The Law and Miss Penny (22 page)

She blushed, feeling just a pinch of guilt. "I've done a lot of thinking since supper about some other things, too. I—I came here because I have... something to tell you."

"I know you do, and I have a pretty good idea what that something is."

Mariah's eyes went wide with panic. "You... do?"

"But of course I do." He started for her.

Mariah turned her back to Cain, afraid to look him in the eye. Lord, how long had he known? Since Artemis had called him "Marshal" in the barn? If so, why had he kept his silence? Or was he testing her, waiting to see how far she'd go—waiting for her to hang herself? She could feel him behind her now, so close that his hot breath grazed her shoulder.

"All right," she said quietly, her back still to him. "So now you know. What are you going to do about it?"

Cain laughed and bought his hands to her shoulders, lightly squeezing her. "What do you think I ought to do?"

Strangle her? He moved his hands then, sliding them beneath her hair, and slowly fit them around her throat. For a terrifying moment, Mariah thought he might just do it. But then he lowered his head, to nibble the side of her neck. "Maybe I should have said, 'What would you like me to do?'" he whispered.

She nearly forgot both the question and the answer. Cain's touch had rendered her every bit the amnesiac he was, but she somehow managed to say, "Ah... forgive me?"

"Forgive you? For what? Having the strength and courage to come to me tonight?" Although he wasn't sure why she insisted on acting so coy, Cain couldn't wait a minute longer to take Mariah into his arms. He spun her around, gathered her against his naked chest, and buried his face against her hair. She smelled of fresh soap and roses laced with just a tang of cinnamon, an intoxicating, mind- scrambling scent he was sure he'd never get enough of. Tearing himself away from that aromatic cloud of jet-black hair, he tilted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"You didn't come here at midnight just to let me know how well you're getting along with your mother, or to ask me to forgive you for anything. I was under the impression you had something important to tell me." Certain he knew what that something was, Cain winked as he said, "I'm ready to discuss it, if you are, princess."

He didn't know. Or did he? Mariah's confusion was complete. Hoping to clear things up, she said, "I'm ready, too."

Lost in her eyes, Cain noticed they were shimmering in that beguiling shade somewhere between indigo blue and deep purple, but also that they were blinking up at him as if she had no idea what was happening. Taking control, and responsibility for the next move as well, he pulled Mariah up tight against his hips and whispered from deep in his throat, "Maybe it'd be easier on us both if I begin this conversation."

Realizing for certain where his assumptions had led him, Mariah drew her elbows up between their bodies, bracing herself against him. But the gesture did nothing to discourage Cain. He smiled as he dragged the pad of his thumb along her jaw and then down the side of her neck to the hollow of her throat, caressing her there in big, soft strokes. Mariah's thoughts faded away again as she felt a delicious heat spreading throughout her breasts—and below.

Cain noticed the blush staining her throat and cheeks. He chuckled. "Are you warm, princess?"

His voice, low and husky, was like a velvet croon, more kindling to the fire growing within. Mariah didn't answer his question. She couldn't speak.

Reading the answer in her eyes, Cain tore the ribbon from her hair, and then freed the pearl buttons fastening the front of her robe. As he slowly removed the garment from her arms and shoulders, letting it slide from his fingers to the floor, he softly said, "Better now?"

Mariah still couldn't find her tongue, could barely think, but she did realize that she was standing in Cain's room wearing nothing but her plain muslin Mother Hubbard gown—and not a heck of a lot beneath it. Nervously chewing her lower lip, she said, "I—I came here to tell you something."

Again, Cain took the lead. "I know you did, princess. Why don't we 'talk' where we'll be more comfortable."

It wasn't a question. He took Mariah's hand in his and led her to the rumpled bed. Then he sat at the edge of the mattress and pulled her down beside him. "Now just what is it you're so eager to tell me about?" As he spoke, he fingered the bit of lace at the throat of her nighty, and then began undoing the buttons there.

