Samantha James (15 page)

Above her, he’d gone very still. His breath was harsh and scraping in her ear. It spun through her mind that he seemed on the brink of some terrible pain.

Bronzed fingers brushed a tangle of hairs from her cheek. “Are you all right?” His whisper was low and husky.

The uneven breath she drew only made her more aware of the rigid thickness of his manhood impaled deep within her. Eyes clinging to his, she nodded.

“You’re certain? I’m not hurting you?”

Heather noted the concern in his voice and felt the overwhelming tension in him. The knowledge that he held back in order to spare her pain tugged at her heartstrings.

“I’m fine.” Her smile was tremulous, for indeed, the stinging wrought by his invasion had
ebbed. At her words, his eyes seemed to blaze. Suddenly unable to bear any distance at all between them, she tangled her hands in the rich, dark hair on his nape and brought his head down to hers.

His growl of satisfaction echoed deep in her throat. With slow, measured strokes, he began to move, withdrawing almost out of her body but not quite. He could feel her sleek, wet passage stretching to accommodate him. She was so small, so hot and tight. Little by little, his rhythm began to quicken. She gasped at the delicious friction of his skin sliding against hers…inside her.

For Damien, the pleasure was almost more than he could bear. The scorching desire that burned in his belly clamored for release, but he held back. His fingers dug into her hips. He braced himself above her, the muscles of his arms rigid and corded, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of his swollen rod piercing deep within pink, feminine petals of softness.

Heather felt she was burning from the inside out. Fire shimmered along her nerve endings. Her hips began to catch the meter of his thrust, lifting and circling, instinctively seeking his. Sparks flamed within her, inside and out. She could feel the thunder of her heart, certain it would burst from the bounds of her chest at any moment.

Her head thrashed wildly. “Damien!” His name was a raw, shivering plea—for what, she knew not.

At the sound of his name, something gave way inside him. His mouth took hers with an urgency that made her sing inside.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he gasped. “God, Heather, I can’t hold back…I want you too much…I want you too much….”

Everything inside her seemed to melt. Naked emotion poured through her, mind and body and heart. With a half sob she locked her arms around him. “Oh, Damien,” she cried. “I want you, too.
I want you, too
.”

Her words obliterated his last fragment of control. Engulfed in dark, desperate ecstasy, he plunged into her, torrid and driving, his thrusts almost frenzied. He gritted his teeth and rushed toward the edge, damning himself for his lack of control. It was too good. He didn’t want it to end…not yet. Not ever…

Heather buried her face against his neck and clung to him blindly, caught up in the same breathless fever of passion unleashed. She wanted to feel him deep inside her, deep as her heart. Each powerful thrust of his manhood echoed in every pore of her body. Then suddenly she was splintering apart inside, the sensation so intense it was almost terrifying. She cried out, feeling the clasp of her body convulse around his again and again. Above her, he gave one last piercing lunge. She felt him shudder above her. His body tightened like a bow. She gasped as his scalding release erupted inside her, drenching her with a flooding, melting heat.

His body shifted. He propped himself on his elbows and whispered her name. As her lids
drifted open, he kissed her, a lingering, gentle caress that spoke of wonder and pleasure and satisfaction, of all things tender and caring and giving.

All she’d dared not believe existed….

Her every wish fulfilled.

Time had no meaning in the hours that followed. Sleep was discarded, for indeed, the night was one of sublime discovery. Heather learned there were many faces to making love—languid and tender and achingly slow, playful and teasing, furious and primitive and wild—all wonderfully splendid.

The first faint glimmer of dawn found the pair tangled in each other’s arms. Her hair spilled wildly across his chest, a silken curtain of black. A strong, possessive arm wrapped her close against his side.

“I had no idea you were such a wanton young lady at heart,” Damien teased.

Heather suppressed the urge to hide her face against his shoulder. Instead she curled a finger in the dark jungle on his chest and tugged. “I heard no complaints before this, sir,” she accused in mock indignation.

