A Taste of Paradise (23 page)

Sophia whirled, holding the nightgown in front of her to shield her nakedness. She hadn't heard Chris enter. “Did you buy this?”

He shook his head. “That's Lady Chester's doing. I prefer you naked.”

He moved languidly toward her, removing the nightgown from her nerveless fingers and tossing it on a nearby chair.

“I didn't know if you'd want to make love to me.”

“We're married; there's no reason to deny ourselves. We've already proven we're compatible in bed.”

“I know, but—”

He leaned in close, brushing his lips against her ear. “You know I find you exciting. And I believe you feel the same about me.”

Sophia bristled. “You don't know how I feel. You have no idea.”

“Do you wish to tell me?”

“No. Not now; maybe never.”

His hand slid up her arm. “It doesn't matter. We are husband and wife. Marriage is the best solution to your problem.”

Chris could tell he hadn't said what Sophia wanted to hear, but it was all he was prepared to acknowledge.

Sophia reared away from him. “I never wanted to be an obligation.”

Reaching out, he brought her against him. “It's done, Sophia. Let's make the best of it. Marriage to me won't be so bad. It will be what we both make of it.”

Chris almost wished he could give Sophia what she wanted to hear, but he had no romantic prose, no flowery words. Though he had married her against his better judgment, he would protect her and keep her safe; that would have to be enough.

Sophia felt helpless, trapped between pride on the one hand and desperate, secret love on the other. She wanted Chris to love her. Wanted him to
make
love to her. She swayed against him.

Chris lowered her to the bed and began to undress. Sophia watched him. She had always admired his masculinity; the sight of his naked body thrilled her to the marrow of her bones. He was hard and vital, pulsing with power. She exhaled sharply when he stood naked before her, fascinated by the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, by the bulge of his shoulders where they met his upper arms and the sinuous flatness of his stomach.

Her gaze lowered to his loins, where his engorged shaft thrust upward against his stomach from a forest of dark brown.

“If you keep looking at me like that, this night will end sooner than we'd both like,” he growled hoarsely.

She lowered her gaze. It was difficult not to look at him; he was magnificent.

Chris hunched down beside her, felt the tightening of his loins, the pain of muscles clenching, the pounding of his heart. Sophia excited him as no other woman. Raven-black lashes fell in a soft sweep over her cheeks; her hair spilled like dark silk over the pillow. He was dismayed to find he wanted her so badly after he had spent years trying to forget her.

He leaned over her and kissed her hard, his fingers playing lightly, teasingly over her flawless skin. She moaned and arched up against him.

“Chris . . . please . . .”

“Oh, I have every intention of pleasing you, love. This is going to be a long, pleasurable night for both of us.”

Chris stilled.
He couldn't believe he had called Sophia his love
. He breathed a sigh of relief when Sophia didn't appear to notice his slip. Shifting his body lower, he kissed a path from her mouth to her breasts, lingering over her hard little nipples, suckling and nipping until she was writhing beneath him.

Sophia didn't know how much longer she could stand Chris's sensual torture. His kisses felt like pinpoints of fire as his mouth trailed down her stomach to her inner thigh. When she quivered in response, he held her hips in a gentle grip. He glanced up at her, his eyes glowing hotly in the dim light.

“I want to taste you.”

She went rigid as he resumed his nibbling caresses up her inner thigh to a place that ached for his touch, crying out when his tongue found her dewy center. Her taut body was hot and explosive with need as he held her open with his thumbs and laved her with the rough pad of his tongue.

“Sweet,” he murmured against her damp folds. When he thrust his tongue inside her, she jerked upward, crying out his name.

Her entire body clenched with anticipation as his tongue thrust into her slick heat again and again, and then he gently suckled the aching bud of her femininity. She whimpered and clutched at him, her fingers tightening reflexively in his thick hair. He continued his wicked, teasing assault, exploring the supple wet petals of her cleft, until the pleasure became too great to bear. Her heart beat wildly, her pulse pounded with desperate desire.

