Stuart, Elizabeth (23 page)

He
hesitated, but Jocelyn said nothing. She was huddled against the pillows,
clutching that ridiculous cloak to her chest. He couldn't help thinking of the
way she had come to him yesterday morning to save him from shame, the way she
had offered herself up weeks ago to spare her sister. And of a sudden he found
himself thinking that Jocelyn de Langley deserved a great deal more than life
had dealt her thus far.

"Adelise
is uncommonly fair," he said softly. "Hers is a beauty that steals
all eyes—at first. But you've beauty of a different sort, Jocelyn, a darker,
quieter beauty that is just as compelling and far more desirable, to me at
least. Adelise has the fair, fragile loveliness of a lily. Something I might
admire from a distance with little desire to touch.

"But
you, madam..." He leaned forward and caught her chin, forcing her to look
up at him. "You do have the earthy, exquisite loveliness of a rose. All
dark and velvety and begging to be enjoyed. I want so badly to reach out and
stroke its petals, lift it to my nose and sample its fragrance for
myself."

He
lifted a handful of her hair and inhaled deeply, then brushed its silkiness
against his mouth. "You do have the most exquisite hair," he
murmured.

Jocelyn
stared at her husband, as mesmerized by his sensual movements as those
beautiful, unbelievable words. "But it is... dark," she said, as if
her coloring were a fact that had somehow escaped his notice.

He
was toying with the strand, running his fingers through it, wrapping it about
his hands. The gentle tugging sent a host of pleasant, shivery feelings
spiraling downward from her scalp.

"Aye."
Robert said. "Dark and rich and sweet as sin. Enough to send a man to hell
for his thoughts alone."

"My
brother did liken it once to a horse's tail," she murmured.

Robert
let his grin widen. "And I would liken your brother to that part of a
horse where the tail is attached."

Her
face lit with her smile. Robert swallowed hard, felt desire rushing up through
his body, a tormenting, physical ache. How could this woman not know how
desirable she was?

"Oh,
aye, your sister is beautiful, Jocelyn," he said again, "but you are
the woman I've wanted in my arms and in my bed since that first instant we met,
the woman I want right now. That is the truth upon the surety of my soul, and
the very plainest way I do know how to speak."

Jocelyn
was staring at him, eyes wide and wondering, brilliant and shimmering as stars.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Robert bent and touched his mouth to
hers.

The
kiss was brief and chaste but amazingly tender. Jocelyn had never known such
tenderness. She was overwhelmingly aware of the soft bed beneath them, of the
fact that she was suddenly warm and breathless, that every part of her seemed
to be aching for this man's touch.

His
mouth left hers, brushing gently across her cheek, nuzzling beneath her ear. He
shifted her down against the pillows, began kissing the sensitive flesh at the
base of her throat. "What say you, madam?" he whispered. "Would you
be so terribly wroth if we did have a wedding afternoon instead of a wedding
night?"

Jocelyn
caught her breath at the incredible sensations he was arousing, sensations that
were wreaking havoc on every one of her disordered senses. "I would say,
my lord, that I do like your plain speaking, but I think, perhaps, that I've
sorely underrated the power of pretty words."

He
hesitated, obviously listening.

"No
one has ever compared me to a rose before," she said slowly. "A weed,
once, but never a rose. And even if you didn't mean it, it's by far the most
beautiful thing I've ever heard. I only hope you're not disappointed. I'm not
so sure I know how to be a rose."

Robert
lifted his head and stared down at his wife, a rare feeling of tenderness
stealing over him. Jocelyn was a totally disarming combination of boldness and
vulnerability, strength and utter defenselessness. He gathered up her hair,
swept it back over the pillows away from her face. "Just follow your
feelings," he murmured. "They won't lead you astray."

With
that he bent and kissed her again, beginning slowly, opening his mouth over
hers, teasing her lips with his tongue and encouraging her to open to him. Her
lips parted and he deepened the kiss, exploring the warm softness of her mouth,
delighted when her tongue met his in her own tentative exploration.

Jocelyn
opened her mouth wider and took him in, letting go all of her restraints,
giving herself up completely to the heady, drugging power of his kisses. This
was what she remembered, this feeling of heat and arousal, of wanting his mouth
against hers so badly that nothing else mattered at all. She was swept away by
sensation, her whole body fluid and aching and weightless, as if all her bones
had melted suddenly, as if nothing held her anchored to the bed.

Her
hands rose to his shoulders and clung there. He was wonderful to touch, all
hard and muscular and male. Her hands slid upward, stroking his throat,
reaching into his hair. It felt better than she had imagined. Cooler. Thicker.
Silkier textured. She curled her fingers through it. He did have such glorious
hair.

He
lifted his head at last and Jocelyn was surprised at the intense degree of
disappointment she felt. "Ah, sweetheart," he said, grinning down.
"You have quite a talent for this. It makes me wonder just what other surprises
you've kept hidden."

And
before she realized his intent, he had caught the edges of his cloak and pulled
them back. The sudden rush of air chilled her, brought her to her senses. She
had forgotten she was naked.

All
her insecurities came rushing back. No doubt a man like her husband had stared
at scores of beautiful women. Hadn't he told her himself that women were
different, that there were dozens of intriguing types to explore?

She
longed to grab for the cloak, but pride kept her motionless. She made no move
to cover herself as he looked his fill, as he trailed one finger slowly along
her collar bone and down across the curve of her breast.

His
eyes came back to hers, all narrowed and smoky and burning with some inner
fire. "You're perfect, Jocelyn. Do you know that? Do you have any idea the
incredible pleasure I find just in looking at you, in being able to touch you
like this at last?"

She
reached up and touched his mouth, quickly, before she could lose her nerve.
"Just kiss me again," she whispered. "I forget all else when you
do that."