His arms tightened. “And you’ll hear none, either. Indeed”—the timbre of his voice
dropped so it was low and husky—“you’ve given me a night I’ll not soon forget.”

Startled, but pleased beyond measure, Heather peered up at him. Something flitted across his features, something strange and unfathomable, something she didn’t understand. She frowned, convinced he was about to say more, but he did not.

Instead he pointed to the watercolor on the wall. “Where did you learn to paint so well?”

She considered a moment. “I learned the most rudimentary elements from my tutor when I was very young. But I suppose I would have to say Miss Havesham’s School for Young Ladies in London.”

“Why so modest, Heather? You’re really quite talented.”

One bare shoulder lifted in a shrug. He could see she was embarrassed.

“I learned what everyone else learned, or, as the inestimable Miss Havesham used to say, ‘A lady must be prudent and delicate. A lady must know how to charm and be charmed. To be sweet and ever obliging; to embroider and sew, sing and play and paint like the masters—or at least make a valiant attempt to do so,’” she quoted. There was a pregnant pause. “I suppose one might say I learned some things better than others.”

Damien shifted so he could see her more clearly. “Come now,” he objected. “I cannot believe you weren’t her prize pupil!”

“I excelled in the classics and the arts, at things that were best done with my hands. How
ever”—her tone was falsely bright—“as you’ve noticed, ’tis a trifle difficult for someone with my…how shall I say this delicately…my limitations…to glide across the floor like a swan upon water. I could not post a trot, nor could I dance as if I were an angel with wings upon my feet. I fear I was an abysmal failure in many respects.”

Too late he realized his mistake…Heather’s gaze had lowered, stringently avoiding his. Her little wooden smile tore at his soul.

He trapped one small hand beneath his where it lay between them on the sheet.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said gently.

The chambers of her mind echoed with the memory of those long-ago taunts…and so did her heart.

You’re not like us, Heather Duval…you’re lame. You’re a cripple
.

Ruthlessly she pushed aside the memory. “It did then,” she admitted unthinkingly. “But—not now,” she added when she realized what she’d just revealed.

No matter her denial, the hurt little girl she had once been had not been forgotten. She was still there, still a part of the woman. In that instant, he knew that Heather had never had the childhood she should have had. Fate had not allowed it.

“If you were so unhappy,” he said quietly, “why didn’t you tell your parents? Why did you stay?” He couldn’t imagine that Miles and Victoria would have forced her to do anything that would have harmed her spirit in any way.

She focused on the tangle of hairs that grew at the base of his throat. “Mama and Papa thought I should be with girls of my own age. That was why they sent me. I—I stayed because I—I didn’t want to disappoint them.”

He gave her a long, slow look. “You hated it, didn’t you, Heather? Yes, of course you did. And they still don’t know it, do they?…”

Heather trembled. She said nothing, nor was there any need for words. Her silence said it all.

Indeed, Damien couldn’t blame her. She’d stayed on to prove to herself that she was as good as anyone else. No, Heather would never give in to defeat. She would endure, no matter the cost. Vulnerable as she was, she would rise and stand firm as any soldier, unwavering in her resolve…and all the while crying inside.

She was strong, he realized, far stronger than many men…yet he wondered if she knew it.

He came to a sudden decision. He threw off the covers and rose, heedless of his nakedness. Swiftly rolling up the carpet that covered the center of the floor, he pushed it alongside the far wall, then strode to the middle of the room.

“Come” was all he said.

She clutched the sheet to her naked breasts and stared at him as if he’d lost his senses.

“You needn’t look at me like that,” he stated calmly. “You’ve spent a lifetime wishing you knew how to dance—I think it’s time you learned.”

She inhaled sharply, her distress vivid in her eyes. “Damien, I’ve already told you, I cannot—”

“You rode Zeus tonight, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but…with you.” She faltered. “Not—not
alone
.”

He held out a hand. “And you won’t be alone now, will you?” he asked softly.

