The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) (33 page)

CHAPTER 34

Wearing a cotton nightgown edged at the collar, wrists, and hem with Scottish lace, Adaira sat in the middle of the enormous bed dominating the chamber. She brushed the snarls from her damp hair, waiting for Roark to return.

Her stomach twisted nervously. Spying her half-full glass of wine left over from dinner, she scooted to the edge of the bed. She dashed to the table. Hefting the glass, she downed the claret in one gulp.

Oh, the devil with it
.

With a shrug, she brought the bottle to her lips. She tossed back several unladylike gulps. She banged the bottle atop the table a might more forcefully than she’d intended. The plates and serving utensils rattled.

Her nerves did seem the merest bit calmer. Returning to the bed, she flopped backward, giggling when she was swallowed by the fluffy folds of the black, primrose, and ruby coverlet.

Kirkhouse Inn was everything Reverend Gillies promised it would be. The charming chamber was clean, well-furnished, and tastefully decorated. The bed, a handsome solid structure made of some undeterminable wood, was sandwiched between two matching night tables.

A burgundy velvet wingback chair and footstool were angled before the coal grate. A pair of high back chairs and a small table occupied the wall closest to the door. A washstand in the corner by the lone window framed by striped curtain completed the room’s furnishings.

After eating a generous portion of stovies, fresh bread, and cheese, Adaira devoured the still warm clootie dumpling smothered in cream. Giving the bed a bounce, she giggled again. The key scraped in the lock. She rose onto her elbows, knees dangling off the bed.

Roark stepped into to room, and the air in her lungs hitched. His mahogany hair was damp from his bath. He’d shaved, the subtle sandalwood scent she associated with him wafting to her. He only wore his pantaloons and an unbuttoned shirt. The white fabric contrasted starkly with the dark matting of hair exposed by his gaping collar.

The silky curls tempted her from across the room. She itched to run her fingers through them or nestle her face against their softness. How much of him was covered with hair? Embarrassed warmth suffused her.

“You look like a child caught being naughty.” Roark locked the door. He placed his bag on a chair, then walked toward her.

Adaira grinned. “The bed is wonderfully soft and springy.”

“Let’s hope it’s not noisy.” Roark waggled his brows.

“Not at all. See.” She tilted her pelvis several times, bouncing the bed with her rear. “It moves, but doesn’t make a sound.”

She gave one more forceful rock. His focus riveted on her hips, the muscle ticked in his clenched jaw. His perusal journeyed languidly upward, hovering on her breasts before his gaze met hers. Desire darkened his eyes to midnight blue.

She’d thought an aroused stallion a force to be reckoned with. The powerful man before her, his stance wide, shoulders squared, and hands fisted at his sides, shot a tremor clear to her toes. Whether her reaction was unease or awareness, she couldn’t say.

Holding her attention, he lifted his shirt over his head. His muscles bunched with the simple movement.

Adaira’s mouth went dry.

Roark’s clothing hid a perfect, masculine form. His chest, shoulders, and arms were sculpted with well-defined muscles. A barely visible pinkish scar sliced across his rippled abdomen. She hadn’t noticed the mark in the dungeon’s muted light.

Those fascinating hairs on his chest gradually narrowed into a dark strip disappearing into his waistband. Lord, but he was gorgeous. She’d been around rutting animals enough to know what the bulge straining against his pantaloons meant.

A thrill jolted between her legs. Before Roark, there had never been a man who made her eager to join with him. At least she thought that was what the odd, intense urge thrumming through her was. Swallowing, she placed a hand on her quivering stomach, daring to meet his eyes. She’d never been more aware of herself as a woman.

A primordial grin tilted the corners of his mouth. She’d wager he knew exactly what she was thinking. Dropping his hands to his pantaloons, he unfastened them. In one swift motion, he slid them off his narrow hips.

Like a proper lady, Adaira tried to look away. Her blasted eyes refused to obey. They feasted on the thick length protruding proudly from a nest of blackish curls and the full, slightly darker-skinned pouch tucked below.

He stepped to the bed. “Your turn.”

