Sweet Deception (24 page)

Who just might be the
noisiest
person in all Britain. Behind him, she fidgeted, rustled the blanket, sat, groaned, fidgeted some more. A grin creased his face. What on earth was she doing? When he turned back with wine and a wooden plate of cheese, she was sitting rather awkwardly. Her legs were bent at the knees, but she was twisted at the waist so that her hip and bottom were partially off of the ground. “Rocks,” she said by way of explanation.

After handing her a cup and plate, he settled himself on the blanket as well, though he was careful to keep a respectable distance. He moved experimentally, but felt no rocks beneath him, only the cushion of the fabric.

“I
am
sorry about the pastries,” she said after swallowing a bite of cheese. She looked so shocked, so affronted that her attempt hadn’t turned out that he had to laugh all over again.

“Don’t be. They were…memorable,” he said, sipping his wine. “Besides, I find it rather relieving that you can’t cook,” he teased. “No one likes someone who’s perfect.”

“Me? Perfect?” She snorted, scooting to her left as if trying to find a comfortable, rock-less spot. She wiggled her bottom to test out a new position. He swallowed, trying not to watch. “There must have been something more in those pastries than butter, blackberries and all the wrong spices if you think something
that
deluded,” she said.

“I’m quite serious,” he protested, and realized that he was. Hell, when had he gone from finding Emma an annoyance
to defending her virtues to the woman herself? “Emma, you are beautiful in so many ways.”

She huffed, shaking her head as she looked down at the cup of wine in her lap.

Derick took another bite of cheese, hardly tasting it, so lost in thought was he. What a contradiction Emma had turned out to be. From her words and actions over the last few days, he knew that she had both a very high opinion of her abilities and a very low opinion of herself. He also knew that she placed a high value on his estimation of her.

Maybe she needed him in the same way that he needed her. Except rather than her helping him see himself as he
used
to be…

“I wish that you could see yourself as
I
see you,” he murmured.

Her head snapped up, a frown tangling her brows. Yet along with the vulnerability he glimpsed in the amber depths of her eyes, Derick saw a spark of what? Hope? A desire to believe?

She shifted again, scooting away, twisting her legs to the other side. Whether it truly was the rocks beneath their blanket making her uncomfortable, or the sentiment behind his words, Derick made a decision.

He set down his wine and plate, stretched his legs out in front of him and extended a hand. “Come here, Emma.”

When she only cocked her head and stared warily at him, he flexed his fingers in a come-hither motion and patted the ground beside him with his other hand. Though it would be risky to his control to have her so near, what he had to say was important for Emma to hear and he wanted her close, where he could look her in the eyes. And he wanted to be able to throw his arms around her if she tried to get away when it became uncomfortable for her. “King Arthur wouldn’t have let Guinevere sit upon pointy rocks, and neither shall I—not when I have a softer seat to offer.”

She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip between her teeth as she considered. But she rose, walked the few steps that separated them, and placed her hand in his.

Something charged flowed between them, something…trusting, something significant. He started to pull her down beside him when Emma shifted course and sat directly on his lap, and fiery arousal burned out everything else.

Damnation. He hadn’t intended to have her
that
close. But now that she was, he couldn’t just toss her off. Nor did he wish to. He could control himself…This moment was for her.

He settled her sideways across his legs and interlaced his fingers loosely around the outside of her hip. He couldn’t resist tightening his grip, though, resting his open palms against her supple curve.

Emma tensed.

“Look at me.”

She turned her head and squarely met his gaze with her amber one. Brave girl.

“Now, as I was saying. You are
beautiful
, Emma. Uh-uh—” He squeezed her in his arms when she opened her mouth to protest. She stayed silent, though she pressed her lips so tightly together he knew it must be difficult for her to.

“I hadn’t expected that when I saw you again. I remembered an awkward little hoyden with eyes too big for her face,” and no figure to speak of, even as a girl of fifteen, but he wouldn’t say that. The fact that Emma was nodding her agreement told him she still saw herself that way. “Poor darling,” he murmured. “You have no idea how desirable you are, do you?”

