A Belated Bride (30 page)

It was a good thing she was older and wiser, and had far too much sense to get emotionally entangled with a man who did not know the meaning of the word
commit- ment. Which,
a naughty voice whispered to her,
is why it makes such perfect sense to succumb now
. Only with

Lucien did she feel the wild surge of excitement, this heady power, as if she could do anything she wanted. And it was time she did something just for herself. Something so sinfully selfish that it would warm her memories for- ever.

“Bella,” he murmured. He took her hand and placed the pad of her forefinger against his lip. With the tenderest of touches, he bit the pink end of her finger, swirled his tongue over the imaginary wound, and then gently closed his teeth over it again. Jolts of shocked desire traveled through her.

His eyes darkened and he slipped her finger into his mouth. Heat swelled as his tongue stroked her flesh. Need pooled between her thighs, and she clenched them to- gether to still the ache.

He withdrew her finger and placed a reverent kiss on it. “I want you with me, beneath me,” he whispered. “Do you want me, Bella?”

In answer, Arabella twined her arms about his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. His lips were hot and demand- ing, his hands cupping, stroking, exploring her as if he’d never touched her before. He groaned as she raked a hand through his hair, holding him to her.

The coat dropped to the floor and suddenly touching him was not enough. She wanted to taste him, to fill her senses until there was nothing but Lucien. A wave of long- ing slammed into her heart, and the walls she’d built to protect herself began to crack. Lightning flashed across the skies and thunder shook the ground as Arabella lost herself in the taste of him—his mouth possessing hers, the hot feel of his lips on her skin, the sensuous thrust of his tongue in her mouth.

The edge of the cot pressed against the back of her legs, and Lucien broke the kiss long enough to look down

at her. “I want you,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ve always wanted you.”

“And I want you.” So badly that she didn’t care any- more what anyone thought or would say. All she cared about was the feel of his hands as he molded her to him. His fingers slid through her hair, down her throat, to the top button of her pelisse. He tried to unbutton the wet wool, but it fought him. Cursing, he yanked at it, ripping the material.

Arabella reached to help him. Together, they tore the clinging wool away, revealing her wet gown beneath. Lucien’s hands closed over her shoulders and he held her away, his gaze brushing over her body where the gown was plastered to it. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “So beauti- ful.”

A flush of power surged through her. With trembling fingers, she undid the lacing on her gown, her breasts pushing against the cold material, her nipples hardening.

His face was a mask of torment and she reveled in it. His breath harsh, he reached for her, but she stayed him with a single word. Slowly, never unlocking her gaze from his, she undid her lacings and pulled the gown off, drop- ping the petticoat to the floor. Nothing remained but her thin wet chemise. It clung to her, hiding nothing.

Lucien moaned, his hands fisted at his sides. “Damn it, Bella. I can’t take this much longer.”

Neither could she. Her whole body throbbed with desire and if he didn’t touch her soon, she would explode in a whoosh of heat. “Undress me,” she commanded, excited by her own brazen behavior. It would be a night
they
would never forget.

Lucien knelt on the dirt floor. He looked up at her, his head even with her chest. The sight of his sensuous mouth so near her nipples caused them to pucker as if he had

touched them. He lowered his hands and placed them on her calves. Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid them up, over her knees, to the swell of her hips, past her waist, over her breasts, and to the thin straps of her chemise. With hands that trembled slightly, he pushed the straps aside. The air brushed her with cold tingles.

As he exposed her bare skin, he kissed each spot until his tongue trailed a heated path between her breasts. She tangled her fingers in his thick hair, pulling him closer. He shoved the material down, baring her breasts to the chilled air. Lucien’s unsteady breathing aroused her further, caus- ing the damp place between her thighs to ache.

His mouth closed over one peak and heat sluiced from her breast to below. Arabella gasped as he pushed the che- mise down to her hips, his mouth again following the skin he now laid bare.

She writhed against him, her hands moving wildly over his neck and shoulders. His tongue played along her stom- ach—and then her chemise dropped to the floor.

For an instant, neither moved. Then slowly, ever so slowly, Lucien leaned forward and placed a kiss in the tan- gled curls that beckoned. Arabella moaned, her entire body rigid.