Adaira dragged her attention from his manhood. “My turn?”

She cleared her throat. Her gaze careened around the bright room. “With the candles lit?”

He nodded, a devilishly sexy smile on his mouth. He flicked her collar. “Now, off with it.”

“I thought ladies left their nightgowns on during. . .”

Roark angled his head. “I want you naked. I’ve dreamed of seeing your delicious body. I won’t be denied. Now, sit up so I can divest you of that entirely too modest gown.”

She clasped his extended hand allowing him to help her to her feet. He must have felt the tremor that shook her.

He cupped her face. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll go slow. I promise. I’ll not do anything you don’t want me to.”

He placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Will you trust me?”

Adaira searched his eyes. Patience and understanding loomed there.

“Yes,” she whispered through quivering lips.

His strong fingers untied the ribbons holding her neckline closed. He loosened the row of pearl-sized buttons down the gown’s center.

“Must they make these buttons so confounded small?” His warm fingers brushed the sensitive flesh above her breasts.

Yearning coursed through her.

“Do you wish me to do it?” Was that breathless voice hers? She sounded positively wanton.

“No, I have it.” The last button sprang loose. Without hesitation, Roark gripped the material by her waist and hoisted the nightgown over her head. He sucked in a sharp breath, inexplicably motionless.

Adaira’s flesh puckered, and her nipples tautened at the unexpected rush of cool air. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and turned to crawl into the bed. Fear of the unknown rendered her uncharacteristically timid.

“No.” He gently grasped her shoulders preventing her from diving beneath the covers. His voice deep and seductive, he murmured, “I’ve envisioned you lying naked atop my bed with your beautiful hair surrounding you while I make love to you.”

“You have?” She should be embarrassed, no, mortified, upon learning he’d entertained such shocking daydreams. Instead, another shiver of pleasure stole to her center causing an unfamiliar edginess.

“Indeed, I have.” Feathering his hands across her shoulders, Roark brushed her hair aside. He touched the topaz at the hollow of her throat.

“You always wear this.”

“My grandmother gave it to me.”

“It suits you. The gems match the amber flecks in your eyes.” His sultry gaze met hers as he palmed a breast. “You’re even more exquisite than I’d imagined.”

Adaira gripped his biceps, closing her eyes and gasping. The sensation of his hand on her breast was sweet torment. Instinctively, she tilted her shoulders back, deepening the contact. “I’m skinny and not very buxom.”

“Whoever said so is a liar.” His touch feather-light, he brushed the wound on her side. “Does it pain you much?”

“No, barely at all. I’m sure my wound is much less than what you’ve endured.”

His fingers teased her nipple as his mouth skimmed the juncture of her neck and shoulder. His warm, firm lips caressed their way to the breast he lovingly held with his hand. Fondling the other, he buried his face between their softness, lavishing both with hot, damp kisses.

Adaira’s knees shook with the force of her newfound passion. She’d not expected every nerve in her body to be alight with sensation. Or to desperately yearn to feel his weight atop her, with her legs spread, him firmly between her thighs.

Roark’s mouth closed over one aching nipple. She moaned collapsing against the mattress. He paused in his gentle assault to lay her on the counterpane before fanning her hair about her shoulders. Clutching the bedding, she resisted the urge to cover herself.

The bed dipped with his weight. He was so close. His body heat warmed her. The tempting shoulders and torso she’d longed to touch were right there. Mere inches separated them. She lifted a hesitant hand, then dropped it.

“Touch me, vixen. It’s all right. I want you to.” He carried her hand to his chest.

Once Adaira began, she couldn’t stop. She glided her hands over his muscles and lovingly caressed his rough, scarred back. With her fingertips, she indulged the urge to feel the hairs shadowing his chest, even rubbing her face against them. They were a curious mixture of wiry crispiness and silky softness.

Fascinated, she watched Roark’s body jerk and quiver with her inexperienced exploration. Were his nipples as sensitive as hers? Tracing the dark circle with her fingernail, she grinned as it rucked, and he made a strangled sound deep in his throat.