He
gave an odd little laugh that ended on a groan. "Ah, sweetheart, it is my
pleasure!"

He
shifted over her then, pressing her down into the mattress, opening her mouth
with one sliding, sensual thrust of his tongue. It was even better being kissed
by him like this, Jocelyn decided, and she gave herself over to the incredible
pleasure of carrying him, flowing into him, being completely possessed by him.

His
hands slid up her ribcage, settling warmly over her breasts. Instinctively,
Jocelyn arched against him. She felt his palms, flat and hard against the
sensitive crests of her breasts, felt his fingers curl possessively around her
fullness. And somehow it was the best, the most natural feeling she had ever
known.

He
held her, explored her, as their kisses continued to deepen. Then he caught her
nipple between his thumb and forefinger and began to rub gently.

Jocelyn
sucked in her breath, dragging her mouth from his to get air. He had just
evoked the most incredible throbbing sensation between her thighs.

Her
eyes flew to his in amazement only to discover that he was obviously well aware
of what he'd done. His gaze was hot and knowing, and his smile might well have
seduced any woman of flesh and blood.

"That,
my sweet, is the way it all begins," he said softly.

Jocelyn
took a steadying breath. "Then it's good we are wed for I do know by now
that I am well and truly lost."

He
said nothing, but she knew she had pleased him. He held her eyes for a moment,
then bent and pressed his mouth to a place he seemed to favor that lay just
beneath her ear. "You aren't lost, Jocelyn," he whispered, "and I
do assure you that where we are going will soon become a right familiar
place."

With
that he began kissing her throat, her chest, the valley between her breasts.
Jocelyn lay back and closed her eyes, fighting to hold herself steady, to find
a balance between feeling and thought.

But
it was a losing battle, for it was becoming impossible to think. She shivered
as his mouth trailed a dizzying wake of sensation down across her body and
back. She could feel the need building, could feel it rising over her like a
swift-running tide. She'd been a fool ever to think she might pretend
indifference to him... to this. And then he stunned her by opening his mouth
over the tip of her breast, sucking it, teasing it in a way that made her gasp
and cry out.

She
squirmed up against him, gasping and breathless, as she clutched at his
shoulders. She wasn't prepared for anything remotely like this, this hot wet
feel of his lips and tongue, this exquisite feeling in her breasts, this
melting and throbbing and wanting in the deepest, most secret part of her.

His
mouth continued its magic while his hands ranged over her, stroking her
breasts, her hips, tracing slow, sensual patterns against the insides of her
thighs, against the bare, quivering flesh of her abdomen.

Her
blood heated and pulsed to a yearning, unbearable tension centered deep between
her thighs. He didn't touch her there but she wanted it. God, how she wanted
it! She heard soft whimpering sounds, realized vaguely that they were coming
from her own throat, that she didn't seem to be able to stop them.

She
twisted back into the pillows, curling her legs around his, wanting him against
every part of her body. He caught his hands in her hair, trapping her face
beneath his, catching her mouth for more of the deep, soul-wrenching kisses
that made her groan.

He
shifted between her thighs, rocking his hips against hers and Jocelyn lifted
herself to meet him. It was a prelude of what was to come and she welcomed it,
wanted it with a fierceness that was frightening in its intensity.

But
then he lifted himself off her suddenly, rising to slide from the bed. She
rose, too, a cry of frustration slipping out before she could bite it back.

"Easy,
love, this will only take a moment," Robert muttered, already dragging off
his tunic. He jerked his shirt over his head, turning back to stare at his
wife. He was breathless, shaking, almost out of control. He had waited too
long, hadn't counted on getting this carried away this quickly. But Jocelyn was
exquisite, her body so incredibly responsive she was like a harp that could be
played with the merest breath.

He
dragged at his chausses, ripping at the cords that bound them, cursing savagely
as they knotted in his haste.

"Robert...
is something wrong?"

He
sucked in his breath. Jocelyn's eyes were cloudy with passion, her face
flushed, her mouth swollen from his kisses. She was ready for him. Sweet Lord,
they were both ready!

And
he couldn't even get out of his clothes!

The
sudden humor of the situation saved him unexpectedly. He bit down hard on his
lip. His wife was looking worried. She might not understand if he laughed.

"Yes,
something's wrong, sweetheart, but with me, not you. Never doubt your effect on
me, Jocelyn. I'm so eager, so clumsy, I've tied my own clothing in knots."

She
looked doubtful, but her naked, half-reclining pose was so provocative that a
new wave of urgency hit him. He muttered another oath, fumbled across the
coffer for his dagger.

Grabbing
it up, he sliced through chords and good linen, let his ruined garments drop to
the floor along with his dagger. And then he was naked beside his wife on the
bed, reaching for her shoulders, groaning as her hands slid the length of him
in a manner that was anything but shy.

He
dragged her against him, wanting the naked, silken feel of her body against
his, craving the sweet, wild kisses she was showering across his face and
throat. With one practiced movement, he had her flat on her back, her body
beneath his as he captured her mouth with his own. He had wanted to go slow for
her sake, but now who was seducing whom?

Jocelyn
opened her mouth for him, welcoming the thrusting of his tongue, his painful,
urgent grip on her shoulders. She ran her hands up his smooth, hairless chest,
down his back. He was heaven to touch. She couldn't get enough of him, couldn't
get close enough to him.

He
kissed his way across her chest, down to her belly, then lifted and spread her
thighs with hands that knew her body far better than she did herself. She felt
the hot rasp of his breath against her, went mindless, suddenly, as his fingers
parted her sensitive flesh and stroked inside.

She
twisted and cried out, arching up helplessly against his hand. She couldn't
think, couldn't breathe. The sum of her being seemed centered between her
thighs.