He gently pushed her back onto the bed and placed his hands over the top of her stockings. Slowly, deliberately, he rolled them down, his hands warming the chilled skin as he went.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured. “So incredibly beautiful.” He reached up and gently touched her nipple.

Arabella clenched her hands into the wool coat that lay beneath her. “Don’t,” she managed to get out through her parched lips.

“Don’t what?” His mouth curved in a devastating smile. “Don’t do this?” He flicked the tip of his finger

across her breast. “Or don’t do this?” He bent his head and laved her peak, his hot tongue flooding her with sensa- tions. His eyes glinted as he moved back, his chest rub- bing across her belly, his shirt rough against her skin. His hands trailed over the delicate skin of her thigh. “Or per- haps you don’t want this.”

He dipped his head low, then lower still, until his tongue touched her very core. Arabella gasped and invol- untarily thrust her hips forward, pressing his mouth fur- ther against her womanhood. He moaned, his hands closing over her bottom as his tongue danced in and out, sending her spiraling madly out of control.

“Lucien!”
The world exploded in a thousand colors and pushed her over the edge of passion and into a whirlpool of melted desire.

Hungrily, Lucien watched as she found her release and her breathing returned to normal. Then he stood to remove his boots and undo his breeches. Arabella’s warm brown eyes never left his. She lay completely naked, her thighs slightly parted, her skin pink and pas- sion-kissed.

It was like a dream, one he’d had a thousand times since he’d left her all those years ago. Yet this time, there would be no leaving. There would only be him and Ara- bella, forever.

Like a man starved, he yanked off the rest of his cloth- ing and leaned down to join her on the narrow cot. He expected her passion to be spent, to have to seduce her back to the point of excitement, but he had no sooner put his lips to hers than she pressed herself against him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth in invitation.

He’d meant the kiss to be gentle: his promise to care for her always. But she was beyond gentle. Arabella threw her arms about his neck, pressing against him, fanning his

lust to flames. The kiss deepened and she moaned against his lips, begging for more, begging for release.

He rolled her to her back and positioned himself over her, straining against the fierce desire that urged him on. Slowly, carefully, he lowered himself into her, keeping her eyes locked to his. Her lips parted as her breath tore between her lips. Her fingers curled, her nails biting into his arms. “I want you, Lucien,” she whispered hoarsely. “Please. . . .”

He thrust home, plundering her depths. She gave a star- tled cry, her head thrown back, her hips arching to meet his. Again and again he thrust, each stroke ecstasy, each departure an agony.

She lifted her legs and clasped his hips tightly, her body writhing in a sensuous dance beneath his. He could feel her need building as she arched into him, his own emotions barely under control, his body aching with the torture.
One more time,
he pleaded wordlessly. As if she heard him, she stiffened beneath him, her body arching so wildly that Lucien had to wrap his arms about her to hold her to him.

Pleasure crashed through her and across Lucien and his passion finally exploded to meet hers. He collapsed against Arabella, cradling her to him. God, but she could drive him to heights no other woman could. He didn’t know what it was—her natural warmth, the passion she embraced life with, or the completely uncontrolled way she reacted to his touch—but it was almost more than he could handle.

He turned his head and met her gaze. Her lips were still parted, her breath gasping and uneven, her eyes soft and unfocused. Yet she managed a small, soft smile, so tender that he gathered her close and placed a kiss in her hair.

Lucien savored the warmth of her breath against his

chest, the feel of her hair where it tumbled over his arm. Time slipped by and her breathing settled into the deep rhythm of sleep. Lucien looked down where she lay curled so trustingly against him, her lashes shadowing her cheek, her soft, pink mouth parted in sleep.

Something shifted in Lucien’s chest and he brushed a curl from her forehead. Come what may, she was his. His to have and to hold. His to protect—with his life, if neces- sary.

His stomach tightened at the thought. This time, he would not fail her.

For a long, long time, Lucien lay with Arabella in his arms, his face drawn and set.