“Enough, I think. It’s my turn.” Tucking her to his side, one hand caressed her hip and ribs. He took her mouth in a searing, soul-wrenching kiss. Every doubt she’d harbored was whisked away by the blatant, consuming passion his lips and tongue created.

The trickles of sensations burgeoned. She panted and moaned with anticipation. “Roark—”

He didn’t stop but continued to squeeze and caress, kiss and lick, until she was so tense, she felt certain she’d burst.

“Roark. . .” she groaned again. “Please—”

Adaira reached to curl her fingers around his smooth shaft. The sensation of him in her hand spiraled her excitement to a higher level. With every stroke along his solid length, she became wetter between her legs.

His breath hissed between clenched teeth. He abruptly clasped her hand. “I don’t want to rush you, but if you keep that up, I’ll not be able to stop.”

Releasing her hand, he skimmed his fingers, first over her ribs, then her stomach, and at last, cupped her between her legs. She shuddered against his palm. Her knees fell open in a blatant invitation, wanting the sweet release he’d brought her before. He knew her body better than she did, knew where to touch her to bring her the most pleasure.

“Roark, now please.” Adaira grasped his shoulders, urging him to her.

He raised his head and peered into her eyes, his face harsh with restrained passion. Nudging her thighs apart, he rested atop her, bearing most of his weight on his forearms. Adaira’s gaze locked on the rigid flesh ready to unite with her.

He kissed her shoulder, her chin, both eyelids, and finally, her mouth. “You know, I love you, don’t you, Addy?”

Roark’s words softly spoken settled in her fertile heart. Her love burst forth, finally ready to be shared. This marvelous, compassionate, handsome man loved her?

“You do? Truly?”

He nuzzled her neck, breathing into her ear. “Truly.”

Brushing a wisp of hair off her cheek, he asked, “Are you afraid?”

Shaking her head, she smiled. She caressed his cheek. “Not anymore. Not with you.”

And to her joy and astonishment, she wasn’t.

A possessive growl escaped his lips before he captured her lips once more. Spreading her legs, Roark eased into her. She felt pressure and fullness, but no pain. The pulsating ache inside demanded satisfaction. Gripping his rear, she tilted her hips to receive him. He withdrew until only his tip penetrated her, then lifting her hips, plunged into her.

Adaira jerked, gasping in unexpected pain.

“What the hell?” Roark froze atop her. Disbelief etched his face. His pupils dilated in astonishment.

“Is it supposed to hurt?” she whispered, blinking away the tears that threatened. “Is it because you’re quite large, and I’m small?”

It should only hurt the first time, shouldn’t it? Surely, she wasn’t too small to accommodate him. Was she? Was that possible? Mother would know, but there’d been no time to seek her council on such a delicate matter.

He closed his eyes and swallowed.

“No, love. You were a virgin.” He moved against her, the smallest of movements.

Virgin? No, Godwin had. . .

Roark moved again, his size stretching her, but no longer causing discomfort. Tiny flickers of pleasure simmered and pulsed where he remained embedded.

She blinked at him. “I cannot . . . couldn’t be.”

Roark chuckled while rocking his hips, ever-so-gently.

“Trust me, you were.”

Then Godwin hadn’t—

Joy consumed her.

There was only Roark. No other. Ever.

He rocked again, and then again. Each movement sent incredible sensations through her core. He began a slow, steady rhythm, muscles bunching as he flexed in and out. Adaira whimpered, the feelings he aroused almost frightening in their intensity.

Bending, he kissed her tenderly. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“You couldn’t have known. . .” Her words ended on a low moan. Something was happening. Something exquisitely wonderful, but foreign and frightening in its newness. Desperation began to build with each strong thrust of Roark’s hips. She lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist. She clutched his back.

Roark groaned, burying his face in her shoulder. His movements quickened in speed and intensity. The urgency bubbled and simmered, rising layer by layer until she thought she could bear no more. She whimpered again, welcoming his weight and the pressure mounting within.

“You’re almost there, love,” he soothed against her lips. “Let it happen. Don’t be frightened. I’ll take you all the way.”