Her eyes squinted her disbelief, but never left his. By God, he wasn’t letting her off of his lap until she was convinced. “When I first saw you again, Emma, you…” He struggled for the right word. “You captured me. You’ve grown into the kind of woman men fantasize about.”

Emma snorted.

“Oh, don’t doubt it.” He unlaced his fingers, bringing one hand to her face. “Your lips are full, yet delicately bowed.” He gently rubbed his thumb across them and they parted on a breathy intake. “They beg to be kissed.”

He cupped her face more fully, his thumb continuing its foray. “Your cheekbones are high and strong, your nose pert and adorable and your eyes…Your eyes, Emma, swim with a thousand different thoughts, secrets, memories.” He lost himself in their amber depths for a long moment before murmuring, “When a man looks into them he wants to dive in and explore. Stay a while.”
Stay forever
.

Emma’s breathing had gone shallow. His had too. “A man, Derick?” she whispered. “Or you?”

Oh God, me!
he wanted to shout. He wanted to claim, to possess. But he couldn’t. He grabbed his mental leash and yanked tight.

“As delectable as your physical charms are, however,” he continued, ignoring her question, “they aren’t what make you truly beautiful.”

“I know,” she said. “My mind does.”

Derick huffed, unable to contain a half-grin at her confidence, at least in that realm. If only she believed the rest of herself worthy. “It does,” he agreed. “Your brilliance is incredibly alluring. But I was talking about your soul. You’re full of passion, Emma. Of
compassion
. You care about people—villagers, your brother, complete and total strangers.”

His hand had moved into her hair. He brushed a stray tendril away from her brow and tucked it behind her ear. His body vibrated with need. Sexual need, for certain, but even stronger was the need to get across to her how spectacular she was, so that she believed it. Really believed it.

“That’s what
truly
captured me. I see it every time I’m with you,” he said, his voice low and fervent. “People
admire you, Emma. Rely on you. Appreciate you.
Love
you. Can’t you see that?”

“I do,” Emma whispered. And she did. Her heart fluttered against the cage of her chest as if it wanted to burst from its confinement and fly free. She didn’t ask him whether he was referring to “people” or himself this time. She didn’t have to—she could see the answer in his eyes, feel it in the way he tenderly brushed her hair back from her face and in the hard insistence of his arousal pressing against her hip.

“Do you?” he murmured. His eyes, which usually glittered so sharply green, had dulled to the shade of the deep moss surrounding them.

She moved her arms, sent them traveling up his chest so that her hands might caress his face as lovingly as he did hers. “I do,” she said again as she pulled his lips to hers.

“Emma,” he groaned, sounding almost as if he were in pain. She tensed. Had she misunderstood?

But then his arms crushed her to him and his lips opened over hers.

This
was perfection. Her blood sang in her veins with the mathematical precision of a Bach concerto. Her body remembered vividly the peak that she was capable of, that Derick had shown her, and she raced for it.

Only she couldn’t breathe. It was as if every nerve was afire, sucking up more oxygen than she could take in to keep them burning. God, why were the sensations exponentially stronger than they were last time? Because she now knew what to expect? Or was it because her emotions were so raw from his tender words?

She didn’t know. She only knew that she wanted Derick to burn like she did.

She broke from the kiss. Derick’s chest heaved with harsh pants, and she smiled. He seemed to be having the same issue she was, and that knowledge filled her with a wicked satisfaction. Emma pulled herself up, using
his shoulders to brace herself as she maneuvered her legs from across his lap to straddle him. She used one hand to yank at her skirts, pulling them high enough so that her legs weren’t trapped as she settled herself across him.

“Ah,” she groaned before she captured his lips with hers once again. Strangely, his hardness against her mons was as soothing as it was igniting—as if letting her body know that she would soon be getting everything she wanted allowed her to relax and slow down a little.

Derick’s hands grabbed her bottom, pressing her tightly against him with a groan of his own. She felt him shift, his body tensing. One arm left her body and then suddenly, they rolled.

Emma clung to him, gasping against Derick’s mouth. But she needn’t have worried. He cradled her back, settling her gently against the blanket before settling himself between her thighs, his muscled arms now planted on either side of her. She felt deliciously pinned and she reveled in it.