What was it about her that touched his heart? He pulled the blanket over her shoulder and tucked it about her as if she were a child. But there wasn’t anything childlike about Arabella. She had taken on the care of her brother and aunts without hesitation or any self-pity. She was strong and capable, one of the most independent women he knew.

Though he appreciated her good traits, he was not blind to her faults. His Bella was too quick to anger and far too stubborn—just like her brother.

Lucien rested his cheek against her hair, the wild, silky curls brushing his chin. But of all her family, Arabella had inherited the Captain’s pirating spirit—she thrived on the excitement of a livelihood that would have left many men weak-kneed with trepidation.

As if aware of his thoughts, she murmured an incoher- ent word, and then turned to burrow against him, one hand resting on his chest. Lucien held her tighter, a band con- stricting about his heart.

Before he could devote himself to Arabella, he had to let the past go. Somehow, he’d let Sabrina’s tragedy keep

him from living. He needed to move forward and face the future—a future that included his Bella.

The thought held him for some time, until finally, too tired to do more, he drifted off to sleep.

nm

Chapter 21

A

brisk rap awoke Arabella from a deep, languorous sleep. The dim light meant it was early—much too

early to rise. Yawning, she stretched and then shivered as a finger of cold air wafted over her bare skin.

Her eyes flew open, memories of the night yanking her awake. She started to sit up, but a warm, masculine leg moved over hers, pinning her to the bed.
Lucien
. She turned her head and gazed at him. His thick, black hair fell across his forehead and softened the lines of his face. Just seeing so much male beauty asleep beside her made Ara- bella sigh. And last night, for a short while at least, he had been hers. The thought curled up to warm her.

The sharp rap rang out again. Startled, Arabella turned toward the heavy oak door and caught sight of Aunt Jane’s favorite blue bonnet through the vine that covered the window. She gasped and dove under the covers, slipping an arm out to search the floor for her lost clothing.

A lazy voice drawled in her ear. “Hmm, a sprightly

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maid, to awaken me by burrowing ’neath the covers.” Lucien pulled her closer and pressed her other hand to his manhood, now soft and warm between his legs. “Is this perchance the treasure you seek so eagerly?”

She jerked her hand away. “Will you stop that? Some- one is at the door.”

“Let them find their own amusement.” His hands wan- dered over her hips, her breasts, instantly rousing her. “I have plans for you, milady. And they include only our- selves.”

“Aunt Jane is here!”

That stopped him. He lifted his head. Outside came the faint murmur of voices, as if someone were holding a meeting.

“How did they find us?” Arabella asked desperately. She knew what would happen, and she was not about to sit idly by as her aunts tried to shame Lucien into marrying her. She fought an overpowering desire to crawl under the cot and hide.

Lucien seemed impervious to the danger. He regarded her with a smiling gaze, his attention focused on her lips. “Maybe if we ignore them they will go away.”

Or burst through the door and stumble in to see their niece naked in bed with a duke. Aunt Jane would think she’d died and gone to heaven. The idea sent a wave of panic through Arabella, and she jerked upright and swung her legs over the side of the cot.

Lucien’s muscular arm encircled her waist. With a smooth, easy motion, he hauled her back beside him, tucking the blanket back over her. “Stay here.” His whispered command tickled her ear. “It is too cold to rise.”

“What if they come in?”

“Then you will have to tell them.”

“Tell them what?” she asked, stung that he would put the entire burden of confession on her shoulders.

“That there isn’t room in this cot for anyone else. In fact”—he nuzzled her neck—“there’s barely room for us.”

“Lucien, I will not say anything so improper!”

“You’ll have to,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m going to be much too busy touching you, kissing you, tast- ing you.” He nipped her shoulder, sending a tremor of awareness all the way to her toes. He rubbed against her, the hardness of his manhood telling her he was more than ready to resume their lovemaking.

“Will you stop that?” She pushed at his arm. He was making it pure hell to even think. “Lucien, Aunt Jane was peeking in the window—she may already know—I will have to tell them. . . .” She trailed off miserably.

He stilled for an instant before threading his hand into her hair and turning her face toward his. He held her there, his eyes sparkling and hard. “What will you tell them, Arabella?”