Andrea Kane (34 page)

A corner of Damen’s mouth lifted, and he came to a halt outside the bedchamber his housekeeper had prepared for Anastasia. “No,” he replied, a self-satisfied gleam lighting his eyes. “Although I’m delighted by the fact that you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m …”

“Jealous,” he supplied. His knuckles caressed her cheek, and he moved closer, stopping only when mere inches separated them. “You have no cause to be.” He traced the bridge of her nose, his voice husky. “I’ve never brought a woman here before. As for my staff’s perceptiveness, it isn’t coincidental. It’s based on the fact that I called them together last night to say there would be some changes occurring here soon.”

“Changes?” Anastasia sounded breathless.

“Um-hum.” Damen’s thumb grazed her lips. “I told them that this manor would, within the month, be acquiring a mistress. And that that mistress would be Lady Anastasia Colby, who would, by then, be the Marchioness of Sheldrake …” He lowered his head, his lips brushing hers. “Mrs. Damen Lockewood,” he clarified, kissing her again. “My wife.”

“Oh,” Anastasia managed.

Damen smiled at the wonder in her voice, her eyes. “Any further questions?”

Mutely, she shook her head.

“Good.” He turned the handle and pushed open the door, gesturing for her to enter. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here.” He watched her cross the threshold; then, after a heartbeat of a pause, he followed her in. “At least for now. These quarters are only temporary. After we’re married, your chambers will be adjoining mine.”

“I can’t wait.” Anastasia turned to face him, never even glancing about to view her surroundings. Her gaze—a luminous jade green—was fixed on him. “Although I can’t imagine I’ll be using my bedchamber much, not with yours right next door.”

The tension that had permeated the day intensified, shifting its focus to something equally powerful, but far more inspiring.

“Shall I send up a maid?” Damen inquired, hearing the jagged edge to his tone.

“Definitely not.” Anastasia reached up, tugged out the few hairpins she wore. “I’m very efficient at dressing and undressing myself. I lived in America, remember?”

“I remember.”

“Still,” she added with a siren’s smile. “I suppose some assistance would be nice.” She shook out her auburn tresses, making no attempt to disguise her growing anticipation. “Better than nice—wonderful. But not from a maid. A maid is the last person I need—or want—right now.”

Blood pulsed through Damen’s veins, pounded at his loins. “And the first person you need—and want—right now?”

“You.”

He shut the door, threw the bolt before he could stop himself. “I should leave—now, while I’m still able.” Even as he spoke, he was disregarding his own words, walking toward her. He reached her side, taking over her task and freeing her hair until burnished waves tumbled over his hands. “Beautiful,” he murmured, caressing the silken strands. “So impossibly beautiful.” He brought a handful to his lips, savored it, as his other arm clamped about her waist. “Send me away.”

“No.” Anastasia stepped closer, gliding her hands beneath his coat, unbuttoning his waistcoat with trembling fingers. “I can’t do that.”

“Stacie …” Damen’s fingers were already dispensing with the buttons of her gown. “I didn’t intend …”

“I know.” She stood on tiptoe, kissed the strong column of his throat as she untied his cravat. “Neither of us did. But it’s so right.” She sighed, opening his shirt and pressing her lips to his chest. “Don’t leave me—not now.”

“Leave you?” He gave a hoarse laugh, dragging her gown off her shoulders, letting it drop to her feet. “There’s not a prayer of that. I’ll never leave you. Not now. Not ever.”

His mouth found hers, covering it, his lips parting hers with a hunger that was too powerful to stave off with light, teasing kisses. He grasped handfuls of her hair, angling her face closer to his, possessing her with his tongue, his breath, devouring her mouth totally, voraciously—again and again. Anastasia moaned, leaning into him to give him better access, clutching at his shirt and returning his hot, open-mouthed kisses with her own. Their tongues intertwined, melded and caressed with dizzying sensuality.

They broke apart only to gasp in air, and Damen’s gaze burned into hers, his fingers shifting to the ribbons of her chemise, yanking them free until the scanty garment joined her gown on the carpet.

He paused then, his ravenous stare raking her from head to toe, lingering on the burnished nest between her thighs, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he struggled for control.

Anastasia wrested it away.

