, thrusting, discovering. His fingers drew delicate patterns down her throat, and caressed her shoulders. Fell lower and encompassed her breast. Closed over it, the palm of his hand moving in a caressing fashion over the hardening peak.

Some small sound came from her throat and was caught in his kiss. His lips parted from hers. His eyes rose above hers. Her lips were parted and damp, her breath was coming far too swiftly. She closed her eyes against his ebony scrutiny. Fingers wound into her hair, pulling her head gently back. His kiss fell against her throat. His hand continued its bold and evocative caress.

Maybe she didn’t have to fight this. She had married him. Married this stranger. He had swept her from the sheer danger and disaster in New Orleans, so just how much more did she need to know?

“Ease up, my love,” he whispered, his voice tinged with just a touch of amusement again. Her eyes flew open, and she realized that she was still trying to hug her knees to her chest. Her eyes met his and she felt a rush of embarrassment again, but though his smile was amused, it was also curiously tender. “I’ve been with you naked before,” he reminded her, his tone now definitely wicked, challenging.

She closed her eyes. The steam was very warm. The
wine had indeed taken away the edge. She sank farther into the water, her head resting back on the rim. His lips touched her throat. Skimmed along it, the tip of his tongue slick at the cleft at the center of her collarbone. Her fingers curled around the rim of the tub again. She felt absurdly lethargic in one way while her heart raced in another. His hand was in the tub. He’d found the sponge within it. Water dripped over her knees. The clean scent of soap filled her senses along with his touch, gentle, lulling … 
erotic
. The sponge moved against her. Along her calf, her thigh. Her belly, her breasts. And once again his lips were against her throat. She couldn’t seem to find the strength to move or to protest.…

Or to reach out in return.

His kiss moved up her throat now, touched upon her lips once again, tasting, savoring. A light touch, a slow, fluid movement of his tongue. She didn’t even notice when he dropped the sponge, yet felt the graze of his fingers upon her once again. Touching her cheek, brushing it so tenderly in that tantalizing kiss. He raised his lips from hers. A sudden coldness descended upon her and she vaguely wondered why.

And then she knew.

He was naked, and she was in his arms, the steaming bathwater dripping down them both. All the things that had fascinated her before were now hers to touch. The gleaming bronze muscles of his chest were taut and slick, the thick mat of hair was coarse, teasing her flesh. She clung to his shoulder, her arms slipping around his neck. Her eyes met his and there were some very different gleams in the ebony depths now, and she knew that it had come full time to be his wife.

She shivered suddenly, violently, not repelled by him,
but frightened a little just the same.
What had she imagined this night to be?

She didn’t know. She had been running too long.

Never this intimacy with a stranger
.

But she had married the stranger, and oddly enough, he did not seem so terribly strange anymore, indeed, she already knew him better than she had known any man before.

He felt her shivering, and cradled her more tightly against him. He carried her the few steps to the bunk and held her against his length with one hand while he wrenched the covers free from the bunk to lay her upon the whiteness of the sheets. Her eyes locked with his as he crawled over her. She looked down over the bronzed breadth of his shoulders, the dark matted expanse of his chest. His waist was lean and tight. And below that …

Her breath caught and her gaze rose back to his. The shivering that had begun in her became a rampant trembling.

He watched her with an amused expression, yet one that was tender still, setting his fingers into the wealth of her hair to spread the tendrils out upon the pillow.

“You are, my mystery love, extremely beautiful,” he told her very softly. His voice was husky and rich still, lulling, yet something more. So seductive. She no longer shivered because of the cold. She trembled now because of the staggering warmth that touched and pervaded her.

She moistened her lips and whispered in turn, “Worth three hundred dollars?” The words carried only a hint of mockery against herself.

His lips curled into a sensuous smile, and he leaned low against her, just brushing her mouth with the breath of a kiss. “Worth a million dollars,” he told her.

The warmth of the sun seemed to explode within her. Her lashes fluttered over her eyes.

“I’m afraid not!” she murmured very softly.

“I will judge.”

“But I don’t—”

“You don’t need to.”

Those were the last of his words. He fell to her side, sweeping her into his arms. What had begun in the liquid heat of the tub now came to the soft warmth of the bed. His lips touched hers again. Softly, briefly. Then that touch was gone. His mouth closed gently upon the aroused peak of her nipple, his tongue laving the rouge bud again and again. A scorching swept through her, shooting like a falling star to burst in shattering fragments of light throughout her. He continued to arouse and caress her breast with the hunger of his lips while his hand swept down the length of her. Stroked her hip, her thigh. A slow, feather soft touch. She longed to press his hand away.

And she longed to feel it closer.…

Her fingers dug into his shoulders; she closed her eyes, trying again to fight the feeling of heat, for it was overwhelming. Then she saw his eyes above hers, so deeply black again. There was no laughter in them now, rather something dark and intense. He studied her briefly, then caught her lips once again. Kissed and kissed her, tasting, exploring with his lips.…

And with his demanding caress. The fingers that had feathered so softly over her thighs were feather light no more. His hand kneaded over the soft mound of golden hair at the juncture of her thighs. She felt his kiss still, but her breath caught and she rippled with tension. Yes, farther, parting, stroking, delving. Gently parting petals of flesh and stroking once again.…

She dug her nails heedlessly into his flesh, while a
wave, as of molten honey, came cascading down upon her. She tried to tighten against him, somewhat amazed, somewhat afraid. His lips broke from hers at last. Breathless, trembling, she met his gaze, tensing again. “No,” he commanded very gently. Her lashes fluttered shut against his ebony stare once again, and still she felt his gaze sweeping her. “Worth a million!” he repeated in a soft, husky whisper, sending the searing honey to skip down her spine and into her limbs once again. What now?

Oh, God …

His lips fell in a series of slow, leisurely kisses. Then she felt the pressure on her thighs. Felt them parted, felt his weight. Felt the searing beat of his sex so briefly against her and then …

Now, now … no.

His weight suddenly brought lower, his body a bulwark parting her. She nearly shrieked aloud with the first jagged streak of sun that seemed to pervade her as he kissed her anew. This touch parting, delving, stroking, just as his fingers had done before. Her fingers fell upon his shoulders, she swallowed upon her cry, twisting her head into the pillow. His large bronze hands enclasped her hips, holding her steady to his will. She writhed, desperate for a moment to escape anything so sweetly intimate, but writhing only caused a greater sensation and she went still, realizing that she could not free herself from this lover’s caress.