His tone—as well as the tenderness in his gaze—made her pulse flutter strangely. The hold of his eyes was utterly compelling. Endlessly persuasive.

She pushed the covers aside and rose. A curious sense of unreality assailed her. This was happening to someone else. It had to be…

She glanced nervously at the end of the bed, where her nightgown lay. “My nightgown—”

“Hardly necessary, sweet. We don’t have an audience.” His fingers closed around hers, strong and reassuringly warm. “Besides, you weren’t so modest just moments ago.”

She couldn’t share his good humor. “I wasn’t standing in the middle of my room n-naked just moments ago!” She was still aghast at her own temerity.

His gaze wandered the length of her. “Either way, I very much like what I see.” His tone was as intimate as his perusal.

Heather blushed the color of deep red berries.

His features gentled. “Come here now.” He clasped her right hand in his left. “There. Hold my hand just so.” He slipped an arm around the nip of her waist and brought her close. Her fingers hovered above his shoulder, then fluttered downward.

“Very good. Now what shall we start with? A
waltz? A pity there’s no music, but no matter. We can do this, I think. Just remember. One, two, three. One, two, three…”

Slowly he began to move. But Heather, in her anxiety to obey, stepped so quickly she nearly tripped.

She sprang from his arms. Tears sparkled in her eyes. “You see?” she cried. “This is hopeless.”

He neither chided nor censured her. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her temple, her cheeks, holding her until her trembling subsided.

“Let’s try again, shall we, sweet?” His breath rushed by her ear.

Certain she would burst out crying at any instant, Heather closed her eyes and clung.

Damien spoke in low, soothing tones. “Let’s go about this a bit differently, shall we? This is a waltz especially for you and me, Heather. Just remember that. There’s no need to cover the entire floor, is there? We’ll take tiny, tiny steps, and waltz in a very small circle.”

The desperate pressure of her hand around his eased somewhat.

“That’s right. Just relax and hold onto me,” he coaxed. “Feel the rhythm of my body with yours, and let me guide you. Now. One, two, three. One, two, three…”

He was endlessly patient. Patently convincing.

“Remember, it’s just you and me, Heather. Just the two of us.”

Heather gave a tiny sigh and dropped her head against his shoulder. An imaginary waltz trilled
in her head. Tiny, tiny, steps, she reminded herself, leaning against him. She had only to listen to his body…and her own picked up the tempo. She swayed to and fro. Why, it was almost like making love. All at once she felt amazingly light-headed…and lighthearted as well.

“Yes…yes! That’s the way, sweet. By Jove, you’ve got it….”

She laughed, a bubbly sound of joy. “I—I do, don’t I?”

Damien’s hold tightened. He made no answer, but continued to guide her in a slow circle.

She tipped her head back to gaze at him. “You know, you’re quite mad.”

“So I’ve been told.”

A girlish giggle escaped. Dear heaven, she was waltzing
naked
in the middle of her room! “The waltz was once considered quite scandalous, you know.” She imparted this with a dimple in her cheek. Her gaze briefly encompassed their nudity. “But I daresay no waltz has ever been quite so scandalous as this one.”

Damien’s laugh was full and rich. “And I can see you are quite scandalized, Miss Duval.”

Heather smiled up at him. In all her days, she couldn’t think when she’d been so happy….

“Yes,” she said cheekily, “and I can see the subject of this discussion is having a rather predictable effect on your person, Mr. Lewis.” Her gaze zipped downward.

And indeed it was.

Damien’s smile faded. His eyes fell to her mouth. He trailed a finger down her cheek.
“Then perhaps it’s time we remedied the situation,” he whispered.

The world fell away as he carried her to the bed. Mouths fused, limbs entwined, the tempest of passion flared hot and bright. She smothered a cry as he entered her. Suddenly, strong hands caught at her, skimmed the backs of her thighs. He rolled, and now she lay astride his hips. She could feel him against her furrowed cleft, erect and pulsing.