Mariah tried not to think about what he was doing, but instead about what she'd come here to say. Morgan Slater. That was it. She was supposed to tell him he was Morgan Slater, and then beg him to forgive her and take her away with him. Should she come right out with it, or ease into the conversation slowly?

Cain's hand slid inside her nighty then, skimming her soft breasts. Everywhere he touched, her skin burned and rippled, and when his thumbs brushed her nipples, the pleasure he brought her was so sharp, so unexpected, she thought she would die from the sheer agony of it all. Oh, Lord, did he know what he was doing to her? Mariah sucked in her breath, and her eyes fluttered to a close.

"Easy, princess," she heard Cain whisper, his voice darker and richer than she had ever heard it before. "Maybe you ought to lie back."

She felt weak, short of breath, and much too warm to think, so when he coaxed her down to his pillow, Mariah didn't protest. She was grateful for the opportunity to relax a moment and the chance to gather her wits so she could move on with her plan.

As she struggled to arrange her thoughts, Mariah felt the mattress sag. In the next instant, Cain was lying beside her, his hands skimming across her body again. Before she could speak or even open her eyes, his mouth was on hers, his tongue busy parting her teeth. The kiss he bestowed now was different from all the others, more insistent and demanding, hotter somehow. How was she to think, much less carry on any kind of lucid conversation, under these conditions?

"Cain," she said, the sound muffled against his lips. "Wait a minute."

"Talking too fast for you, am I?" He grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. "We'll go as slow as you like."

Mariah's throat suddenly went dry, and her mouth fell open in mute understanding. There would be no more talking in this room tonight, at least no discussion of any consequence. She would either have to succumb to his advances, or leave—and leave now.

But she couldn't, not yet. Mariah had often wondered about the actual mating of men and women, especially since she'd crossed paths with Cain, but to actually do it? To just let it happen? Should she? Could she?

She moistened her lips, preparing either to speak or kiss him back—Mariah was no longer sure what her intentions were—but before the decision could be made, Cain's big hands were on her again. He gathered her nightgown in his fists and then rolled it up and over her head in one quick movement, leaving her nude except for her thin cotton drawers.

Embarrassed, shocked, but still curious, Mariah's eyes flew open. Cain was looking at her, his expression filled with appreciation. His eyes had turned to an impossibly dark shade of green. The color made him look more animalistic than usual, dangerous somehow, and suddenly—a lot more like Morgan Slater.

Fear tripped up the base of Mariah's spine even as a sudden warmth bloomed low in her tummy, terrifying and thrilling her beyond belief. Whatever was happening here, this was not the time to remind Cain of who and what he really was.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered as he moved lower to nuzzle her throat. "Definitely the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." Cain looked up to meet Mariah's gaze, and then lowered his voice to a low growl. "Definitely."

Tears of joy stung her eyes, but this was not the time for crying, either. This was a time for discovery. Cain continued to scatter kisses, his lips following the path his big hands had blazed, and when his thumbs rasped across her nipples, drawing a cry from her, his mouth immediately went to her breasts, soothing and arousing their dusky tips into hard little nubs.

Just when she thought she could stand the pleasure of his touch there no longer, Mariah realized that Cain's hands were on the move again, and had reached down to roll her drawers over her hips. He paused briefly, drinking in the sight of her, and then tossed the undergarment aside.

"Hey, here I am doing all the talking," he said, his voice dark, husky. "Do you mind, or have you got a thing or two to say?"

Mariah could barely think, much less know what to say or do next. Her lashes fluttered to her cheeks as she whispered, "You seem to have a lot more information on the subject than I do."

She heard Cain's hoarse laughter, but after that, she was lost in a whirlwind of sensation. Cain's fingers skimmed the apron of ebony curls at her groin, whisking lightly from side to side, building the frustration and need inside of her until Mariah thought she'd go mad.

She knew she couldn't stand it any longer, but before she could voice her distress, Cain forged a path between her legs, coaxing her willing thighs apart. Then his fingers dipped beneath her dark curls and began caressing her most intimate self. Mariah gasped, cried out with astonishment at the electrifying sensations, and squeezed her legs tight with the shock of it all.

