Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (16 page)

“There’s no need to be afraid…I’m here,” he murmured, smoothing her velvety hair. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Cat shuddered and pressed her nose deep into his shoulder, wrapping her arms about his chest, seeking solace. She seemed so lost, so lonely. He recognized her anguish, knowing it all too well himself.

“It is like my mind races but goes nowhere.” Her voice quivered with a hint of panic. “I feel like I ought to be doing something but have no idea what. I want to help you, the children, Mrs. Nagel. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I can’t seem to sit still…But feel like I’m going nowhere.”

“Shhh,” he soothed. “You don’t have anything to do or anywhere to be. You’re fine.”

She hugged him close. “I’m so glad I ran into you. I just…didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

“I’m here, Cat. I’m here.”

“I’m so…glad…Marcus.”

After a few minutes, he felt her limbs relax. Her breathing steadied as she lay in his arms, so trusting, so innocent. She let out a sweet, breathy sigh.

Marcus had known many women in his time, but few had ever asked for or given such comfort. Excitement, play, release, yes. But nothing like this…sense of…affinity. He realized that as he soothed her, he felt his own frayed nerves settle. He caressed her hair, like skimming his hands over a running brook, it was so smooth. Her
lithe body fit neatly into his, pressing into his chest and along his limbs. Darkness cloaked them in a cocoon of intimacy that he prayed would not be breached any time soon. It had been so long since he’d felt such comfort.

Thoughts of his mother came to mind. In the peace of the shadows, he allowed some of the grief to wash through his heart. Like water streams over a jagged rock making it smooth, he experienced the ache, but along with it the sweetness of the memories. It was somehow easier to face the grief with Cat in his arms.

Slowly, thoughts of his father seeped into his mind. Marcus suddenly recalled the day his father had taught him how to ride. Walking the mare wasn’t so bad. That was fun, actually, to feel a sense of control over such a great beast. But he’d gotten a bit ahead of himself and had kicked the horse’s side, sending them off on a wild, bumpy ride that had knocked Marcus on his bottom.

“Learn your lesson and get right back on and do it better,” his father had commented coolly. There had been no censure in his tone, no look of reproach in his deep blue gaze. Marcus had dusted off his breeches and gotten right back on.

He’d learned his father’s lesson well that day, as he did so many others. How to read, how to decipher a map, how to tie trick knots. These were some of the invaluable skills that Marcus carried with him every day, unthinkingly falling back on the instruction that his father had imparted. His father’s mark would forever be upon him.

Marcus recalled sitting beside his father in his parents’ spacious bed, reading the big heavy Bible together. He could almost smell the musty parchment and see the closely typed lettering. Marcus could almost feel his father’s long legs stretched out beside his smaller ones. Marcus had loved the story of Moses going up the moun
tain. Together he and his father had read those passages over and over so that Marcus almost knew them by heart.

Hugging Cat’s warm body to his, Marcus closed his eyes and let the memories sweep over him. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he welcomed the darkness.

L
ightness seeped in through Marcus’s closed eyelids. Birds chirped a merry tune, the trees rustled and the air smelled pleasantly of pine, dew and…lemons? Something agreeably warm blanketed his right side, assuaging the brisk morning breeze.

Marcus tried to peel the cobwebs from his foggy mind. Rarely did he fall into such a deep slumber, always remaining one quarter awake as to be on the ready for any nasty surprises. For some reason last night he had succumbed much more deeply than usual and he was having difficulty rousing. Morpheus enticed him back into slumber with promises of sweet dreams and gentle rest, but he knew that on a certain level something was not as it should be. And it was something he should know about citrus fruit.

Marcus opened one eye. He was used to waking up with aches and pains and in strange places, but nothing could have prepared him for waking on a bed with lovely Cat Miller nestled in his arms. It took him a moment to realize
where he was and recall the events of the night before.

Cat snuggled in his arms, her nose pressed into his neck, her arm draped languidly across his chest. Dear lord, her knee was pressed up against his groin, soliciting the
exact opposite reaction
from last night when she’d felled him.

His manhood was swollen, hard and throbbing, demanding release. His body had a mind of its own and it made no distinction as to whether the woman in his arms was fair game or not. And she was most decidedly
not
, given her innocence. All his body knew, nonetheless, was that she felt good up against him and that it wanted her.

He schooled himself not to act like a beast, and to behave like the gentleman that she deserved him to be. But then she shifted in her sleep and her hand skated down to his stomach. His rod leaped in response and the blood in his veins flamed with desire. It took every ounce of self-control not to move an inch as he reined in his insistent passion.
Devil take it; she feels good.
Too good for a man who needed to keep his hands off her.

It was barely dawn, the sun’s fragile golden rays scarcely setting the trees aglow outside. There was still some time before the whole orphanage awoke and Marcus wanted to be careful that no one came upon them. He did not want to think of the implications for Cat if someone saw them together. A man’s indiscretions were usually easily forgiven, a lady’s, rarely. Even in the friendly orphanage, few would understand the platonic beauty of sharing their grief. He wouldn’t have appreciated it, he realized, had he not experienced it himself.