Boldly, she shoved off Damen’s open coat, waistcoat and shirt, letting them drop to the floor. Her palms smoothed up the hard planes of his bare chest, exploring the hair-roughened texture, the solid muscle beneath. Then, she reversed her motion, her palms traveling down to his waist, lingering at the buttons of his trousers.

With a wonder and curiosity too arousing to bear, she descended lower, her fingers brushing the rigid length of him, reveling in discovery, then shifting impatiently to the buttons that separated her from her goal.

It was too much.

With a strangled groan, Damen shoved away her hands and dragged her against him. He lifted her in his arms, nuzzling the warm valley between her breasts as he carried her to the bed.

In one unsteady motion, he yanked back the bedcovers, lay her on the sheet, and stepped away only long enough to finish the task she’d begun, kicking free of his remaining clothes. He was literally shaking with need, his hands trembling so badly he could hardly believe this was he.

Naked, he loomed over her, slipping her stockings down her legs and off, already making love to her in a way that made her breath come in shallow pants.

“You’re exquisite,” he muttered in a raw voice. “My fantasies pale in comparison.”

“And you’re magnificent.” She scrutinized his body with open fascination, shivering as he reached down, cupped her breast, his thumb rasping over the taut nipple.

“Damen.” His name was a wisp of sound, a glimmer of heated longing. “Please.” She opened her arms to him.

Another filament of control snapped.

“God, I want you,” Damen ground out, coming down beside her, watching her breasts swell to his touch, unable to tear his eyes away. “There aren’t words …”

“Then don’t search for any.” Anastasia stroked his shoulders, the muscled planes of his back. “Just make love to me.”

A hoarse sound vibrated through him, and Damen covered her body with his, tangling his hands in her hair and lifting her mouth to receive his kiss. His mouth ate at hers, and his chest rubbed across her breasts, teasing her already hardened nipples with slow, tantalizing strokes.

Anastasia whimpered, shifted restlessly beneath him, her thighs instinctively parting to make room for him.

He nudged his hips into place, nestling within the cradle of her thighs and continuing to kiss her, fighting the urge to relinquish the next glorious minutes and just plunge into her, join himself to her in the most fundamental way possible.

This was one fight he intended to win.

Not only to avoid causing her pain—although he was determined to eclipse whatever pain was unavoidable with a deluge of pleasure so acute she’d remember nothing else—but to prolong what he inherently knew would be the most breathtaking of preludes.

One that would lead to the most breathtaking of joinings.

“Not yet,” he murmured, shifting his weight to his elbows, staring into her beautiful flushed face.

Anastasia’s eyes flew open, her expression rife with confused disbelief.

“Soon,” Damen promised, answering her unspoken question, kissing her hot cheeks as he continued to fight the instinctive motion of his hips. “Very soon.” He kissed a slow path to her breasts, drawing first one nipple into his mouth, then turning his attentions to the other, teasing each with whisper-light strokes of his tongue.

He was rewarded with a shuddering moan.

Easing himself upward, he covered her mouth with his and kissed her—slow and deep—his tongue gliding forward to entwine with hers. Simultaneously, his palm drifted over her breast, his thumb circling the nipple, still damp from his mouth, then dropping lower, defining the curve of her waist, her hip, finally slipping between her thighs to claim the moist haven he craved above all else.

Anastasia’s grip on his shoulders tightened and, reflexively, her back arched, her hips lifting to receive his caress.

Damen’s thighs pushed hers farther apart, opening her completely to the heated stroke of his fingertips.

Too far gone to withstand tentative explorations, he slid two fingers inside her, nearly wild with his need to feel her softness close around him. “Yes,” he muttered thickly, savoring her warmth, her wetness, her quivering welcome to his penetration. He stroked softly, his thumb teasing the tiny bud that cried out for his touch.

Abruptly he needed more.

He tore himself away, shoving himself downward on the bed. He felt her start of surprise, but he didn’t— couldn’t—pause to explain. In a few jerky motions, he raised her legs, draped them over his shoulders.

And buried his mouth in her sweetness.

Anastasia stifled a scream, nearly coming up off the bed as sensation slammed through her. Her fingers laced through Damen’s hair, and her head tossed from side to side on the pillow, her hips arching wildly, lifting her closer to Damen’s mouth, his seeking tongue.

