The American Earl (9 page)

He chuckled. “Don't tell me you want more?”

“Yes.” She blinked up at him. “But not for myself.”

He stared down at her in disbelief. “We agreed to wait for the rest, until you had time to think.”

She shrugged, a soft smile lifting her moist lips. “I was just considering alternatives. You did that to me. You made me…made my body feel wonderful things.” She shook her head in amazement, unable to find words to explain what had just happened to her. “What is that called?”

He laughed. “Let's just say I was making love to you with my hands.”

“I had no idea. I thought there had to be…thought you needed to—” She blushed and looked away from him.

“So now you know.” But she still wouldn't allow him to move toward the shore. She took a hasty look around.

“No one saw,” he assured her.

“I know,” she said, then smiled impishly at him. “It wasn't that.”

“What then?”

“A woman can do something similar for a man, am I right?”

“Well, yes…” Abby must have seen movies, read books. The act of sex was less a mystery these days to the uninitiated. “But you don't need to—”

She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and faced him with an adorably solemn expression. Then he felt her small hand press over him through the fabric of his trunks. Matt flinched, then locked his knees and let her satisfy her curiosity.

“You're very, um…taut,” she announced.

“Yes.” He stifled a laugh. He was a steel rod, for all the good it was going to do. A cold shower, a short brandy…he'd survive.

“Does it hurt?” she asked curiously.

“Difficult to explain. I'm not in actual pain.”

“But you'd feel better if—” She let the twinkle in her eyes finish the message.

“Come on, we'd better go,” he growled. His will-power was seeping away with every minute he lingered in the warm water with her. Didn't she know the hell she was putting him through? Making him
stand here with her, after having touched her that way, after having felt her release herself to him.

“In a minute,” she said firmly.

Her fingers slipped into his trunks and wrapped around him. He let out a groan and looked hastily around. No one on the beach. No one on the cliffs above. All the action was beneath the waterline anyway.

Abby moved her hand experimentally along him, her fingers gently encircling him. “Tell me what to do,” she whispered.

Matt shut his eyes to better absorb the pleasure she was bringing him. “Woman, you're doing it.”

She stroked him until his body pulsed with fire. Burying his face in the damp waves on top of her head, he bit down hard on his lower lip to stop himself from bellowing out her name. Flames roared through him. He pressed against her hand and let nature take its glorious course.

For a considerable while, the world went away.

He couldn't tell how many minutes passed. But when he opened his eyes she was standing back from him, her arms lapped around his hips, watching him. “Thanks,” he murmured dryly and lifted her hand to his lips.

“My pleasure.” She gave him a smug little smile.

For the first time, he feared he might have unleashed forces far beyond his control.

“I
diot!”

Matt had made a huge mistake. A mistake that was going to cost him more than he could predict even at this moment when thoughts came more clearly to him. How had he ever convinced himself that he could act as sexual mentor to Abby without becoming…becoming what? Becoming
involved
with her. Already he felt addicted to the way a clear golden light shone through her brown eyes when she gazed up at him.

He'd left Abby a note that afternoon saying he had business in Hamilton and would return in time for dinner at La Coquille. But he had no business, he felt he just had to walk somewhere…anywhere. However, what Matt was doing now couldn't be called walking. He ate up ground in long, powerful strides. He moved fast and furiously for a full six miles west of Ham
ilton, through the country lanes of Pembroke Parish, down narrow paths nearly taken over by tropical growth, along the low cliffs of the north shore, past cottages and through hamlets, until welcome exhaustion overcame him. He stopped to sit on a rock, held his head in his hands and groaned in frustration with himself.

When he had first planned how he might initiate her into the mysteries of womanhood, he had viewed the process as very simple, even mechanical. He had suspected he'd have one hell of a good time teaching her; he wasn't a fool. But he had no warning of how powerful her impact on him would be. Or of the unfamiliar feelings she'd elicit. Protectiveness…desire…possessiveness…and other tender, undefinable feelings he didn't dare analyze too closely.

And now, what was he supposed to do? He had made a pact with her. He had given her a taste of intimacy so intense that even he, the well-initiated to sexual encounters, had been overwhelmed by their coming together. It hadn't mattered that they had stopped short of intercourse in the traditional sense. Everything else they'd done had felt like…like what?

“It wasn't sex,” he whispered, amazed by the direction his mind was tumbling, not wanting to believe what he was thinking. “It
was
making love.”

But that wasn't the same as being in love. No. You could care about a person and still not be in love with them, he argued silently. Love was a very touchy subject, and something he'd avoided all his life. Love meant fragile attachments, which could be broken even when one didn't want them to break. Love meant committing to one person and trusting that person to honor promises and never leave. His mother
had left them. His father had left his sons too, perhaps not physically and not immediately…but he'd absented himself in spirit from his sons. The distance between them had been gaping and unvarying. No warmth, no admission of love. Ever.