Slowly, Marcus edged away, gently trying to slide out from under Cat. One inch, then two. She groaned, shifting restlessly. He froze, waiting for her to settle back to sleep. She could use the rest, he told himself, it was best not to
wake her. Dark circles still banked her eyes, he noticed. Not to mention that he didn’t want her to wake and witness his embarrassingly aroused state.

Her pink-bowed lips were parted slightly as she let out a dainty snore. Her brow was smooth and relaxed and her eyelids so translucent he could discern the tiny veins lining them. She really was remarkably lovely.

“Oh,” she murmured, her brow furrowing as she leaned up on one elbow. Her golden hair speared around her head like a spiky halo, and her porcelain skin was flushed pink. She blinked groggily and rubbed her eyes. “Must have fallen asleep…”

“Yes, well, ah…I believe that we should get up before anyone starts looking for you. You never know when someone will come—” He didn’t actually just use that word, did he?

Catherine rubbed her muddled head, muttering, “No one will come looking for me. Not today. There’s early-morning chapel, and that’s when I usually do my accounts. It’s the best time for quiet.” She yawned, trying to unscramble her jumbled thoughts. Then she remembered. The guesthouse. The spirits. Marcus’s bedchamber.

Catherine blinked, suddenly fully awake, and from tip to toe aware of the lithe body lying beneath her. She lay sprawled across Marcus, adhering to his hard muscle like a layer of crème upon pudding. It felt astoundingly pleasurable, yet…unsettling, too. His body radiated an agreeable warmth, particularly in the brisk morning air of the open window. And yet, that warmth seemed to elicit an extravagant amount of heat from her roused body.

She was overly warm, and although having slept, she felt astonishingly…restless. Her breasts were mashed against Marcus’s chest, giving her an unusual sense of agitation. Her legs were parted with his thigh pressed in the
most outrageous, yet utterly enticing manner between them. She felt the unholy urge to answer some sort of call, but she did not quite understand who or what was invoking her. All she knew was that being with Marcus felt really good and she wanted more of it.

“If you would…” He shifted beneath her to rise, using his foot for leverage and inadvertently pushing his thigh deeper into the crevice between her thighs.

Heavens
! She almost swooned with the heady pleasure surging through her.

He suddenly froze. Did he recognize or understand what was happening to her? She didn’t know whether to be appalled or ask him about it.

“Cat,” he urged, his rumbling voice making her belly tickle in the most beguiling manner. “We really can’t stay here.”

She might not understand what was happening. But the last thing in the world she wanted to do at that moment was to separate from this enthralling man.

“Does your head hurt?” she rushed, quickly, laying her palms across his chest and burying her chin atop them, as if she wanted to meet his eye to confer.

He blinked. “No, actually.”

“Mine doesn’t either. Isn’t it supposed to?”

“It depends on how much one imbibes.”

Now what?
“You don’t smell of spirits any longer,” she noted. “Do I?”

His brow furrowed as he leaned forward and sniffed. “No, only lemons.” He tilted his head back and his raven hair fell like a black fan over the burgundy coverlet. He stared up at the ceiling. “Why…why aren’t you using the orange blossom soap I gave you?”

Because I’m saving it for when you’re gone.
She could easily envision the lonely nights when she would unwrap
the sweet-scented soap and inhale the memories of her short time with Marcus Dunn.

But a cold lump of cleanser would not keep her warm on a dark night. Nor would the remembrance of a brush of his fingers or a hug when she wept. The memories seemed so insignificant, so unequal to the lonely future yawning wide before her. She wanted more, she realized. Much more to remember, much more to cherish, much more to
know
.

She wanted to live before she died
. And Marcus Dunn was the only man who could make that happen.

“If we move quickly, then no one has to know you were here,” he said, laying his hands on her shoulders. He rose to sit up, bending from the waist.

Catherine didn’t want to go, and she didn’t want him to either. But she didn’t know how to stop it from happening. So she simply refused to budge. And found herself suddenly facing Marcus’s very full lap.

Dear Lord in heaven! His manhood was as stiff as a pike!

Her gaze flew up. From the look in his eyes,
he knew
that
she knew
and he didn’t know
what
to do.

Her heart began to pound and heat flooded her cheeks. He found her desirable! Perhaps even a tiny bit as much as she desired him!

Cat swallowed, knowing that if she did not do something, Marcus would do the gentlemanly thing and remove himself from her presence—the very last thing in the world that she wanted him to do. She needed to act, and quickly, or her opportunity would be lost. Possibly forever. But what to do?

Her heart raced and her mouth was dry as dust but she garnered her courage. Cat reached her arms up, grasping Marcus firmly around the neck and pulled herself up against him, sliding up his chest.