Then he planted his knees astride her hips and raised himself, pulling her to a semi-reclining position between his legs. “Must. Get. This. Off,” he muttered, tugging at her muslin dress.

Emma’s tummy fluttered. He’d claimed he found her beautiful, but would he still if he saw her completely unclothed? In the bright sunshine?

“Emma,” he growled, as if he sensed the reason for her hesitation. She swallowed and raised her arms, helping him pull the dress up over her head. His long fingers went straight for her stays, tugging at her laces until only her chemise stood between her complete nudity and his greedy gaze. Emma stared at him for a long heartbeat, then removed her chemise herself with shaking hands.

“My God, Emma,” he breathed, the catch in his voice sending a pleasurable thrill that cut through even her embarrassment. “You’re
better
than a fantasy.”

And for a brief moment, hearing the wonder in his voice, Emma believed him.

She relaxed back against the blanket. Derick didn’t move. Instead, it was as if he feasted on her with his eyes. Emma let her own eyes close so she didn’t have to watch him watch her.

But he wouldn’t allow that. “Open your eyes, Emma,” he commanded.

She squeezed them tighter and shook her head.

Warm heat engulfed her nipple as Derick suckled her into his mouth. Emma gasped as his tongue swiped and pressed, circled and whorled. As he nibbled and sucked. She was panting with the pleasure of it when it abruptly ceased.

“Open your eyes or there will be no more of that,” came his arrogant voice.

She blinked, then narrowed her gaze on his sexily smirking face. “Wretched man,” she grumbled, bringing a quick, flashing grin that melted her.

But then the grin slid away, and a look of pure sensuality took its place. “I want you to see yourself as I see you, Emma. I want you to see what you do to me.”

She stared for a long moment into his jewel-like eyes, and then she nodded.

His gaze left her face, but she kept hers on his. She knew he was looking at her chest, and a tingling tightness grabbed her lungs. What was he was thinking?

“Your breasts are amazing,” he murmured. “High, firm.”

She let out a breath. “Disproportionate for my body type,” she muttered.

He frowned, just a quick flash before he palmed her in both hands. “Just right.” He plumped, squeezed, his fingers and thumbs working in tandem. “See how they fill my hands perfectly?” He worked his forefingers and thumbs over her nipples, rolling, testing. “See when I touch you like this, how your blood flows to your nipples,
swelling them, turning them deep rose, pebbling them like luscious berries?”

She couldn’t stop herself from looking. Moisture pooled between her legs at the sight of his darker skin against the milky white of her breasts and the deep pink of her nipples as they were rolled between his fingers. Watching intensified the sensation a hundredfold.

“They make my mouth water to taste them,” came his scratchy voice just before his dark head dipped and he took her between his lips.

She couldn’t keep her eyes open, so strong was the sensation. But then a sharp pleasure/pain snapped her gaze to her chest. He’d nipped her! She met Derick’s glittering gaze, which he narrowed in warning even as his mouth soothed the sting. She was to keep watching, or else.

When she nodded her understanding, he dropped his eyes back to his sensual task.

Every suckle, every squeeze only made her breasts feel heavier, achier. Then, he sucked her in deep, his cheeks hollowing as his mouth worked. Pleasure burst in her center—not the peak she’d reached before, but something akin to a precursor. It must be, because she kept climbing higher.

After he’d treated her other breast to the same pleasure, his mouth left her. Emma couldn’t take her eyes away from her own chest, heaving, glistening with moisture from Derick’s tongue, nipples tight and swollen, a deep rose now.

But Derick had moved down her body. He straddled her knees now, his hands skimming her narrow waist before flaring over her too wide hips.

“Not a word,” he said, raising a brow as if he knew what she’d been thinking. “You have the hips of Venus,” he murmured, his palms running over the bones and skin almost reverently. “Perfect to grip as I—”

He clamped his mouth shut on whatever he’d been
about to say, but Emma remembered his hands gripping her hips as he had before, grinding her down upon his hardness as she’d sat upon his lap and she knew what he’d been imagining. More pleasurable bursts shot through her.