And now Abby, little Abby who didn't have a clue what making love was all about, had become a threat to the shield he'd built around himself. The shield called Smythe International. If he had any sense at all, he would keep on walking until he hit the sea, then jump on the first boat for the States. He should keep on going and never look back.

But he had promised Abby certain things. An education in both the import business and the bedroom. Never in his life had he gone back on his word. This had been the sacred rule of his life—to never do to someone else what his parents had done to him.

 

La Coquille was located, surprisingly, in a marine museum called the Bermuda Underwater Exploration Institute. Nevertheless, it was considered by many to be the best gourmet restaurant on the island. The elegant dining room was white from top to bottom, enclosed by glass and overlooking Hamilton's famous harbor. The waiters were attentive and polite. The atmosphere was one of modern polish and romantic simplicity.

It was difficult for Abby to choose from among the delicacies offered on the menu. She at last opted for just two courses: a cold gazpacho soup served with chunks of fresh lobster, and steamed mussels in a white wine and Pernod cream sauce, with a garlic-rubbed baguette. Matt followed his soup with a huge salad brimming with mesclun leaves, shrimps, avo
cado, baby artichokes, calamata olives, tiny tomatoes and a walnut oil dressing, and this was in turn followed by a seared rack of lamb with sun-dried tomato crust, whipped potatoes with roasted garlic, and rosemary jus.

Abby ate with relish, chattering between bites, ignoring Matt's unexplained sullenness. She refused to let his mysteriously dark mood spoil what remained of the most remarkable day of her life. When the meal was over and coffee poured, she knew she could wait no longer to give Matt her decision.

She'd spent the afternoon digesting the implications of what had happened in the cove that morning.

At the time, their intimacy had seemed a natural progression of their growing closeness. Genuine affection. Adult play. She didn't know why she felt this way with Matt, which was so different from experiences she'd had with men before. His kisses…the way he'd touched her…the
places
he'd touched her…. All seemed part of a dance for which she'd stood in the wings all of her adult life, waiting to perform. She'd only been lacking the right partner.

When he took her in his arms and the look in his eyes told her that he had plans for her—intimate, secret, delicious plans—she hadn't felt the least trepidation. It had just felt right.

Matt had taught her a lot in the span of a few exhilarating minutes. He had taught her about her own body—its hungers and ways to satisfy them. He had also allowed her a glimpse of her own power to arouse a man, and to gratify him. It thrilled her that she had given Matt pleasure equal to her own. She wanted to repeat their sensual dance, to learn the next
step…and the next…until she had mastered all there was to the entire ballet.

“Look,” she began slowly, “I don't know what's bothering you. But we can't just not talk about what happened this morning, or about what we are going to do from here on.”

Matt drew a deep breath and moved his lips but, at first, nothing came out. “Of course,” he finally managed. “Let's not do it here, though. Finish your coffee and we'll take a carriage back to the house. It will give us time to talk.”

Several horse-drawn carriages were parked along Front Street, just below the restaurant. Matt arranged a route with the driver. Then he and Abby settled themselves into a seat beneath the pink-fringed canopy. She nestled against his arm as he rested it along the seat back. She felt him tense but did not move away. Neither spoke for several minutes as the horse clop-clopped along the narrow streets between colorful shops. It was Abby who felt she must clear the air or burst.

“At the cove this morning,” she began nervously, “you made it so easy to be with you.” She drew a deep breath for strength. “And all day long I've thought of nothing but—”

“You don't know what you're saying,” he snapped. “What you felt then and still feel now, is called lust. A taste of it, and people do insane things.”

Abby considered this. “No,” she said slowly, “I don't think it can be just that.” Of course, she tingled at the thought of his body reacting to her touch, and her own body responding to his. It was delicious just to remember. But there must have been some other reason why she'd thrown off a lifetime of caution and
a solemn vow. “I feel differently about you than any other man I've known.”

He paled and looked away.

“Matt,” she said angrily, but lowered her voice to keep the driver from hearing, “I'm not so naïve that I expect a lifetime commitment because we were intimate. No one's mentioning the
L
word here. I just want you to know that I've made my decision. I want to sleep with you.”

His scowl nearly broke her heart. “That isn't wise,” he whispered.

“It was your suggestion!”

“I know, but I was acting…I don't know…selfishly, I suppose. Men say a lot of things to get women into bed.”

A chill settled at the back of her spine. Was that all this was? Could any woman have been with him at the cove today and received the same attentions?

She bit her bottom lip and stared into the dark as the whistle of the tree frogs filled the night with music her heart didn't want to hear.