“Oh, God,” she gasped. “I can't . . . I want . . .”

“Do it,” Chris said, lifting his head from his succulent feast. “Take what you want.”

“Don't stop,” she wailed.

“Never!” His hands slid under her bottom, raising her against his mouth to savor her more fully.

Sophia began panting. Each slow, arousing stroke of his tongue was part heaven, part hell. He continued suckling her, lapping, drinking from her essence, tormenting her beyond endurance. When his probing tongue thrust deep inside her, she shuddered and shifted her hips, straining under the determined lash of his tongue, the relentless plundering of his mouth.

A scream built inside her, rising in her throat. She shuddered, thrashing her head from side to side, rising to meet the passionate assault of his tongue.

“I can't stand it,” she panted jerkily.

“Come, then, don't hold back.”

Unbearable pleasure brought forth a keening wail as she shattered. Bliss crested again and again as Chris continued his tender torture, until she collapsed in the breathless aftermath of her climax. Dazed and quivering, she was scarcely aware when Chris stretched his body over hers and gently began suckling her nipples, prolonging the tide of her pleasure until it finally ebbed, leaving her drained and limp.

When he finally lifted his head and looked at her, his face was hard, taut, like a man pressed to the limits of his endurance. Staring into her eyes, he spread her legs with his knees, flexed his hips and thrust hard and deep inside her. He lowered his head and kissed her, their mouths and tongues melding into one entity.

Suddenly he turned, bringing her on top of him, his cock still embedded deep inside her. Grasping her knees, he brought them up on either side of him, opening her fully to his hips.

“Ride me, Sophia. You're in charge—do as you please with me.”

Scant moments ago, Sophia would have sworn she had nothing left to give, but Chris proved her wrong. He knew how and where to manipulate her body to make her yearn for more of his magical loving. She began to move on him, taking him deep, writhing against him. He caught her nipple between his teeth and bit down gently. She felt it clear down to the place where they were joined.

His body taut, his breath harsh in her ear, he urged her on with guttural words that brought her closer and closer to achieving Paradise.

“Now, Sophia, now!”

Sophia soared, reaching for the stars, and then she touched them. Vaguely she felt his body stiffen, heard her name whispered through the darkness, felt the warm gush of his seed.

“I love you, Chris.” The words came without volition, torn from her by unrequited love and frustration.

Chris stared at her in horror, and then he slammed his mouth over hers, stopping her from saying anything more he didn't want to hear.

Chris went limp. Long moments later, he shifted Sophia beneath him, pulled out of her and rolled away. They were both breathing hard, their bodies shaking.

“Don't love me, Sophia.”

“I'm sorry if I upset you. I thought . . . I hoped . . .”

“Hoped what? That I might return your love?”

“Would that be so terrible?”

“Have you forgotten our past? I'm a killer; I murdered my best friend. And you are the woman we dueled over. Guilt is the only emotion I am capable of.”

Sophia stared at him. “But you made love to me as if you cared.”

Chris searched his heart. It was not completely empty, but he didn't recognize what he found inside. He thought he knew what love felt like, for he had fancied himself in love with Sophia seven years ago. That feeling was definitely absent now. But there was something there, something he couldn't put a name to.

“Perhaps I do care,” he mused. “I married you to keep you safe, didn't I?”

“Are you sure that's the only reason?”

Chris ignored her probing question. It opened him to the kind of hurt he never wanted to experience again. “Your nagging is becoming annoying,” he said gruffly, pulling her beneath him. “The night is young. I can think of more pleasant ways to enjoy what is left of it.”

His mouth settled on hers, and pleasure built, waned, built again until, exhausted and sated, they fell asleep.

Chris had already left for the fields when Sophia awakened the morning following her wedding. She stretched lazily. Her limbs still felt weighted, her body flushed and languid. She had gotten little rest during their long night of loving. How could Chris have so much energy when she could barely move?