A soft cry of confusion broke from her lips. “Damien—”

His eyes were fiercely aglow. “Take me,” he ordered. His voice was low and taut. He lifted her slightly, bringing her down upon him, impaling her with the thickness of his shaft.

Heather gaped in startled surprise. Never had it occurred to her that such a thing was possible. She shifted slightly, for though the position caused no pain, it was a trifle uncomfortable….

He eased a pillow beneath her right knee. “Better?” His eyes cleaved directly into hers.

Heather nodded, for indeed, speech was impossible. Her body fit his like a glove; the feeling of his manhood speared deep inside was incredible.

Slowly, tentatively, her hips lifted, then tilted forward. The sensation was indescribable. Tiny shivers raced down her spine. Guided by instinct alone, her body claimed his again and again. Her breathing hastened. Her hips undulated. She began to writhe and plunge. All the while Damien filled his hands with the bounty of her
breasts, plucked pouting, pink tips until she gasped her pleasure. His eyes blazed. He thrust his thumb into the down fleece, stroking and circling the sensitive nub. With a low moan, she spun high and away into a realm of sheer bliss.

That time was the best of all.

She was still smiling when Damien eased her to her side. Still smiling when he slipped from the bed. Sunlight gilded the room, and he was aware that the household would soon be stirring to life. He pressed a kiss to the curve of those sweet lips.

“I’d better leave before anyone finds me here,” he murmured.

Heather rubbed her cheek against his hands. “I suppose you’re right.” She sighed. While he dressed, she pulled on her dressing gown. Sitting on the side of the bed, she watched him, her gaze both admiring and wistful.

Five minutes later he was ready. He was about to return for one last kiss when a corner of paper on her bureau snared his attention. His breath drew in when he saw it was the sketch they’d spoken of only last night, the sketch she’d drawn that very first day….

She’d kept it. All this time, she’d kept it….

A potent smile of satisfaction rimmed his lips. He crossed to the bureau, and then he saw it…a silver, claw-footed jewel case.

He froze.

The world seemed to blacken. Images flashed in his brain. Images sent from long ago, from a time years past. Transferred from another place, when he was just a child…

He shook his head, to clear it. It wasn’t possible. It simply could not be….

But it was. The proof was before him. He stared at the word
Beloved
etched into a small, mother-of-pearl oval upon the lid. He stared until his eyes were so dry they burned.

“Damien?”

He didn’t hear the voice that queried softly. He didn’t see the frown that marred the beauty of her brow. An awful storm brewed in his breast, churning and swirling like the blackest pits of hell.

He snatched the jewel case in his hands and whirled. “Where did you get this?”

Heather was shocked. It was a rough demand, a slap across the face. She felt as if a cold wind had blown across her heart. She nearly flinched at the ruthless probe of his eyes.

Something was wrong, she thought vaguely. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. The cords in his neck stood taut. His face was a mask of stone. He was angry, she realized numbly. No. Not just angry. He was furious….

Two strides brought him before her. He thrust the jewel case into her lap. “Where did this come from?” he demanded again.

Her heart constricted. His lips were drawn back over his teeth, a feral snarl, lips that had so sweetly enticed. But the look in his eyes was terrible, dark and unshuttered. She felt as if she were caving in inside, for the man who confronted her now was a stranger—one she didn’t know. The hours just past might never have happened.

The jewel case was flung aside. His hands shot out, hauling her to her feet. “Answer me, Heather.
Where did this come from
?”

His gaze pinned hers relentlessly. “God dammit,
tell me!
”

Stunned, she stared up at him. “It—it was my mother’s,” she gasped.

“You’re lying,” he charged flatly.

She was suddenly trembling from head to toe. Tears scalded the backs of her eyes. She felt that her lungs would burst with the effort it took to hold them back. “I—I’m not!” she cried. “Damien, what’s wrong? Why are you acting this way? Why would you say such a thing?”

He released her, as if she were suddenly abhorrent. “Because I’ve seen it before, Heather.” He spoke through lips that barely moved. “On
my
mother’s dressing table.”