He swallowed, raising a black-winged brow. His gaze shimmered with passion so intense, she felt caught up in those sea blue depths. The current sucked her deeper, into an eddy so strong she felt swept away. Her mind clouded, her breath grew heavy, and her blood began to pulse slow, deep and rhythmic. Her suddenly dry lips parted and she licked them, wanting to quench the thirst that only he seemed able to satisfy. Through it all, he did not reach for her, did not move to kiss her as she so desperately wanted.

The tension within her built until she couldn’t take it any longer. “Can you kiss me, Marcus? Is your lip well enough?” she breathed, not knowing from where her courage came. All she knew was that if he didn’t touch her soon, she would expire.

After an agonizing half second, he muttered, “My lip is fine.” His mouth descended upon hers, crushing her lips with the most exquisite sweet pleasure she’d ever experienced in her two-and-twenty years of life. Her body melted with the heat searing from his kiss to every extremity and back again. He tasted faintly of mint and musk and better than Cook’s chocolate crèmes.

He urged her mouth open, and boldly his tongue touched hers. Thrills rocketed from her mouth straight to her womanhood. She writhed against him, the restlessness making her flame. His tongue played deliciously with hers, guiding her, testing her, intoxicating her so that she felt the unholy desire to swoon. But she wouldn’t dare miss this!

Her palms moved, greedy for the touch of his skin. Pushing aside his linen shirt, her hands grazed his broad chest. Smooth skin over hard muscle.

His hands cupped her shoulders, and slowly cascaded down her back to the slope of her derrière with the most
enticing caress. Her hips bucked and the area between her thighs surged with excruciating heat.

He released her lips, only to set his hot open mouth to her neck beneath her ear. Her head swam, as her body gave in to the heat, his caresses, and his scent, filling her with a need she instinctively understood.

“Stop me, Cat,” he begged as his breath whispered along her neck. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

“Don’t…” She shuddered.

His hands froze and he pulled back seeking her gaze.

Pressing her palms to his cheeks, she yanked his mouth back to hers. “
Don’t stop
, is what I was saying.”

She kissed him and felt his smile beneath her lips, wondering if she was doing it correctly and only half-caring since it felt so good.

Rolling on top of her, he settled between her thighs. But instead of joining her expectant lips, he set his mouth to the hard nub of her breast, nibbling it through the thin fabric of her robe. She shuddered as insistent desire surged through her. Never had she wanted anything more in her life as she wanted to be touched by this man.

As if answering her silent prayers, Marcus’s hand slid downward to her belly, her hips, and with excruciating tardiness to the aching core of need between her thighs.

Through the gown, his palm pressed against the dampness of her womanhood. She wanted to die from it, it felt so heavenly. Involuntarily, her hips bucked, pressing into him, telling him without words how much she wanted him. His heavy breath was her only indication that he understood. Until, with his other hand, Marcus reached for the hem of her gown and lifted it.

Elated, and slightly terrified, Cat unconsciously rolled her thighs together as the cool morning air skated across
her bare skin, up her calves, her thighs, and finally, to the hot core between her legs. She swallowed, nervous, as his fingers followed that same path, eliciting excited bumps along her virgin skin. Garnering her courage, she bent one knee, opening herself up in the most intimate way to his touch.

His hand grazed up the tiny hairs on her thigh.

Her breath caught.

She swallowed, then slowly parted her thighs even more. She wanted to leave him with no doubt as to her desire.

Nimble fingers slipped into the warm, damp folds of her womanhood, toying within.

She gasped as lightning rocketed through her womanly core. Heat gushed. Her heart danced. Her breath came in rushing pants as her body quivered. She closed her eyes. Her hips began to undulate to a magical rhythm that Marcus played. She groaned, lost to the sensation, caught in the vortex of an amazing inferno, her womanhood at its center, pulsing with desire.

She felt Marcus’s mouth press hot and damp against the cloth at her breast as his fingers stroked between her thighs.

She moaned, biting her fist to keep from crying out.

His fingers lunged partway inside her core. Her breath caught, her back arched, her hands gripped the coverlet. Her womanhood was slick, wet, hot and throbbing with need. With agonizing leisure, he withdrew, only to thrust inside again and again and again. But only partway. She wanted
more
, wanted him deeper inside, but instead he pulled his fingers out, to play with the hard nub of her womanhood. She gasped, as pleasure rocketed through her. His pace quickened, rubbing, teasing, toying with her most sensitive essence. She was lost, battered by an onslaught of sensation that threatened to overwhelm her.
She couldn’t take any more, but would die if he stopped. Her heart hammered in a crescendo, her breath locked in her throat.

His mouth found hers, urging, sucking, demanding. Taking her higher, carrying her up, up, up…

Hot pleasure surged through her in undulating waves, sending her flying to an exquisite place she’d never known existed. He captured her cries in his mouth, holding her tightly as she flew.