Kateena entered the room and began picking up discarded clothing. “Are you ready for your bath, mistress?”

“Tea first, Kateena, and a sweet biscuit. I'm famished.”

Kateena left immediately to do Sophia's bidding. Sophia stretched again and smiled to herself. Chris had taken her to Paradise more than once last night, and though he hadn't said he loved her, her heart told her he cared deeply.

Kateena arrived with tea and a sticky bun. While Sophia ate, the tub was carried in and filled with water. She took a leisurely bath and dressed in an attractive blue dimity gown, one that Chris had commissioned for her. Then she went downstairs and waited for Chris to arrive for lunch.

Sophia lunched alone. Chris didn't return, nor did he send word about when to expect him. She ate dinner alone that night, too, all her dreams of a happy marriage crumbling. As Chris's wife, she expected to be informed about his comings and goings, not left in the dark, wondering when or if he would deign to return. Obviously, Chris intended to lead his life as if their marriage made little difference in the scheme of things.

That night, as Kateena helped Sophia prepare for bed, she said, “The men are working around the clock to get the cane cut and sent to the mill. Then it will be brought back to be turned into molasses and distilled into rum.”

“I wonder why Chris didn't tell me that,” Sophia mused. “I've been kept in the dark about every aspect of his life.”

“I'm sure the captain meant no slight,” Kateena soothed. “He's very busy, and new at this. He has a great deal to learn.”

Chris didn't return to the house that night. Sophia fell asleep feeling lonely and wanting her husband. She awoke later to the smell of smoke and ran to the window. Her heart sank when she saw flames rising from the fields. She watched for a while, assumed the fire had been brought under control and went back to bed. When she awakened the following morning, she asked Kateena what had happened.

“It's normal to set fire to the fields before harvesting the cane to kill or chase off rats and snakes and get rid of trash and leaves,” Kateena replied. “Mundo explained the process to me when I first arrived.”

That's more than I learned from Chris
, Sophia thought.

Chris arrived home late that night, exhausted, dirty and smelling of smoke.

“Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.

“Don't fuss, Sophia,” Chris answered grumpily. “All I need is a bath and a good night's sleep.”

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

“No, the fire had to be watched closely.”

“Why didn't you tell me what was going on? I became worried when you didn't return home last night. Kateena had to explain the burning of the fields to me.”

He removed his shirt, boots and breeches. “I didn't think you'd be interested.”

“We're married, Chris. I'm interested in everything you do. I can't be your partner if you don't tell me what's going on.”

“I'm tired, Sophia, leave off. Chuba is filling a tub for me in the shed off the kitchen. We'll talk after I've bathed.”

He took his robe from the wardrobe and left before Sophia could reply. She knew he was tired, but didn't a wife deserve some consideration? Why was Chris treating her as if she had no stake in making the plantation a successful opperation? She had never been a wife before, but it seemed to her that she should be helping Chris in some way. Sighing, she sat on the bed and waited for her husband to return.

Chris knew he owed Sophia an explanation, but when he had left her bed yesterday morning he hadn't wanted to awaken her. He knew he might not make it home that night and had meant to send word later, but as the day progressed, more pressing needs took precedence. Sophia would have to learn that the plantation came first with him and always would.

Chris sank into the tub Chuba had prepared, feeling his tension drain away with the dirt and grime. The fire had nearly gotten out of control. Yet the fire had been necessary to clear the north field of rats and snakes so the cutting could begin. He didn't relish the idea of losing good men to snakebite.

Resting his head against the rim of the big wooden tub, Chris finally had time to think about his wedding night. Sophia's response to him had been magnificent. Though he had already experienced her passion, his wedding night had far exceeded his expectations.

He'd tried not to think about the words she'd cried out, unwilling to acknowledge how deeply her declaration had affected him. He didn't want Sophia to love him, and had told her so. He wanted to remember the pain of Desmond's death and the reason for it. Returning Sophia's love would somehow negate his guilt. He had lived with guilt so long, he couldn't imagine existing without it.