Damen’s own need surged inside him like a drowning wave. He gripped Anastasia’s bottom, hauling her upward, anchoring her so she couldn’t escape a fraction of the havoc he was lavishing on her senses. Her scent, her taste, were driving him insane, taking him so close to the edge, he wondered if he’d survive. He deepened his caresses, felt her body grow taut, tauter still, clenching and tightening as he drove her to the brink of climax.

“Damen … no …”

It took him a full minute to realize she was struggling, her hands shoving at his shoulders as if to push him away.

He raised his head, passion pounding through his brain, and stared at her in stunned noncomprehension.

“Not alone,” she whispered, her entire body trembling with a need she refused to give in to. “Please … not this time, this first time. I want us together.”

Damen sucked in his breath, blind desire transforming to comprehension.

“Stacie …” Rasping her name, he capitulated, crawling over her and hooking his elbows beneath her legs. With unerring precision, his throbbing shaft found the welcoming entrance to her body.

Slowly, erotically, he pushed into her.

“Oh … yes.” Half-whimpering, half-sighing, Anastasia wound her arms and legs around him, undeterred by the pain she knew must follow, focused on nothing but the need to be one. “This way. It’s perfect.”

“Sweetheart, I…” Damen had no idea what he intended to say. His body was inadvertently thrusting, urging him into her, crowding him into her snug, clinging passage. His eyes slid shut, all his energies concentrated on the incomparable feeling of making this woman his. “Anastasia.” Her name was a love word, uttered over the roaring in his head, the pounding in his loins. She was so incredibly tight, quivering, poised on the brink of climax. And he wanted to share that climax, to meld his fire with hers, to feel her pulse and shatter all around him while he poured his entire soul into hers.

He reached the barrier of her innocence, and reality intruded in a jarring blow.

Damen froze, his fists clenching on either side of Anastasia’s head, leaving deep impressions in the soft pillow below. Every muscle in his body went rigid, tremors of restraint quivering through him as his body screamed its protest.

God, he wasn’t sure he could stop.

“Damen.”

Anastasia whispered his name—a frantic whisper— and his eyes snapped open. Their gazes met and locked— hers wild, pleading; his hot, frantic.

“Don’t stop.” Her fingers, which had been clenched in the damp strands of hair at the nape of his neck, moved down his spine, clutched at his buttocks with an urgency as palpable as his own. “Please.” She swallowed, clearly at the edge of her control, scarcely able to speak much less express her desperation. “I need you.” Her hips undulated, wordlessly beckoning him deeper. “I ache. I can’t… bear it…”

Damen groaned, gave in to the inevitable. Framing her face between his palms, he stared deeply into her eyes, his own glittering with emotion. “I love you,” he said fiercely. His hands shifted to her hips, gripped them tightly. “I love you, and you’re mine.”

He thrust forward; she arched to meet him.

The delicate barrier gave, and Damen couldn’t stifle his exultant shout as he buried himself to the hilt, stretching and filling her entirely. At the same time, he was acutely aware of the pain he must be causing her, and he forced himself to still, not daring to move until he was sure she was all right.

Her body gave him his answer.

For the briefest second, she tensed, her body recoiling from the sharp, first-time intrusion. Then, the pleasure took over. She emitted a wondrous sigh, softening and melting, wrapping herself around him and sheathing him in liquid fire.

“Damen.” She undulated her hips to feel him deeper inside her, then moaned as the frantic need for completion screamed to life, this time unwilling to tolerate delay. “I’m … dying …” she gasped, her nails digging into his back. “Damen … please.”

It was all the encouragement he needed.

Withdrawing slowly, he watched her face, memorizing her expression as he surged forward, pushed even higher inside her, then repeated the motion, penetrating her in one deep, inexorable stroke. He heard her sob, felt her clench all around him, and he thrust forward again, angling his body so he could caress her inside and out, take her over the edge.

She screamed, her entire body dissolving into wrenching spasms of completion, and Damen pushed deeper into her, matching the rhythm of her climax even as his own built to excruciating heights, clawed at his loins until holding back became an impossibility.

He erupted, hot bursts of seed exploding from inside him, gushing into her in torrents. He threw back his head, shouted her name again and again, every fiber of his being focused beneath the onslaught of sensation. Her climax retriggered his, and spasm after hot spasm wrenched at his loins, shuddered through his body.