“Listen,” he said, his tone softer. “You've waited this long. You'll regret doing this now.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I know what I want.” And
I want you,
Matthew Smythe, the words erupted silently in her head. “Things have changed…
I
have changed. Maybe I don't want to go to my marriage bed without understanding how to please my husband. Maybe I don't want to always wonder if the man I marry will be able to satisfy me,” she said under her breath but with an urgency she felt deep down in her soul.

Matt winced. He hated hearing her talk this way. The mere notion of another man touching her, sent
him teetering into rage. What had he been doing? Preparing her for another man who would someday reap the benefits of his instruction?

But if she was so set on making the leap from virgin to woman-of-the-world, did he want to pass off that duty to someone else? He was trapped. There was no place of comfort for him. Either way—make love to Abby or not—he would eventually be the loser. He couldn't turn her away, and he couldn't keep her.

“Matt?” He became vaguely aware that she was repeating his name. “Matt, are you all right?” Her hand settled gently over his. “I said, if you have changed your mind and
don't
want to be my lover…”

The disappointment mirrored in her eyes nearly shattered him. “Of course it's not that. I don't want to hurt you, that's all.” Not
all.
He didn't want to destroy himself either. But the temptation was just too great. She was beautiful, willing, eager, and the cove had shown him her potential as a generous lover. What man could turn down an offer like that?

The carriage pulled up in front of the house, and Matt paid the driver. He helped Abby down to the pebbly path and held her hand as they walked in silence toward the front door.

With each step, he cursed himself and his runaway libido. He should be strong enough to walk away from her without explanation. He had done it dozens of times with other women—sent flowers and an innocuous note thanking her for a pleasant evening. Never lying, but letting them know that they shouldn't expect to hear from him again.

But Abby…he couldn't do that to her. Something had happened between them since they met, some
thing that connected him to her in a baffling but undeniable way.

He looked around. Somehow they had made it through the door and into the foyer without his realizing it. She was standing in front of him, looking expectantly at him, her eyes wide, welcoming, hopeful.

He shook his head in defeat. “Heaven help me, but I want you.”

“I want you too, Matt,” she whispered, brushing her lips delicately across his. “What are you afraid of? I'm the one who's supposed to be nervous.”

That did him in. His masculine pride seized him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him out of inaction. “I'm not afraid!” He glared down at her. “I'm just trying to be a gentleman about this…this mess you've gotten us into.”

“Mess?” She pouted at him.

He supposed she was taunting him now, challenging him not to back out of their deal. Even knowing what she was doing, he couldn't stop himself from reacting to the pretty flush of color in her cheeks and playful sparkle in her eyes. He took a step forward and enfolded her in his arms.

“You're in for it now, woman,” he growled.

She accepted his kiss and gave back to him as much ardor. Picking her up in his arms, he carried her swiftly up the steps to his bedroom, taking the steps in twos, thankful the staff had left for the night.

He didn't want hushed, quick, mechanical sex. He wanted to spend an entire night with Abigail Benton, relearning the art of making love as she experienced it for the first time. He wanted to gentle her, then ravish her. He wanted to see sweet shock then drowsy
pleasure in her eyes. He wanted to hear her cry out his name, while he howled like a wild creature at mating.

It had been a long time since he'd wanted a woman more than once in a night. He knew he'd take Abby as many times as she let him, or until he sensed her body's exhaustion.

Matt kicked open the bedroom door and crossed the room in two eager strides. Although he'd meant to lay her gently on the bed, he was so excited he dropped her from two feet above the mattress. “Sorry.”

She bounced, laughing up at him. “Is that what they call foreplay? Battering the female?”

He grinned wolfishly as he unclasped his belt. “Very funny. Take off your clothes, woman.”

“No.” She tilted her head and looked up at him impishly. “You do it.”

Someone help me!
he thought desperately.
I won't last five minutes.

He cautioned himself to move slowly, remember how new all of this was to her. No matter how urgently he wanted her, or how ready he was for her, he must be responsible for causing her as little pain and as much pleasure as possible. A delicate balance to strike.

He tossed his belt onto a chair. His shirt followed. She was wearing a blue dress that zipped up the back. The skirt was full, lying in ripples above her knees now. He sat on the edge of the bed, took one of her stockinged feet in his hands and stroked the curve of her instep. His mind was spinning, his body throbbing, but he forced himself to move slowly, starting as far away from where he wanted to end up, to give
himself time to calm down and slowly bring her up to meet his state of readiness.

There was something else new about this experience, he suddenly realized. He'd never been with a woman who hadn't already slept with other men. He knew what he was supposed to find, anatomically, and vaguely what would occur when he entered her. But how to choreograph the important moment, he didn't have a clue. In this way, he was as inexperienced as she was.