"It's all right, princess," Cain whispered huskily as he tore off his jeans. "Open up to me, honey."

If she was to stop him at all, Mariah sensed, it would have to be now. She could do it by demanding that he let her up, or even by simply saying, "You're not Cain Law, your name is Morgan Slater," or maybe, "Ever hear of a fellow called Morgan Slater?" Either of those statements would probably stop him, she figured.

But she didn't do it. The pleasure Cain's touch brought her was agony, but the void she felt when he moved away from her was utter torture. Mariah closed her eyes and inched her legs apart, willing herself to relax. In the next moment Cain eased his way between her thighs, sliding along her cleft, searching for the perfect complement to himself. When he found it and made an attempt to gain entrance, Mariah cried out in pain, gripped the brass rails on the headboard, and went rigid.

"Easy, honey," he said, working to keep his voice calm and soothing, nonthreatening. "Don't be afraid. I'll try something else." Her throaty response to that was garbled and wary, so Cain reached up and peeled her hands off of the headboard, kissing each of her fingers before drawing them down around to his hips. "Guide me, princess. Let me know if you want me to go faster or slower."

As uncertain now as she was aroused, Mariah gave him a tentative nod. This time when Cain eased himself back between her thighs, he slid down along the damp grooves of her body, carefully slipping back and forth, but making no attempt to penetrate her. Mariah's fingernails dug into his buttocks as her fervor grew, and she spurred him on, her previous doubts forgotten. Higher and higher he urged her to some unnamed peak, until at last her spine arched and she tumbled over the precipice, bucking and twisting against Cain's groin.

As the surprising spasms shooting through her body began to subside, Mariah sucked in her breath and let it out in a long, satisfied sigh. Chuckling softly to herself, she glanced into Cain's eyes, gauging his reaction to her uncivilized responses. She saw no hint of censure in his eyes, but instead, a crooked grin. Returning that grin, though hers was more shy than sensual, Mariah whispered, "I don't know why I was so, you know, nervous. That was absolutely the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me."

"That," he pointed out, "was just the beginning."

It was then Mariah noticed that other than the crooked grin, Cain's features were rigid and intense, reflecting none of her newfound feelings of satisfaction and contentment. She moved her hands along his body, discovering that everywhere she touched, he was rock-hard; not just the part of him that remained sandwiched between her legs, but hard from his shoulders, to his arms, to his thighs and buttocks. Every square inch of Cain seemed to be made of steel.

Before she knew what he was up to, he took her bottom into his hands, shifted his hips, and gently pushed against her. Mariah stiffened against the onslaught, but Cain continued to work his way inside of her, murmuring words of encouragement against her hair, angling himself one, two, three different ways in each new attempt to break down the walls that stood between him and complete, utter possession of her.

Finally, when she thought she could no longer stand it, with one resolute thrust the final barrier suddenly gave way. Cain drove deep inside of her, filling her so completely, Mariah wasn't sure she would survive. She was trapped beneath a prison of solid muscle, a willing captive perhaps, but a captive, nonetheless.

Firmly embedded in Mariah, Cain forced himself to remain still, shuddering slightly as he said in a voice gritty with emotion, "You feel so, so—" Again he shuddered. "You're mine now," he said, nostrils flaring, breathing rapid. "Do you understand what that means? You're mine."

Before she could answer, he came down on her mouth, the kiss more a primal branding than anything else. And then Cain began to move again, slowly at first, thrusting his hips against hers, driving in and out of her with that rigid, steel-like shaft; yet incredibly enough, instead of pain, she felt herself responding all over again.

He was flame and she was fuel, made to be swept up, engulfed, and then consumed by this man's passion. He drove her upward and onward, climbing those same high peaks again, and then, incredibly enough, beyond them to newer, more rewarding heights. Pleasure mushroomed inside of her, radiating an exquisite satisfaction throughout her entire body as Cain's thrusts grew in intensity and speed. Then she was lost, incinerated in a mad rush of passion, her cries merging with his groans into one grand proclamation.